Random Patterns of Life

I think about lots. One of the things that crosses my mind every now and then is how my life has been like a quilt under construction. It is a quilt that consists of random patterns of squares, sewn together into one complete quilt by the end of my life. The quilt has now so presented itself that the randomness develops into its own uniqueness, each square dependent and yet independent from the others.

Each segment is lived within its own parameters, and yet each segment segues into the other like the scenes from a movie, dependent upon the scene before it. The breaks are neither clean, nor painless.

The players of the next act are unusually independent from the scene before it yet the main character cannot move forward until the current scene runs its course. Then, in a shadow on the back wall, resides the past, moving right along from scene to scene.

Of course, all of our lives play like this, I am no exception to the general rule. Sometimes the characters from scenes before filter through. In some ways vanishing memories carry their own rewards, but even those memories are weaved throughout the quilt, such are the stitchings that tie the quilt together.

Random patterns.

The term strikes me as an oxymoron, of course sometimes so do the words 'life' and 'death'.