Life startles

The moon this morning, drowsily calling, asking teasingly that I forget the sky and ground a bit, shifting my adoration to swim in its golden hollows. Midnight exactly. An hour quite accustomed to serendipity. Standing now, on a precipice to reality, but not sure which is which while the wind calls blindingly forth. How did you grope your way through 27 years to find yourself in the place you are now? How do any of us do these things? So surprisingly we find ourselves so very different from the self we bellowed to be. Always and continually thrown, and throwing - an unknown and unsubtle retaliation? - throwing both ourselves and others, throwing the land too, and plants and warm dark dirt and molecules of air. Terrified of seeing, yet so gently pushing, slowly, carefully, quietly that way. Will I be able to bow my head in unassuming grace, humble, when the moment of vision (not belonging, though, to the eyes) arrives - called forth and calling forth like the moon? For even every preparation is an expectation of how the world will treat its others, and so a paltry arrogance of sorts. Maybe this is when perception and interpretation give way to all those pressing realities. I am always surprised. That means something, doesn't it? Surprise is akin to wonder, but reveals behind it the human need.