There are times when it seems like you’re sitting at the eleventh hour. But, instead, it’s just the dawn breaking. The light of that terrifying apocalypse is nothing more than the streaks of the new day sun climbing over the horizon to illuminate the path that has yet to be traveled. It is said that there is no time darker than just before sunrise. I say there is no time more brilliant in anticipation and hope.
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Jared: Damn it. I went and caught myself a severe case of ‘falling in love.’ Now what the hell do I do?
Archer: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Did you expect fireworks and a parade? Just go enjoy it and stop expecting God to strike up the choir every time the earth moves inside your heart or mind. This is a good thing for you. Trust me.
—from "Notes to Purgatory3"
Too many are looking for the reward of peace in heaven while ignoring the responsibility of peace on earth. Jesus weeps for his sheep—daily even—because they have not figured out how to grow spines, teeth or testicles to get the job done here without whining for the afterlife to take them away. I say they should just be all Kevorkian about it and move on if the afterlife is so much better than this one. No sense is mucking up the world here if there is no interest in doing anything with it now.
It’s not like I planned it out this way. But I’m not turning down happiness.
A warrior is one who acts with speed.
A scholar is one who acts with leisure.
I’ve often said that family was more than blood. But I’ve been reminded over the weekend that sometimes blood is all we have for family. Regardless of how we define family—whether by blood or network—I assert, at least, that family is still a choice that one makes.
Family is, however, not merely a choice that we make but what we make of that choice.
Once upon a time, there lived a mouse, who believed in honor and justice and love, and who always told the truth. He was a lonely mouse. No one wants to hear the truth anymore. Honor and justice are found only in good tales. Love is too—or at least is little more than finding good tail.
My son: loving someone who doesn’t love you back may not be a deadly sin, but it is certainly a fatal flaw. Guard your heart until you are certain that object of your affection sincerely returns that affection in degree if not in like kind.
At what point in time do we move from broken and grateful for a chance of healing to deserving and satisfied in a course of action through life? Where is the line between broken and mended? We will always show the stress fractures of that which life has offered up, sometimes on a bed of nails and sometimes through the machinations of passion; but there has to come a point in time when the mended vessel is capable of being used again without fear of spilling water all over the palace floor. When do we conquer that fear?
It is among the threads of causality to which I look when I observe the motion in life through the mask of events around me.
Chaos is always found in the mixture of colors on a canvas.
Order is found only in stepping back to examine the masterpiece.
As the levees crumble around my heart, my mind is overrun by the onslaught of that which I have repressed in unfounded fear of nothing more than the backward motion of the hands of Time and the ungrounded tears of Satiety without expectation of anything more than the Unknown in your eyes.
Even a child’s perpetual game of Why must eventually come down to "I don’t know" or "Because I said so." Mystery or Authority. I strive for somewhere in-between.
When you allow your choices to be taken from you, it is safe to assume that opportunity will disappear out the same door.
And that karmic record never, ever, ever goes away. It just collects and processes and spits back out what is needed for growth no matter how painful it might be.
