tabula rasa

I think about how fragile we all are, drifting down, trying to touch or not touch each other, all the while heading toward that place we keep losing sight of. Sometimes it makes itself known… comes into view, that composite waiting to collect us at the end, so bright we can’t see what it is. We remember it is there and we throb, understanding our eventual synthesis as reunion. Understanding this journey is one of past and continuing disintegration and joining the others already waiting will be a recomposition of the whole. I know I should want to return like the others. I should want to be a part of this communion.
But sometimes, the wind picks up and for a moment, there is reprieve. We are without direction or at least, have a different one. The wind helps me transcend gravity for one moment and I, feeling unbearable lightness, exclaim myself with immense joy before I am bound again to yield dutifully, falling with the other snowflakes toward that massive white sheaf collecting our identity.

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