The question is not if or to, but when and what or why and where and how?

If one does this instead of that, the end may shift by threads, or swelling clouds of snow. But time, as lord of all, crafts here and now at whim.

Yet what is being? What is fluff, and what’s concrete?

A crack, a stone, a thought, a breath?

The center’s gone to full collapse, it seems, with fragile corners left to bear the weight…

Years ago, I saw a man on such a corner. With no ground between us, we shared a daily wave, our certainties preserved, until a spot appeared no larger than a seed and we set our feet upon it. And from each common yes no maybe, it grew.

That, I think, is being; that, I think is when and what and why and where and urgently, mindfully how.

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