Piece at Christmas (The Puzzle)

You could choose to see life as a series of modules, instead of a big jumble.

A collection of pieces that can be installed and uninstalled.

You might be well used to seeing moments as pieces, memories as pieces. Those things that are easily photographed are easily seen as modular.

But where your pieces end is where your continuum begins.

Poison a piece and it can be removed, replaced. Slotted in. Slotted out.

But what if somebody or something poisons your entirety, your continuum.....what you choose to see as the... I don't know... as the "well" of "self"? 

Everybody knows. Poison a well. And you are fucked.

There is no slotting. There is no surviving.

Life makes your well muddy.

But your well isn't, well....you. It's a place where you keep parts of yourself. 

It's a metaphor, a model.

We all have parts. Sometimes they make a great whole. Sometimes we come up a bit short. Sometimes we might just think we are the hole.

Parts can be visited, celebrated, and then allowed to retreat, like anniversaries on a calendar.

They can be contextualised. They must be. Because the laws of the universe that govern entropy dictate that they must decay.

When you notice a gap or a hole or a poisoned piece, remember the hole is still piece-shaped. Find new pieces. Pieces that fit the puzzle better, even if they don't fit perfectly.

Pieces build.

Like bricks might make up a new well? Not really... or you are facing the same fate, aren't you?

But they do build into bigger pieces. And pieces make parts. And that's what runs engines. Engines of ingenuity. Well oiled, shiny, well-built, cared for.

And pieces settle when the foundation is sturdy enough.

They make pictures. Ones ultimately, where you can't see the joins.

Life, you see, is Lego.