I take the bus in the morning. The sun beats down on my neck, and my legs chug along at a pace akin to a child in his big wheel. I take the bus because I do not have a car, nor a license to drive one. That's fine, the bus is free with school ID, and I can use the exercise.
I spend most of my time on that bus, it seems. Of course, it's not the same bus every time. It may be the same driver from time to time, who I smile and say "hello" too in a quiet earnest way, but not the same bus.
I am always in transit. From place to place, from space to space, and in the space of in-between I'm lost in thought, which is little more than the transit of light, the spark of life. So that is transit too.
It leaves me to wonder, in continuation of that transit, if we ever really "arrive". Is the future much of anything at all, or is there only ever what is going on right now? The moment, getting nowhere, going nowhere, never slowing down. It's been said before "blink, and then its gone", but the truth is, you never even have the time. It passes too, and there is space between the open lid and closed. It passes.
I am fine with this fact, this constant polymorphic shuffle. The polygons of bodies shifting in the air around me. I am fine with impermanence, because even unrest with it is fleeting. I am however baffled, truly baffled, but the notion that, no matter how hard I work, now matter how fast I run, no matter how early I wake up, and eat, and shower, and dress, I will still make it to the bus all the same, and I'll get on the bus, and it will go, and I'll never once in there, ever have arrived.
I take the bus every morning. I always take the bus.

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