Sometimes Worry Arises.

There was some idea of wondering how the story would turn out this morning. Some memory of a news story last night, with scientists speculating about mirrors in space to deflect the sun's rays and reverse global warming; another memory of a friend opining recently that he feels the world's in for a fresh start, and that he wants nothing to do with the world's systems as they are, ostensibly run by greed and rampant individualism; the world, seem to say so many people, is going down the toilet. Is it now. There is often a perceived imbalance before balance is restored, but balance is the case always, no matter how difficult it is to see. Global warming, rampant consumerism, detached capitalism, and a seeming lack of compassion (which is an excess of fear) exists in a story of energy that has no real mass; we are not really invested in the story, the seeming investment is part of the story itself. The story is us, we are one, we are each other, the cosmos, and even the flies buzzing around the pile of dog poo, despite any appearances to the contrary. Stories have many types of endings. Sometimes the most profound are those that are open, where "what happens next" is left to the imagination; Gone With The Wind is a prime example. But many apparent individuals crave narrative closure. Vast industries have been fed by the need for a happy ending. It is fun and fascinating, or worrying and alarming, to see the story unfold. But it doesn't matter how it seems to end; it doesn't end. It has never begun. There is no story, for there must be time for a story to unfold in, and there is no time. There must be people for the story to happen to, and there is no one. There is nothing happening, no journey, no travelers. This is what is. It is indescribably whole and rich and glorious. And it is all there is, much more than any story, no matter how sweeping or full of suffering the story is.