Life is Like . . .

Life may be less like a loop and more like a spool of thread, unwinding loosely from a snug, clean, trim beginning notched securely into the spool. Beginning colorful and whole and very short. Being pushed through the eye of a needle and pulled through gossamer silk, midweight cotton, heavy dirty jeans. Growing stained, unraveling, breaking, knotting, starting over again. Leaving small mended seams in its wake, and a few minor gaps. Going forward with determination sometimes interrupted by reinforcing backtracks and fanciful side trips. Emerging stretched, satisfied, mending job completed but not perfect.

Starting a new seam with a new cut and a new knot. Unwinding, always unwinding in ever-tightening coils that nevertheless get pulled forward, traveling through the fabric of life. Never questioning the duty of being a thread among many, always uniting two pieces of raw material into one garmet of radiance and beauty.

Reaching the end, the last inch on the spool, curly and bright, though somewhat compressed from the pressure of preceding coils, having accomplished what it was designed to do, and living that last inch in ultimate joy, having sewn and sown disparate pieces together in tactile harmony.

In an expanding universe, why must one question all of one or another, Saint or Bodhisattva? The thread would be enlivened, enriched by both. The thread wouldn't care if it comes back or not. (It will make a comeback as part of another thread but it doesn't need to know.)

What kind of chocolate?

Don't worry . . . be happy.