For the awake, two patterns matter – what you notice and what you paste onto what you notice.
And the pasting on is often how you return to sleep.
Patterns of weather, sight, color, communications, traffic, health and all the rest – the cacophony begging for your attention.
Every day. And they call it life. But it can perform like death.
The begging then you paste on divination or something even less, like preference.
“The bee will sting me!”
The bee says just be.
My lucky stars on a license plate.
My lucky charms from a distant phone call.
Orange as trust.
Orange as a wall of construction workers preventing your progress.
The weather vexing the mind searching for paradise.
The weather blowing the boat to where it needs to go.
Attachment to the pasting makes you the silly human you are.
It’s like a child’s game, a crossword puzzle and a death march all in one.
The noise begging and you obediently playing along.
And to think the pattern is all you.