Thursday, May 24, 2007


I sit in my favorite chair and stare at the world out there, at the flowers and trees kissed by a breeze that comes from where, I do not know, although I know it is so.

I watch people come and go, on feet that walk as minds give choices to voices who talk and say simple things like "have a nice day" and more complicated, educated conversation about what is happening to civilization and why can not nations get along and why are some so weak and some so strong and some so right and some so wrong, why some die young and some grow old and some, I am told, do not mature and die of ills all our wisdom cannot cure.

Scientists persist and insist the answer is out there in the sky far beyond where birds can fly but man can try and he, eventually, will find out how and why this impossibility came to be a reality.

When? Until when is then? How much longer must we rely on theory? Will answers pose new mystery? How far back in history must we go to learn that the word of God is neither fraud nor fact, that proven truth is not exact, that life itself is just one long First Act in a play. Will it ever end? That will depend. The author never wrote Act Two. There is a rumor he died for lack of sense of humor. Is this false or is this true?

History will leave that up to you.


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