There is a subtle undercurrent to life. Initially, it slowly pushes you along, trying hard not to make itself noticed. As a child, the glacial pace of life perfectly hides its presence. But as the passage of time enters your thoughts, this unseen movement seems to accelerate. It hurries you along and beckons you to reminisce.
A story, a thought, a reflection becomes a tapestry of movement. It does not stop and start with each new birth and death, but continues on, unabated through the generations. As if by purpose, there is order, and in order there is meaning.