Karma

There had been a rising -- billions of years ago and again today. I think about this as I scramble up crags to 3500 feet. Man and the USG have marked the summit with a bit of bronze. I can't help but run my hand over the metal staple, musing about its history and the hands which have touched it before me. The man next to me tells me quietly that THIS is where storms are born. He's right. Up above, I observe clouds which hold water molecules that have known millions of expressions. They endlessly play their parts in a great karmic wheel. Evaporation. Condensation. Precipitation.  Repeat. The geography always changes, but they never leave Earth. Poor doomed little molecules!

I glance again behind me - at this man who shields himself from a hurricane's leftovers. Is this not also a possible re-do? We're straddling the ridge line, living in two realities at once. Infinite futures and parallel universes stretch across my plane, all possible depending on where I direct my consciousness.  

Out in the valley, shadows wheel their way towards us, shape shifting like entities out of the Tibetan Book of the Dead. We speculate when and where they will strike.  Here? There? How soon? Will we scream out of fear or ecstasy? I close my eyes and want to grab a nearby hand, wondering if the scythe will mark us now or brush past us as a reminder that days are limited and the wheel stills spins.

I write

I've committed to write a short story by 2 October. It's for a potluck dinner--Polidori style--at a friend's home.  I'm kicking around some contenders -- the characters in each have a different story to tell. Some of are more compelling than others. 

I debate. Which one?

I fear. Will it be good enough?

I take a deep breath.

Here goes!