There’s a reason for things to happen, or so I tell myself.

There’s a reason so the reason won’t escape its cycle leading back to meaning. Reasons like to find more reasons to hide or pretend to be what they are not. Reasons like to blend in with trends, file suit then fall out of fashion. Reason pretends to hide in plain sight although I see it everyday. I hear it. I smell it, and then I let it go.

I don’t intend to play its game because I’ve figured it out; empty spaces are filled with reason, crowded camps are numb and hollow. Reason only is where there’s none.

When I heard a bird stop by and sing about the kind of luck I never dreamed of having, it came to me: the luck I never dreamed of having was mine all along, I never had to dream about it in order to obtain it.

Reason is what you grasp without twitching your forehead. Reason is the know in the knowledge of being and reasoning is all we leave out of living.

We’ve been doing it all wrong, not I. Not I, believe me.