If you saw it coming, then why did you do it? Why did you wait? The four boxes of pizza fell from heaven, slipped right through your fingers while you pecked on your phone, it, too, tumbling to the ground along with your slice half-eaten, the grease making a profile against the brown bag crumpled at the top from your clutching. The whole thing just rolled into a corner and it was the first thing you reached for as the phone and the boxes flew in different directions. Things slid in their place, except for one slice that fell unprotected out of the box and onto the dirty, cracked pavement by the bus stop where everyone walks and no one notices. You looked around and quickly tucked the piece back into its place before the fall broke its perfection.
“I knew that would happen!” you said when you noticed I rushed to help you up. We had five-seconds to pick up the pieces. I didn’t want anyone to see your shame and the confusion of how things so quickly just fall apart.
It’s this contact state of balancing moment for moment, atoms crashing into each other, colliding, colluding, bouncing and returning to freer states. Perhaps they are the molecular angels of grace and gentle encouragement that things cannot perfect. They can just be as they are, in their true and present state.