I sometimes feel as though I'm a hair's breadth close to seeing some kind of full picture.  Of all of this.  I sometimes go to inhale and then catch myself because I'm afraid that if I continue it'll shatter the nearly perfect image I have of a moment.  An image that has me as outside of it, looking in.  The proverbial objective perspective.

I sometimes feel as though I'm so close, if only I could shed my skin to make it real, that's all it would take in those moments.

But it's always like those slow motion car crashes on TV that mix fast and slow motion, the hanging in the air before the crash to the ground.

Something always brings me back; it has to.  It's the nature of things.  As close as we might think we get to objectivity, we are literally in the moving picture itself.  We are of the fabric.

And my god, what beautiful fabric it's capable of being.  What beautiful fabric we're capable of being.

It's something I need to strive for, given the predicament of being of the fabric instead of the spinner of the fabric, is to strive to be as much of the beautiful stuff as possible.

My son says things while falling asleep at night at bedtime.  His curious mind going over the day and all the thoughts he wants to share before closing the book on today's story.  The other night he said "Papa, the world is great."

It's not profound on the surface, really.  But that he can say that at 3, tells me that so far we're doing what we can to show him the beautiful fabric that exists, of which we're all a part.

The world is great, and we can be too.