Destiny

Destiny. A word that has so much romantic connotation. A word that has a sense of our being out of control. A word that hints that we are merely pawns in the grand plan of the universe. A word that suggests so much, and yet so little, possibility.

What is our destiny? What is my destiny? To answer that question I draw on a moment of reflection, a moment when my mind was still and clear, where thoughts fade into a pure moment, where nothing exists but the sound of morning birds and buzzing traffic. A moment when the voice inside stills and gives way to the gentle, rhythmic patterns of my breath, to the sound of the tingle in my fingers. This moment was all there was - nothing more than just this.

Then the voice returned and the mind began labeling the sounds as traffic and birds and the purity left. Left but not forgotten. Replaced with a soft, gentle realisation that nothing comes about except through conversation. Through conversations had with friends and neighbours, with lovers and colleagues, and between our internal selves. It is these conversations that turn into the stories we make about our life and our history; our existence and our being.

How true they are is just another conversation. Just another story. Whether or not the story is real is entirely mine to chose. My response to these stories and circumstances create my destiny for tomorrow. It's mine to choose.