Marionettes

Often I feel that life is perpetual dance to which my feet are enslaved but from which my mind is completely detached. I am compelled forward on a course as immutable as unknowable. It happens on a time that my path crosses that of another, and we each linger, momentarily diverted. But my mind can never conceive nor compass their ways, nor teach them to my feet, and neither can it communicate my ways to them, not knowing them itself. And so we pass on, each along our own course, whatever that may be. Must this always be so?