
You may resist hearing it, but nothing here was designed to serve your preferences. Existence doesn’t negotiate with your plans. The ocean doesn’t adjust its tides because you’re having a hard day. Mountains don’t bow to your ambitions. Storms don’t hold back for your convenience.
There is a strange freedom in recognizing that you are not the axis of this world. Your fears, longings, and beliefs are weather patterns blowing through a vast sky. Even your discomfort with this fact is not a problem to be solved—it is part of the very order you imagine resisting.
Ask yourself: When did this story become about you? When did the measure of truth narrow to fit your tastes? The self who wants life to behave is so small it forgets it is born of the very forces it wants to command. You and I are not exceptions to the flow. We are the flow.
Even the frustration that arises when someone says “everything happens as it should” is folded within the shape of things. It isn’t an error. It’s another ripple on the water, another branch growing from the same root.
There is no special exemption that spares you from the dance of impermanence. Life moves through every form—including your insistence that it ought to be different. Even that protest is part of the design.
So let go of the idea that it’s about you, or about me. Something far more mysterious is moving all of this, and we are its fleeting expressions—here for a moment, dissolving back into the whole.
Morgan O. Smith
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