From moment to moment the state of being alive is a miracle and a massacre. How could it not be? In the spirit of mindfulness I sometimes ask myself a useful question. I say,

My answer depends on a whole slew of factors. Major influences include how recently I ate, how much sleep I've had, and the scattered mess factor of my room as it relates to the scattered mess factor of my mind. My answer falls somewhere between grandiosity and a blank page.

But then it occurs to me: I'm working with the wrong question. The right question is not what I'm going to do with my life. That question assumes that I will have a full life to live, that I might not die at any moment, that living is simply a matter of sensations and changes over time. The right question is simple, assumes little, yet always remains breathtaking in it's implications. The right question is:

*Sometimes its the magic you once made it.