Taking Turns, and Lost Trains

It is a mystery, this whole idea about fate, perfect timing and opportunity. In the way men interact and communicate, how is it that we are so finite in our sensibilities that limited by space and defined by memory, we are prone to missed opportunities, misfortune and misunderstanding? What exactly is an "accident" in the scheme of our conscious universe. In what way do we relate and speak of one thing and another; precisely, what is one to another. For it seems that in the synaptic maze of our minds, we are constantly streaming ideas as patterns which over lay one another just so that ultimately, we imagine, it all makes sense. Perhaps, language is an "accident" of human consciousness, the result of a long experiment with patterns over patterns in the way our brains connect, and after myriad mutation, the semantics that create common sense emerges. All the wrong and right turns we make at our crossroads, exactly what is the sum consequence. We do what we believe is right, and ultimately, what our sense of belief in the scheme of things and what we hold dear indicates is an action which will culminate in greater value. Turn, after turn - alea lacta est - let the die be cast, as Caesar was imagined to have said: what is consequence, what really is the result of our meadering and meddling with others, with things. What is the result of my getting up, going to work, surprising a few people with a smile or greeting, annoying another as we nudge into the crowded train or get off the bus, or hassle a colleague for a deadline, press a client for commitment or saunter along a lone street past a stranger whose head is hung too low to notice my coming and going... what is the nett lost or gain or my existence in this world, in relation to all others. No Blair or Bush, whose words sends hundreds armed to teeth to war, nor a Hezbollah that hides in a faceless war behind friendly borders to tempt internecine strife... what does a solitary person in this vast littleness we speak of as "Life" have to do with the whole opportunity that others say is what makes one happy and another sad? We take turns. Where, and what sort of turns, to gain what, to let lose what, to have what? I just see the roads get to some point of infinity on the horizon that the destination matters less than the whole business of being aware of what my surroundings are, and what here needs my attention. And I hear those trains of cars, and buses, and truckloads of faddish folks whizz by, whistling a mantra that whispers to me, carried off by the wallowing wind: "You have no idea! You have no idea! Just go with the flow; you never know..." Those mad, noisy trains of thought that thunder by, break hard against the fragmented silence within. And when I hold still for a moment, and feel the pulse of my own heart, I hear with the ear of my own soul, here, within - the lyrical truth that emanates a shrill and siren song - which strengthens all limbs, and limbers all faculties, sending sweet sensation of warmth through my whole being - even as I stand still, by the side - the endless traffic thundering by, and I know, that I am loved well. It is all that matters, this iota of realisation, and from which, I am aware of how I relate to the rest of this surreal, temporal world of tangibles. The lost train of thought which I sometimes gather back all in, and never regret missing a turn, just so that I can pause by the shoulders of life's highway and observe the infinity that rushes by, disquiet and never satisfied. I am.