dec 8 entry:
If the smallest thing were to change in the course of this mutual history, in another life (or another dimension/universe or whatever you want to call it) this moment would not even be taking place. And that alone makes this moment beautiful. And there are infinite possibilities in each moment, but it is this particular one that is unfolding right now...continually unfolding like the blossoming of a rose, or the exhalation of a breath. This moment could have so easily been eclipsed by the mountain of what-could-have-been or what-is-not. And that too makes this moment all the more beautiful...in a way that is both fragile and frail, even in the face of the harshest illusions and realities.
Even [the] death [of moments], with its inevitability, and its embodiment of the utter lack of control, adds to the beauty of this moment. Whoever equated control and the lack of it to right and wrong? And why did I believe that-even for a moment?
Death is like the yin of each moment's yang. Death is nothing less than life's Lover...it is that unparalleled artist that makes the most vivid canvas out of even the dullest colors of each unrepeatable moment.