Writings, I do believe, emerge from the spirit. They seem like random movements, fleeting moments of thought. In this world of thought, we dream our lives into reality. Control we have not, the reality builds itself and is perhaps too complex to comprehend.
Yey, we can steer the wheel into changing directions. Imagine we are living cars, and we as we drive the road builds itself. And there we see building to visit, or not. We are choosing, we are wanting, we are needing and we live a life that is constructed like waves.
It is the quality of our choices that make 'random' evolve to 'blissful'.
J
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