unconditional love is reserved only for those stupid enough to be happy

unconditional love is reserved only for those stupid enough to be happy. oh yes, stupid! a wise man is foolish. not because he lacks knowledge, but because he knows precisely how little he truly understands. how the world opens up to those willing to say, “what the fuck am i looking at here?” a seventy nine year old walks the street one day and loses his balance. a spinning fall, his axis is tilted to align with the earth’s. but for once, as he lays on the floor, hip sore, he sees it. how the lights of the cars flash onto the pavement, flirting with the cobblestone. how his shadow dances with him, tethered and torn, silent yet constant. bony butt digging into the ground that betrayed his feet, he asks, silently still, who are you? to his shadow. he knows what a shadow is. at seventy nine years old, how could he not! he even confirms with a dictionary, just to be certain he hadn’t actually fallen on his head! a quick search jumps at the chance to tell him: a shadow is a dark area or shape produced by a body coming between rays of light and a surface. he thinks softly to himself, phone in hand, and ass quickly bruising, i know what you are, but i’ve never met you. off the ground he gets, determined to find out. first, he reads. when his readings fail, he listens. when those teachings teach him not, he decides he must ask, a task that an individual cannot do alone. at seventy nine, he lacks the energy of his youth, but his axis has been shaken, and he’s convinced his shaky shadow is obligated to restore it. he finds himself splashing his savings, like stones skipping across a lake, stepping gingerly from stone to stone to leap across this earth, asking any wise man he can find. the answers are varied, fascinating, and complex. but everyone tells him what his shadow is. not who. his family begs him to come home, fearful he’ll fall sick, and missing him while he’s away. crestfallen, he returns home. he walks the same street once more. this time, he’s holding his eight year old granddaughter’s hand. he’s missed a year of her life, and she’s skipping with joy to have her grandpa back. as she skips, she loses her balance. he inhales, sharply and instinctively, worried she’s hurt herself. screaming with laughter, she exclaims, “my shadow just tripped me!” eighty years old and exhausted, he exhales slowly, smiling stupidly.