reminded

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

might be a king of jumping the gun, or going too fast, or thinking the dust is settled and done, when it's only the eyes that have seen, or touched, or thought they won. but in this life, i have no lotto ticket, no claim number, no passageway to the frame i've fathomed, no shortcuts to manifestation, all i possess in these moments is steps, steps waiting for my feet to take them, perhaps fill a list of deeds worth being made of.

it would not be the first time i loaded the barrel of potential and watched fate spin it on a table, see where it lands, see if the mind can reach across time and space to turn real something thought fabled, nor the first time the price paid of listening to see how echos resound, whether in caves similar or fading into space where vacuum collects gravity's artifacts and stores them for history to revisit and expound. 

all the self can do, to know its time and place and test, submitting to the will of His, a vision to encompass all creation, and be not dissatisfied with his Maker when, bumps in the road mean one can't see an end he's chosen.