I move ever so close. Each day feels magnetic as though drawn to the center; of what, I am not always certain. Still, I allow myself to go. It is the way of the journey. It is the truth of life. When we open ourselves, we create room for magic, for life’s magic. It isn’t always easy; it also isn’t always hard. There is balance in life when we release the hold for the freedom of uncertainty. We cannot plan all things. We cannot outline a map where we avoid rugged terrain for the smoothness of paths paved with prediction. Routine loses the familiar in the very moment that the train arrives late, or the alarm fails to sound. We improvise. That is what the moment calls for us to do. It is what happens when the rug is pulled from under our feet. Just before our backs hit the ground, we see the vastness that is skyward. In a split second we are free. It comes when we are shaken apart, when the seams tear, and what has been long worn to comfort reveals holes. We patch ourselves with courage and stand taller than ever before. It happens when we have risen from the ashes and feel for the first time the fullness of our wingspan heavy with strength, and light with grace. Tragedy humbles us, and we heal through the ups and downs piecemealing to wholeness. We are but puzzles whose pieces have been strewn hither and yon, though never outside of reach. We collect them in order to reconnect them from the inside out. This is the path leading us there to the center. It is answerless. It is pathless. It is only the way of the clever listener listening to the breeze of Life.