to speak of allowing - as if I'm some part of its command and not, myself, an occurrence through it all. There is no say as to what's to be allowed, what will stay, or soon to pass. It's all a momentary mystery, an instant filled by infinite chance and the grace of nature's design. The evidence that something is allowed is simply it's appearance - life is perfect in its embrace, even if at times there is violence in display. Nature doesn't argue, what seems to disrupt is too instantly brought to fold, one more event in natural occurrence. Even my arguments against what seems an unjust world belong, a calm acceptance of my issues, though I rail against it all. Wisdom only comes in seeing that I know nothing of great importance, no answer as to why a thing is, or something passed before I felt it due. It's not that everything happens for a reason - it's that things happen, and for no reason of my discernment, my life too is played through mystery's hand. This, than, is grace - knowing my part is always complete by simply being, that I am no less in accepting things, nor for my wish to fight. It all belongs. Indeed, what is, is - and there's nothing more to say.
~
Peace,
Eric
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