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Grateful Dead


Three things happened all at once.  

One, a writer lost his battle with the bottle.  It was not one of ink.  

Two, a woman lost her job.  Not one she particularly loved, but one she wouldn’t have left for the sake of comfort and stability.  

Now, at this point, I know you understand that many things, in many faraway, or even nearby places can happen in the very same minute.  I know you must wonder, how could you know that only three things of significance happened in this very instant everywhere? How is this possible, only three? 

You see, you understand already.  You even said so yourself, in this very instant.  A moment, no, no.  More than three things must occur every minute.  The world would be too still otherwise.  Three minutes without breath can be a kiss of death.  But, in an instant, from where I can see, at the most miniscule level of what it is you understand as time, those three things did occur.  Nothing more, nothing less.


Yes, three.

But you only said two.

I know.

What is the third?

It is in there, too.  I did tell you.  Sort of.  The challenge of this one is seeing the significance.  Only three things of significance happened.  I don’t know whether other things may have occurred.  I wasn’t paying attention to them.  

Not paying attention to them, you say.  

But, at this point I’ve assumed you’re God.  If you’re not paying attention to them, aren’t their prayers going unanswered, you ask?

Aren’t the things of significance to them being thrown to the wayside, you worry. 

Are they less important than the three people you happened to pay attention to, you fear being the outlier.  

I’ve given you all the answers you need, just not the ones you want.


Yes, yes…or in the way you want.


It’s not intrusive.  I created it.  


No, I’m not your Father.  But I kind of am.


Yes, right, the three things.


One, a man loses his way, he loses it all, maybe even his life, as he knows it.  

Two, a woman loses her life as she knows it, maybe she begins to lose it all.  

Three, things happen, but more so, when they cease to happen, life cannot seem to any longer exist.  Not life as we know it.  


What is it, you say?


It is very simple.  It is the key to life.  It is what can always be returned to in any instant.  It is happening, then ceasing, happening, then ceasing, all at once, everywhere, all the time.  It is like the moon, steadily waxing and waning.  It is equitably giving and receiving.  It should be tame, but is not always.


You’re still not getting it, dear.

It is breath.  Breath, the cessation, is what grounds us in life.  It happens each instant.  In that moment, in any moment, there is always significance of breath.  The universal life force.  The rei.  Nothing else has to happen for the significance of coming back to your breath, your center, and a great equalizer amongst all species.

But I see you are not satisfied with the third answer.  There are many more questions you posed left unanswered.  You feel like an outsider, one not given the answered moments prayer.  

Ah, but didn’t you? Didn’t I? 

Just not in the way you’d like it to.  

Although in an instant where a prayer feels like the only hold on hope to call, you may fear the moment of unansweredness.  I have given you the knowledge that it is always recognized.  Always significant, as you come back to your breath.  It is noticed.  It is answered, in the timing of my own, just not always written courier’s favorite font.

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