No One Knows

The route out from the Mizingani cannons - random encounter with Kurt, wandering past the Puzzle (you are the piece) only to notice a potential cancellation, realize the 00:20 essentially leaves Saturday night not Sunday, and so put together a joint flight out of Zanzibar Airport and a weekend of travels home our separate ways, for now.  The longest and most taxing legs complete, now just back at Pearson awaiting the final leg of this impossible journey.  KLM does regular checks of the toilets, in search of irregularities.  What a world.  The random strangers whose paths you crossed in the past 24 hours, can only marvel at the variety.  How all have such insignificant parts to play as compared to the lover.

Mom still a bit flabbergasted, need to come up with convincing lines for the story, but such is the way in trying to explain the irrational.  The whole point is that intuition defies attempts at explanation, and the mad certainty required to proceed requires faith beyond that which can be truly conveyed to another.  It sits wholly inside singular experience accumulated over a lifetime of consequential and trivial moments.  Each little glance, decision, lucky choice to head here rather than there, up rather than down.  All in the randomness of the timing.  How you know when a team works.  Time is not the factor.  Is it trust?  Or just that odd "knowing", for lack of a better word.  Like putting together a playlist.  A place and a time, then trying to guess at whether it might last for all places and all times. 

I am well ready for the relaxation promised by the quarantine ahead.  Then back to the routine of walks and meditation, boating and Moncton cooking, all with a mind toward a Zambian ceremonial wedding in November, followed by a momentous Paris in 2021.

Pourquoi pas?  Heh.