Wrong!

 

You're all wrong. Every damn one of you.

 

How do I know? I'm wrong too. I'm better at being wrong than you are. I've been wrong since the Big Bang. Even that is wrong. There was no beginning. We are endlessly evolving microbial mistakes in the sparkling green slime of unbounded Beauty.

When you add and subtract all the Buddha's good deeds and blunders, over thousands of Bodhisattva lives, the sum is neither greater nor less than one. Without the mistakes, there's no pavonne. Any imperceptible slip-up might be the serendipitous mutation that ensures our survival. O graceful sin of Adam!

 

We would not delight in a butterfly without the grisly mishap in a cocoon. Could we enjoy our popcorn were it not for the hunchbacked caveman who tripped over his own enormous foot, spilling a handful of kernels into the fire? Where would you be without your mother's carelessness concerning the moon?

 

To stumble is sacred. It is better than dancing. Were it not for our holy miscalculated awkwardnes, no creatures would exist - nothing but the unbroken symmetry of Zero, the frozen mouth of a silent God, yearning to say 'O!' through the dense white hole no Word can escape.

 

As for me, I lie awake in the dark, surrounded by snoring animals. I'm always wrong. The people you need to watch out for are the ones who are always right.