Tuesday, November 22, 2005


You read about it all the time, a gifted man is killed self-willed or otherwise, in his prime before his life has run its course. Dead at thirty-five, so much promise denied, a future of hopes and dreams unfulfilled. When one so young, so wise dies they leave behind a trail of tears and empty, unused years.

People who lead an ordinary, unvaried existence seem to have a built-in resistance to maladies and dread disease. No matter what they eat or drink, whether they are fat or thin, whatever shape they're in, they exceed life's expectancy. Which leads me to the question people ask when things go right or things go wrong: Why?

Why can't life proceed at even keel, why must disaster steal the treasured pleasured moments we anticipate and treat so casually? Why must lives make sudden turns instantly or pain drain the body and the brain so casually?

In one fleeting moment life is through or hope begins anew. Who decides when or why? Not you or I. Is there such a thing as fate, a mapped-out route we all must travel, preordained and unexplained?

If fate there be, it makes no sense to me. It's strange how change can rearrange pre-planned expectations. How vacations can be cut short by tragedy. How a casual meeting, a fleeting encounter can counter plans once set in stone. But a voice inside tries to help you decide: "Don't play with fate. Let life alone."

But wait! Isn't every change you make, every step you take, every morning you awake dictated by fate? If you believe this is true, don't stew when faced with something new, don't ask yourself, "What should I do?" Fate will decide so why should you?


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