On and On and On
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
Yet when it comes to love,
we sometimes depart the script.
In the face of what the silent audience expects of us secular thespians,
we surprise and confound them with our own volition.
Some would argue that all the little inconsequential choices we make
that slowly walk us up the hill of substance
is proof of destiny and the lack of our own free will.
I see it conversely,
that the fact that the universe exists exactly as you see it now
is a sign of the purest of chance.
(If a butterfly flaps its wings….)
It is this chance that startles me when I try to understand the world.
The miracle that the fine lady would bring all of us together
is so astonishing,
that it makes love seem so much more beautiful.
And because of the volatile nature of human existence
and the uncertainty of anything,
love is strong.
It needs to be, or else
it would never happen.