tossing coins

Slumping on an overly fluffed sofa and staring at the brightening morning sky, I lackadaisically conjecture that life's events fall broadly into two general categories: those which can be reasonably explained by causality, those which appear utterly random and unexplainable, as if the Lord, similarly leaning languidly on His throne with sleepy eyes half shut, is tossing heavenly coins one-by-one to pass His days. Cursed are men who are burdened with the burning desire for knowledge and wisdom ("to be like God", as the Serpent salaciously tempted Eve in the Garden) and forever seek reasons and explanations for every bump and ridge of the perceivable world to quench a rasping thirst that can never be satisfied. Do the birds question the biological makeup of the wildflower seeds, or the cats ponder the historic beginning of the scalding sun? Do knowledge itself bring comfort, understanding itself peace? Troubles will befall all who breath long enough to see their own bitter ends; who knows what tomorrow, creeping in its petty pace from day to day, would ultimately bring? I say: accept your fate, you measly created things of finite worth! Trust in the Creator of all things, if you so desire, and rest in the knowledge that He will surely cast His eyes upon you and call your fateful number, in due time, whether according to His reason or His caprice.