Finding the Inspiration

He had often wondered which came first, the chicken or the egg. He knew, rationally, it was an unanswerable problem, an exercise set for the student who could never sit still. A pointless question, because the issue had already been resolved, chickens laid eggs, eggs made chickens. It did not matter; the solution was already complete, just unknown.

Sitting on the beach, he began to count the waves. He noted every ninth wave would be the largest, but not always. Sometimes the eighth would equal the ninth, sometimes it would be the tenth instead. He chuckled at himself, it was simply the law of averages. Or perhaps he had started to count at the wrong place, but how could he know that. He would have to rely on inspiration.

He noticed it was always the pulling of the undertow he heard first, never the breaking of the waves. He knew there was always the retreat of the water before the advance of the breakers. It was like breathing, he always heard the inspiration before the expiration.

It was like life, smoothing into an even continuum, a bland substratum. That is, except for the ends. Then it was always the inspiration before the expiration.

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