Those rare unexpected moments when events spiraling in time synchronize with one another and branch into an undiscovered country are a blessing encountered all too infrequently for my taste, much like the sublime joys of true romance unfettered by pretense and its cause, insecurity.
It is one such moment that brings me back to this page and these inevitable words, drifting in a sea of industrial sound and science. Like the consciousness that generated them, the words are both finite by nature and infinite in effect. My words shape me and I them, a dance in which there are no partners, only one integrated reality that affects all that exists on this plane. In effect, I and these words are indestructible insofar as their impact, while perhaps not particularly noticeable to those who do not see the myriad connections between all things ontological, subtly alters the exponential number of persons they progressively come into contact with, gradually approaching (but never quite reaching) a null value.
My words of late have been rhymes driven by the mythology of personal endings, partially in an effort to dispel the contagious notion that death is a loss to the person for whom it occurs, a stripping of what is important from them. I wish to contend that happy endings are not of null value, and in fact are of ultimate value. A life begun in wealth and ease, ended in depression and bitterness, is a tragedy. A life begun in pain and poverty, ended in joy and family, is a triumph. We define our lives by how they end, and how terribly appropriate.