From destruction… creation

The wise say that you chose your circumstances.

You chose your parents,

you chose to be born in your body,

you chose your life.

I don’t know how it works.

Maybe it’s karma.

Maybe my past choices did the choosing,

did the causing,

which are now affecting.

I look at the last text I received from my father.

Why’d I choose him? I wonder, pitifully.

But then I look at my hand, holding the phone,

and I see him in it.

And my mother,

and the river of ancestors

pooling in me,

who sculpted my hand

like the ridges of a canyon.

And I feel love for this hand,

for my ancestors,

for my father.

The wise say that time is a circle.

An infinite flux of yuga cycles,

ages of creation and destruction.

I look at the last text from my father.

Would I choose him again?

My hand trembles a bit.

I would, I would.