It happened again today, that rushing outward and inward and forward and upward into the disquieting, jarring knowledge that everything is exactly, immutably where and what and who and why it is supposed to be. Perfection all around me in everything I see and don't see, everything I know and don't know, with not so much as a quark able to stray from the perfection that is, and this knowledge of perfection reverberating in my brain and streaming in my veins and falling in teardrops down my face. It takes me over, this beauty, this mad power, this total disruption of the ordered world in which I think I live, and I sit quietly until the knowledge subsides like the flames of a dying fire and I am once again able to breathe the air of what we have chosen to call reality.
These moments - I don't know where they are taking me. This is a transition, surely, but to what? I wonder sometimes, but I don't worry. What can truly be worrisome when everything is just what it is supposed to be? I'm losing my ability to doubt the outcome, even when I don't know what it is.