Here's the thing...

I crashed my scooter. I was leaving work sunday night, and feeling rather jubilent that the long work day was ending. Furthermore, fun lay straight ahead with a gathering at MJ's. I supppose my driving reflected that. It was 50 feet from where I had parked that I was zipping along and hit a patch of gravel on turn I was taking much too tight. My ankle got stuck under the muffler so I'm burned there a bit. There are various nicks and scratches down my right side. I have an ever changing bruise on my hip. My elbow is scraped up slightly. I tweaked my shoulder a bit and it seems to be the slowest healing. The scooter is fine however, especially as it now entertains matching scratches. I did bang my head a bit on the ground, but I had my helmet on, so all is well.

Imaging an event like this happening, I though I knew what would go through my head. But the truth of it is that the moment I knew I was going to go down, and fairly hard at that, nothing transcendent or remarkable happened. I wasnt thinking deeply, or finally, or romanticly. Instead, I was completely mechanical, acting entirely on behalf of my body. It wasn't my mind that I was concerned about. And it most certainly wasnt my soul. It was my body, and it was on autopilot, barring all distractions in favor of immediate maintainance.

The whole experience has me thinking that when it comes down to it, the universe wants more than anything else, for us to be alive. And for me thats the foundation of morality.