A fighting chance is empty of struggle and
reveals providence within the ordinary.
Chance is blind to the battle,
stays away from the fray,
exists only as an inkling of potentiality.
Without commitment to tendency,
biding time in ageless non-being,
the void without form.
Fight is our animating principle,
the energy and drive to momentum.
Making no promise to tussle or brawl,
it is the body of will,
the impetus and ardor for creation.
When paired with inertia,
it takes the role as lead dance partner,
while providence holds steady in the wings.
Amorous curiosity stirs
in the hearts of energy and potential.
Reaching out, one to the another,
in seductive anticipation,
suspended in empty space, as
trickster providence, our holy coaxer,
strikes the match to awaken a mighty flame,
that rousing spark,
for the thrill of making new life.
And the dancers take a bow to each other,
step into the glow, grabbing hold of that impossible,
infinitesimally finite grain of probability.
hiding within the ordinary.
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