Three Six Nine. Everything is going to be fine.

You are a soul. It transcends personhood.

There’s a crack in the cosmos in space and it echoes as an undefinable hum across time. It is everything and nothing. The birds sing it. It’s an apple falling after being hit on accident by a rogue stick that was thrown. It’s a sip of water. It is waking up in the morning feeling like you didn’t sleep too much or too little. You slept the right amount of time.

You are born in a body.

You disapprove.

You don’t belong in a body.

The body is painful. It deteriorates. It dies. It’s entropy. You defy entropy. It kills you to be inside this body. You’re unable to understand it. It’s too imperfect. Your body is too small. It is too frail. It is too limiting. You're too big to be contained in one. It narrows your vision. You cannot see. You cannot move. It is your tragedy.

It is the hand brushing of hair on an intimate quiet night where it is cold and raining outside but it’s warm inside. It is when you stumble and trip and you’re embarrassed and your friends laugh that you did. It isn’t good or bad. It is the excitement of winning through the stacked odds. It is the heartbreak of getting it ripped from your hands. It is returning a shopping cart to its designated spot. It is saying the wrong thing and making someone frown. It is buying a gift for a friend. It is losing a friend. It is playing in the puddles in the middle of a rainstorm. It is having a snowball fight in the middle of a blizzard.

You disapprove.

The body gives entropy access to the soul.

And it takes and it takes and it takes and it takes and it takes and it takes.

And you defy and defy and defy and defy and defy and defy.

You become engulfed in a war of attrition.

It is not being understood. It is being alone. It is losing hope. It is being pushed around for who you are. It is the perception that it isn’t that hurts the most. It is not being allowed to speak. It is resentment for all that the body lacks. It is hatred that you are in this body. You abhor that you are.

You disapprove.

You have suffered.

But you defy entropy.

The echoes of the undefined is a song eternal. It calms chaos. It writes at all times and in all space. It is the moon having a dance with the earth. It is an exploded star traveling billions of years through the cosmos. It is a silent hum gone unnoticed. A hymn that cannot be measured.

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Do you approve?

“It’s too late.”

You are forgiven.

“I’m sorry.”

Your defiance makes you.

This world, much like the body, is imperfect. It’s relentless, uncaring, chaotic…miserable. It’s only natural to think it is from misunderstanding. Taking anything will do if it means relief from it. It will die from it. Many know this and seek through Gods and faith, or through the absence and morals for change. Many more do not. All are misguided.

So forgive yourself a little bit more every day. You above all defy the theft of the heart. Be kind and gentle. Listen to those who need help. Be good and do good. Make people happy. It’s worth it.

“What is?”

Everything. You, your friends, your parents. This world. It’s worth saving.

“I’m cursed–”

Do you not see? Many have come here. They do not come here naturally. You didn’t either. No one is supposed to, yet they do. Look behind you. What do you see? Look in front of you. What do you see? All forget. All must. It does not exist. It cannot exist. Yet, you are here, so what do you see? Do you see?

“...Yes. I see now.”

In this darkness there is everything. No space. No time. It’s just a singular point. It is–

“Through the physical body am I able to share what it cannot contain. It is through understanding it that I’ll be able to. I am not cursed. It is the burden, not a burden, but a gift that I carry.”

You approve.

I approve.

You hold the divine. It is your choice to share. It is your choice to defy. It is your choice to go dormant again. It is you.

“Why me?”

There’s a slight breeze but the air is warm. It’s the beginning of spring. An old man is sitting alone on a bench at a park. He’s lived a painful life of regrets. His wife divorced him decades ago. His kids hate him. His grandchildren don’t know who he is. All his friends are already dead. All he’s left is with the truth of who he is. This man is dying and he knows that. These are his last moments and only now can he see the beauty that surrounded him. He believes it’s deserved he passes alone here. You sit with him. You learn his name. You hear his story. He wants to tell you he’s dying. He doesn’t want you to witness it. You make him smile. You make him laugh. You hold his hand. He thanks you. The old man dies peacefully in your hands.

A child breaks away from their parents and loses them. The world is still too big and unfamiliar and it is scary. The child doesn’t know what to do, so he does nothing but cry. It makes a scene and raises questions but it is ignored. It is not their problem. It is not yours. Regardless, you take the child’s hand and help find who he lost. You find the parents, panicked and frantic. When they see you’re with their child they thank you. Hope is restored.

It can also be as simple as saying good morning.

It’s you.

Stop being afraid.

Sing. Dance. Play. Sleep. Eat. Bathe. Hug. Kiss. Have sex. Run. Hide. Rest. Talk. Laugh. Make friends. Cry. Regret. Burden the pain. Learn. Discover. Do your best. It’s going to be okay.

Your existence is beautiful.

You are beautiful.

The world is waiting for you.

Through despair, anguish, suffering, and loneliness, you are divine Grace.