sideofstars

dice

This life is pure chance and I have the worst luck of all.

I was born with dice in my left pocket and a foldable hand, and yet I try.

I scratch lotto tickets on a plane for better luck because up there I’m closer to god, though I still have never won.

It’s a cruel fate that has been decided for me, not by me.

I sometimes think back to when it started, though I feel more and more inclined each day towards the idea that being born into this fleshly body was my first ever bad draw.

I look to the trees and their permanence, their fluidity, their constant dance of the wind.

How I would have loved to be a tree.

I look to the ocean and its power, its gentleness, its vastness of cool blue.

How I would have loved to be a droplet.

I look to the stars and their blinding fire, their magnitude, their endless warmth.

How I would have loved to be a star.

But then I consider them looking back at me,

And seeing my capacity of love, my ability to hurt, my life I daily live.

And I can’t help but feel that they would long to be human.

I can’t help but hear them say, “Oh, what a marvelous life.”

So maybe we are all unlucky lots that are drawn from a pool of radical despair.

Or maybe, our only curse is looking to what we don’t have and allowing that to illuminate faults within what we do.

Maybe we just need to stop looking.

Maybe, we just need to live.

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