That night as the planets danced overhead, a thought grabbed him and then shot right up his nose and into his brain, almost taking his breath away.
Here he was abandoned in Space, a traveller – and whatever the dimensions of this universe there could only be so many travellers.
He had no idea what brought him or sent him to this place , but whatever he was going through was unique – perhaps what he was experiencing really meant something.
There was a reason for his existing.
If that was true, then everyone else he knew or met or saw was travelling too – all of them wound up by the same key and sent on a path with little decision on their part as to the path they should take.
If they had all been moulded by a god – that woman in the bakery, or the postman, or the kid who always cried, then there would have been angels at their births – but even if their heart,or their existence or their imagination was just an accident of the universe – they were still unique, still special, still a traveller.
So whether he jumped to conclusions or jumped to attention or jumped out-of-the-way, he told himself to remember – no one, that he could see, had asked to be a traveller.
bobby stevenson 2017
“we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars…”