When I was young, my mother and I attended the wake of my adoptive grandpa, Bill. Bill was married to Pete (Henrietta), and the couple was a loving addition to our lives – my mother's father having died when she was about 4, and my mother's mother having died when I was about 4. 

The Hubers and their biological, adopted, and fostered children (and their children) reverberated in our lives. That love appeared in appreciation of beautiful brown skin~, the rubbing of weary eyes,
percolator coffee chocolate candies hide-and-seek behind yews and
arguments over religion, Our Daily Bread+, and a faithful Sunday dinner where all of it made sense and made each of us part of the family.

And then he was gone.

My mom and I stood in line for the viewing behind a column of sniffles, weeping, and hopeful reassurances of a better world, where Pete ministered to all of the mourners first. We were admiring the flowers sent by friends when a large petal – of what I think may have been a cala lily – detached from its source and either glided or drifted to the ground. My mother’s tears became stronger and I felt her movement. 

That was Bill, she said.

I don’t want to say any version of What if she was right?, or, What do you think?, but, 

What if I allowed for the “superposition of chances”, needing neither to decide nor resist decision, and instead sitting with coincidence? What if I proceeded into life and simply accepted what is as being and what isn’t as not being, and moved from there to do what is good in between heretofore and henceforth? How about accepting and holding it in my heart for forty years with no need to “do” anything to it?

Or, what if it was the parable of the Chinese farmer continued from all of the way back then to all of the way up to now?> What if maybe-maybenot branched so unendingly a trillion to the trillionth power times that it was better to dwell between twelves and let it be like Paul, with or without a thorn?

Or, what if it was a drive where every traffic light I encounter is green – or red – because I dawdled for several seconds in the driveway, waiting for a deer to move, and the deer was off schedule because it had to wait for a car to cross the intersection because the driver was distracted and they didn’t see the light change for 16 seconds.
Or 15,
or 8,
or 7,
or 6,
or 1.

Isn’t that life?

Everything happens for a reason might mean that there is some kind of arranging* happening (somewhere). Behind the scenes, within the fabric of reality, or beaming in from outer space.** I’ve heard devout religious people use this expression, almost seeming to pretend to not (know); so, too, have I heard devout areligious people, from whom this seems like it ought to be a joke. All wearing a small patch – only a piece of that modern chain of spiritual silks tucked into hospitals, couches, posts, and perspectives. Whatever our philosophy or worldview, we'd rather not blow into the holey.

What, then?

Coincidence means that things “fall together”, but not like the face of a crumbling cliffside. Instead, it’s as though the happenings of life were (things) falling through the tunnel of days, like an unnoticeable torrent – a supersaturating drizzle that is so much like swimming that you almost don’t realize it’s raining. But every so often, two or more orbs collide onto your skin at the same time and it makes you wonder how that was possible. And do they have anything to do with each other?

I don’t feel like that landed.

Coincidence is something like speaking and hearing your voice come back to you. Maybe as an echo, but more like as a response. When the world moves and then we do, in that order, that seems to be stimulus and response. But when we move and then the world does, in that order, well,,,

Don't you feel sometimes like the world just rhymed with your thoughts?

You call or reach out with your heart (– no! your mind. Actually, how different is
that? I cannot think of how the literal heart moves outward without it being a
figure of speech, but neither can I feel how the mind does this. I may speak, but there is always so much undisclosed, unhearable Me and, besides, even in my most honest moments, I cannot possibly speak my entire mind. Nor could any one of us endure someone's complete sharing of their mind. Heck, aren't our own too much to bear all of at once?) So,

you call or reach out with your heart and your mind
and the world returns to you perfectly-timed.
You notice and feel something rather sublime***
when your Self and the World 'round you rhyme.

I am trying to spell an experience that I could see so clearly a few moments ago. I am looking into a beautifully dark sky with the light of 16,158,761 stars gliding or drifting down, supersaturating Us. I see a bright glitter and move my eyes to catch it and it disappears. I catch a glimpse of it before I can observe it; I can only observe it when I no longer only notice it.

I don't feel like that captured it.

I’ll come abc to this when the time is right…

*’ment’ not meant
**From where would direction come? Would it flow or would it emerge? Would it be sent from some direction or would it ooze from where IS is?
***I really wish that this word didn't seem used up