A realisation hit me two nights ago and I can’t tell you what it is. I was walking next to the park, along the road where the puddles sparkle in the lamplight.
I had to stop. It was as though all the planets were lining up, and the clockwork universe was forming a pattern: a distinct, rhythmical pattern that suddenly clicked into place. I had realised a truth.
In years to come, I’ll read this back and wonder what it was. I wish I could say, though it’s not profound enough to affect anyone but me, really. It’s one of those sad, true, liberating things that I hadn’t quite seen before. And it made me feel upset for a moment.
No, it’s not that; I still believe in God. Nice try, atheists. No it’s something else, something unique to me, I think.
It was clear. The stars were out: Draco and the Great Question Mark, the Little Bear and Orion the Hunter, lying on his side. His vertical belt of three stars was twinkling above the trees. Betelgeuse was barely visible. My silent friends were burning with delight, long ago and far away.
I started walking again. How many steps have these shoes seen? Thousands? Tens of thousands? No matter. You can’t change what has been, perhaps not even what is; only what will be. And that stretches out ahead like the road of puddles.
What do you do then, with realisations? Do you just incorporate them into things that you know? I think I’m working through mine, looking to see whether the planets continue aligning, just the way they did two nights ago, whether the universe sings its refrain and the world turns on its axis past those great stars of old.
I have a feeling it will.
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