To meander purposefully seems the compromise for me.

If God put us here, He put us here to conduct the business of humanity. Let’s go about that business as best we can and let Him worry about placing judgement.

Creatures as enlightened as we purport to be would not require laws.

Self awareness is the ultimate vanity.

How can I live well, if I forget I will die soon? How can I live well, if all I do is think on my impending demise?

I plan days, years, generations, into the infinite. A smart dog has maybe five seconds of planning in them. The worm has only the moment. Its life must feel like it goes on forever.

Let’s pray for the tortured and the torturers. Both souls suffer.

I’ll do nearly anything for pleasure, but if I don’t have to, I’d really rather not.

Dad is the end of the wound war and other insecurities left across three generations of our family. Mom is the salve. At times she stings, but bad hurts take stout medicine. My sister and I are the scabs. We’ve been well bandaged and soothed. When we fall away, our family will forget the injury but for a fine scar. This wound is knitting well.

It’s not the dance what drives the music. It’s the music what drives the dance.