Human life or any organism’s life for that matter is characterized by an incessant flurry of events. Always moving, always breaking, always healing, always moving. It takes you to extremes but maintains just enough distance for you to not cross the realm of sanity by an overdose of ecstasy or despair. It always moves, it always leaves, in distances worth keeping.
And it has this almost apocryphal attribute of throwing a curveball. You’d be leaning to the melancholic side of the sea saw when out of nowhere, it’d swing you to the other side by a deluge of happenstances.
What makes it beautiful is that the timing of it, just, works. Everything moves, like clockwork, in a metaphysical circadian rhythm, the jigsaws fitting their puzzle spots, effortless and constant, and moving towards something sweet, something that fills you with wonder.
Like the time when you are looking out your window and the turquoise-blue stretch of the afternoon sky has been hijacked by the gloomy grey procession of Nephele (god of clouds). There is a hint of mystery in the landscape but for the most part, it is drab. Suddenly, a group of birds decide to join the parade. They run in circles, and follow abstract paths — nothing really makes sense in this chaotic landscape but then they align, and oh how they do.
Perfect asymmetry followed by symmetry followed by asymmetry representing this metaphorical breaking and healing and moving of the lives of us mortals.