Happy Birthday

Adis

It wasn’t what the reality was necessarily that mattered, but how it was I perceived it. I came across this name all the time written on the walls and through the halls of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Or was it mostly in this Bosna I knew.

There are simple reasons that the multiverse has for doing this all. Is it so absurd to find us the only intelligence in this entire universe? Perhaps sad, but certainly not impossible. It could be a low percentage chance and yet necessarily required to happen if it was to all happen and our improbable happiness real.

It takes a lot of time it is true. Many rules made to be only agreed upon and relative only in this our context. I remember walking the streets of Sarajevo alone and cold. I saw this name one million times and my reality I somehow chose to believe. There was this need to do.

Words string together and one word repeats itself all over Bosnia. Moving all the time I found it in static places. Realities I would never understand beyond the connection to that other wall written upon. Perhaps I was the only connection or there were others. The point is that they connected me to a place and time New Sarajevo a quality from quantity.

Alternative perspectives are difficult to release because they are rare. There are many words written on wall and through to them all are only relative those who perceive them. What do you see? What you see. That is no great mystery. What I see is the only question I have. It never seems I have enough time here.

Happiness is real just a low percentage occurrence when looked for in geological time scales. In this our time it isn’t as fleeting. Anything missing would leave this life less. These are the reasons we are. We build upon the bedrock of our soul. Sometimes a message scrawled on the wall becomes ones point before waking up.

Final is always the end and the all we perceive as life continues forward and certain realities merge and grow to build the biosphere. One universe is a confining space for just one person’s dream. And yet it is filled with six billion at the very least. It seems elusive to find sense of these. Is struggle for alternative perceptions.

Then I find Adis written on a thousand places Sarajevo and remember a story but not the words of a soul awoken by death as he had scribbled upon the wall in Gornji Vakuf.