And seemingly as winter has become spring, confusion has become insight.

I've found that falling doesn't always leave you fallen for.

And seemingly as winter has become spring, confusion has become insight.

You don't have to push or pull or fight or win, the struggle is illusory. Sometimes or rather, all times, you just have to be.

I am lucky. I did not choose this life. It chose me. It's strange like that; not picking my path, but rather easing into the water and letting it carry me where it will. Yes, there will be nights where I feel like my destiny is at my fingertips and there will be nights I wish the lights were off and I could just make these sounds in the dark. Still, I will always be there, wherever there might be, staring into blackness hoping the blackness stares back at me.

You're gonna get thrown curve balls left and right, and that's just the way it goes.

Suddenly it makes sense again. In no haze of mindfulness, staring down at this snow-covered quilt of America, I am the stars exploding. Voice shot down to hell, half sick, half recovered, alive and well and ready. The unknown for now will remain as such and in this moment that feeling is not one of suspension. It is the hopeful unknown. Reaching into the future could only be good now as the past is wrapping itself in ribbons and pleasant packing paper, rarely to be revisited.