Opening the word and understanding the way. Following the truth even when others will not. Taking the straight path instead of the easy road. Carrying a burden even when it makes no sense. Standing for your convictions when you are not thought of as right. Forsaking much to follow what you know to be the right way. Such is the life of one who chooses truth. Such is the way of a disciple.

The lines have been drawn between rich and poor and black and white. We are separated by ideologies and theologies. The power brokers want discord the war mongers want to prophet from our misery. When we are divided they get rich off of our suffering and tell us they will resolve our issues. The true division lies with in ourselves and only we can solve the problems. Help another build a home. Cook a meal for a neighbor. Get to know people whom you have never met then they will not be a stranger. Set up your own way of being kind, mend broken fences and cross over the diving line.

What separates one person from another? Why do we choose to hate each other? Because you like to wear red and I choose to wear blue, what does one thing have to do with another. Our differences are what makes us unique, yet we are all humans beneath our skin. When we look beyond our superficial beliefs, we find that we are not so different. So what makes us want to fight? What makes us have to ****? What are the dividing lines that cause us to be separated from each other still?

Down a dimly lit side street filled with potholes and broken limbs. The smell of laundry and grease filled the air. When you would ride your bicycle down the road, the dogs would bark at you and snap at your tires. The old men would sit in front of the garage and laugh at you in hopes that you might hit a *** hole and take a tumble off of your bicycle. If you did the dogs would be upon you, they would mostly lick you and tear at your clothes. Then they would leave their mark on your bent and broken bicycle as they went off to find another way to amuse themselves. In the heat of the day they would lounge under old rusted out cars and in the evening chase you for fun. At night they would run down some back alley and chase a stray cat before rifling through the garbage of some apartment building. Between two main boulevards 8th street went. A side ways path that seemed to lead through nowhere and anywhere. Always filled with the strays of life, dogs and people alike.

I snubbed a woman who said good morning, she in turn was offended and ignored a homeless veteran, who in turn became desperate and tried to rob a street vendor, who was injured and went to the hospital, while the homeless man ran away and became a fugitive. The injured vendor could not work, so his family was evicted and put into the street and thus became homeless, like the veteran, who was cornered by police and shot trying to escape, a tragedy for which no one cared. Now the vendors family has taken to stealing in order to survive, while the man recovers but cannot pay his medical bills and thus gets poor treatment and dies. Now what if the picture were painted differently and things were turned around. I helped an old woman who said good morning get across the street, she saw a homeless veteran and gave him ten dollars, the veteran bought a lottery ticket and a sandwich. He scratched it off and won 50000 dollars, the street vendor from whom he bought the ticket was given a cash bonus for selling the winning ticket. The vendor took the 2500 dollar and had his daughters teeth fixed so that now she laughs and smiles. The homeless veteran got his life together and gave some of his money to help out a homeless shelter where he used to stay. The shelter bought new beds and food to help more people. So is the domino effect, one small thing can turn into a greater thing, it depends on which way you decide to go.

Whizz, whir and buzz the computer came alive. The internet was born and the doors were opened. Pathways were now available that were not there before and knowledge's door was open wide for all to walk through. For good or ill, the genie is out of the bottle and what we do with it is up to us. For some it is a weapon or a thing for malicious intent, but for many it is hope and the breathe of life. The chains of oppression are broken when free and unfettered knowledge is allowed to be exchanged. A brave new world was shaped the day the internet was born and life as we knew it will never be the same.

Iron brought out of the dark earth, pushed into a crimson forge. Coals heated beyond white hot, metal liquid then cooled. Over and over the process is repeated, each time the hammer falls ringing on the metal. The breath of a red beast is poured into the steel that has been wrought from iron. The seething venom of a hell spawn with red scales like glistening red jewels. It spits its flame into the forge as the coals become hot beyond reason. In goes the steel out it pours into the mold. Clang goes the hammer as it is folded and formed. Back into the fire, the dragons breath hot on the blade. Bang goes the hammer to the anvil. Muscle and sweat are poured into the blade with blood spattered on it for good measure. Hell spawns breath heats the forge as it roars to life, putting the final touches on the sword. A weapon that will cut through the night and make women lament and weep for they are widows and their children are orphans. What a terrible thing, this Dragon blade that thirst for battle and wills itself to drink blood.

Enticing as divine beauty, deadly as the venom of a pit viper, the lure of power draws people into it's web. To drink from the cup of authority can be a fatal mix if you succumb to it's addictive nature. Holding the reigns of power can give one a sense of superiority, even when the yoke feels it's heaviest, the rush of being able to laud yourself over others is too much for some. In the end, if it is ripped away, the withdrawal can be to much. Once you have tasted the drug, power can become a fatal addiction that is  too much to handle.

I take a pill to sleep, I take one to stay awake. I drink coffee and take in nicotine. Your memory still haunts me and I can't get you out of my head. I need a pill just to focus on my day. I am not sure what else I can do, I am a mess without you. I can't even drink your memory away.

Thundering, thundering, rat a tat rat a tat, they beat fiercely. Stirring the heart to join the cause. Head long into the fire, forward into the breach. Brandish the sword into another persons face. Lighting races across the sky, echo's and flashes from the distance as death rains down. Blood pools at the feet of a comrade who friends lies in pieces and the rat a tat rat a tat tat of the drums of war still beat.

Wind sweeps over buildings and past people. Glass and steel towers crumble and fade into the background. Those who walk in and out of them become ghostly images, caught in a photo of a moment in time. The wind keeps blowing, picking up bits of this and that. It wears away at mountains and uncovers tombs that once stood as great monuments, but are now nothing more than worn out pieces of rubble. What one man creates, another may destroy or simply neglect. All things come from the earth, iron, stone, and flesh alike. All are covered by time that a human cannot hope to measure. Mighty mountains and landscapes can sparsely keep up with the eons that pass. All things return back from which they came, as the dust of time collects and then is blown away into forgetfulness.

We are like Ants on a mound of dirt. We dig into the earth but change little. The earth gets tired of our interference and moves to correct us. The longer we wait to hear the message the harder the lesson will become. It matters not how many or how few we are. Some Ants have vast numbers and some live in small dwellings, but when the rains come many are washed away and some do not survive at all. So lets us take stock of what we think is permanent. Seventy years will get us all if we are lucky to get that. While the earth measures time in Eons, we are just dust that it will stir up and blow away. The earth changes violently and subtly, it remains while we simply fade away.

A cracked *** simmers filled with twisted ideas! The tumultuous brew bubbles and fizzes! Come close and see the fire burning below. Watch the embers change color as people grow impatient with each other. Be careful not to touch the sides for it can be really hot! The anger, lust and fear can make the seething *** boil. Take a ladle if you dare and dip it into the brew. Sip it if you can stand the rush that you will feel. Then spew back your darkest fears and most intimate desires into the emotional cauldron from which you dared to drink.

Caught in a quagmire of turmoil, all I can think about is you. I cannot reign in the swirling that conflicts me. One moment I am empty of all feeling and in another moment I am filled with all of my emotions at once. I would hurl outward the inner most secrets that bind me inside, but when I try to forget and separate myself from that which confounds me, your memory comes rushing back. So I question my own sanity and languish with an unresolved argument. Not sure which is the real problem, I am left to be conflicted with the emotion of you.

When the stars fall from the heavens and the final curtain is drawn. The skies will part and roll back like a scroll. The veil between worlds will be torn into. All will see the truth that has been hiding in plain sight. To those for whom death holds fear, their dread will have come true, but for those who have accepted life, there will be much to do. In a moment and a twinkling of an eye, the whole universe will change. What to some is the end, will to others be the beginning.

Like ants we scurry around and think we truly matter. We build sand castles and believe we can achieve immortality. In truth like children on a seashore we labor in vain. The waves from the ocean of time sweep away what we have built. No matter our perception, our existence in this world is finite. What we leave behind little but memories of our ghost. In the end we complete our short journey, while eons pass the world turns and the cosmos changes, and yet we exist for only a second and wonder that we even matter at the end of it all.

Open a book and turn a page. Let your mind wander through another persons thoughts. See what is before you and understand a new thing. Change the direction of your life. Know that you will not agree with everyone, but be open to see from their perspective. Decide for yourself if what you have read suits you. Then respond if you feel the need to make a different argument. Ideas must flow and be exchanged in order for understanding to take root. Oppression and suppression of new thoughts is not an option that a free person can abide, so the exchange of ideas must go on.

Cities have turned into waste lands and children run barefoot through streets littered with needles and shell casings. Young people in inner cities are lucky to make it to twenty one. If drugs do not **** them, then a bullet or a corrupt system will find them in the morgue or prison. While in other worlds in a nation of supposed plenty, wealthy people sit on thrones of gold and count the pawns over which they have dominion. Giving no thought to the lives lost by corruption and inaction, they simply turn a blind eye to the cost in humanity as they look for new ways to enrich themselves.  All the while, a nation puts on a brave face to entice the world to look kindly on us, while we can't even end the misery of the poorest among us.

Bravery is not a natural state. It is nature to preserve yourself. To stand up for something that is right, even though you know you can lose. To give up something of yourself for no reason other than you care. To keep going when all others have abandon you. To be willing to save another without thought of reward or self gain. These are the true faces of courage.

The orator speaks as the masses run towards the flame. Not the light of knowledge, but the radiant beacon of ignorance. The masses embrace the false comfort of surrender as they bask in the light. Life is too hard and we must not think for ourselves. Release us from responsibility they cry, give us our desires and protect us as we give up bits of our freedom for false security. Many are mesurized by the hypnotic words of the Sphengali's that promise them everything, but deliver little. The fault of your life is too much freedom surrender and be at ease. To those who go willingly the dissenter are the obstacle that must be overcome. As the mass delusion carries the masses to their doom, some struggle against the light of ignorance, but in what seems a futile fight. The curtain begins to fall on freedom as democracy is replaced with lies. So goes the book of liberty as the chapter of the script of ignorance heralds the end of a story as freedom is closed out of the scene.

Ice hangs from the trees as worn paths are hidden behind a white sheet of snow. Everything glistens in the faint light that breaks through sliver and white clouds. An Owl can be heard calling in a distant grove of trees as it hides in the dark wooded cavern. The streams are frozen but you can hear them creak and groan. The North wind weakens and begins to subside blowing snow drifts in to blinding curtains of white. Ever so slowly the earth turns around and begins to shift. The hand of the cold miser that counts every snowflake begins to loosen its grip. A South wind comes in and the clouds begin to part. The towers of frozen water falls with Ice that hangs down like the Columns  of a Cathedral begin to drip. Trickles come together and form small streaks of water that cut grooves in the ice. Day by day the cold recedes, until foot prints that were frozen into the ground begin to turn into mush. The forest begins to lose it's sheen of silver and brown limbs spring up as the weighty snow falls off. They reach ever higher for the sun as they embrace it's warmth. As the last vestiges of white evaporate, small buds appear as sap rises. Winter falls away and spring finds it's place again.

The work always starts early and there are not too many easy days. The smell of wheat is always in her hair. Her hands are strong and yet tender as she goes about her choirs. Her children are hearty, but full of life. She is in touch with the earth and finds happiness with dark dirt between her toes. Her husband doesn't say much for hard work is what he knows. Common sense rules his decisions, and his love is strong and deep, like a well spring from the earth. She enjoys a caring that most will never know. All of the things she holds dear, she helped plant and grow. To many it may seem a hard way to live, but there is value in such a life. It takes a special kind of woman, to be a farmers wife.

Looking out over Emerald waters, standing on the edge of a jagged cliff. I try to muster my courage for this is the moment, this is it. Months of training and preparation for this one point in my life. I am about to plunge into the ocean, I am about to take a dive. High as a sky scraper into the crashing waves below. Into the Emerald green water one step and then I go. The air whips by me and my heart skips a beat. For a few seconds I am trapped in silence then I awaken to the thunder roar of the crashing surf. I settle into a green universe that lies beneath the waves and then I begin to ascend. Thought I make jump a hundred more times, I cannot repeat the first dive again.

Crystals form on green leaves and begin the transformation. Patterns can be seen on plate glass windows, as distinct as a diamond in the rough. The morning dew is replaced by a sheet of white glistening on the ground. The air is crisp and fills your lungs with life. Fall has come and put on it's tapestry. Things are set in motion. Change has begun as summer fades and furry boots are taken out of the closet with warm coats. Hot coco replaces iced tea. The first frost has come and brings joy to me.

Spreading out a net over the waters of humanity, drawing in all that can be saved. A diligent worker toils and sweats, separating out the good from the bad. Some are a prize to be kept while others are serpents that bite and hiss. The souls that show humility are brought into the boat while others are cast back into the sea of iniquity. The catch may be great, but that which can be kept is small. Toiling with all of the might that can be mustered, the fisherman works diligently heeding the masters call.

Oh how she tried to impress. Oh how she fought to put the worm on the hook. With patients of a saint she fought the mosquitos and flies on a clear and sunny day. After all the plays and gallery openings, finally she agreed to do one thing I liked. Manicured nails and highlights in her hair, she endured wildlife hell on earth. Slinging her rod and reel in a wild flailing motion, I watched true beauty in rare form. Despite snagging herself with a wormy hook and pulling in a fish that nearly got the boat turned over. I would not trade our fishing date for anything, because now I know she truly loves me.

Water drips down from a damp rocky face. Drip, drop, plop it goes. Settling into  small pool far down in a mossy spot below. The water drops until the pool overflows and trickles down over small rocks. The trickle moves on quietly, gurgling slightly every once and a while. It simply moves forward slowly, not knowing where it must go. As the former drops move as a trickle, they join with other trickles that become a stream. The stream washes over rocks and through crevices in a mountain pass. The flow moves on to be a river which becomes mighty and a force to be reckoned with. Even if it is dammed up, it is only for a while, then it proceeds on again. This is the way of movement or ideas. They start small, but are joined into the thoughts and spirits of others until the must be reckoned with and often bring a force for change, what ever that change may be.

Through a long cold spell, the heart may often slumber. Life becomes bleak and dismal as love seems to have forgotten it's place. Take hope for all is not to be lost. When love finds it's place once more,  magic will happen. The roses will regain their beauty and the lilies of the field will smell sweet again. For the frigid existence without love will pass and new blossoms will come, even in the winter time.

While walking on a path that I had chose, I came to a split in the way. To choose or not to choose was the question that perplexed me to this day. I could not go back the way I had came, for the doors had closed behind me. I could only go forward, but which path to choose. I sat for a while and pondered the decision, weighing each option carefully. Finally I walked down the way that seemed to fit my life's plan only to have a some regret. Then at the next juncture of my life, I looked back over both paths and found they both lead me to the same place.

Shackles around my ankles and my wrist. Iron bars on my windows and my doors. I made some mistakes now I am paying for them. My freedom was taken from me because they say I did not listen to the rules of society. I was born with a boot on my neck,  the only chance I was given I took it. Now what I am looking at doesn't phase me. They can't take away what drives me. I have a place that I live but they cannot see. I have memories of what I have accomplished. I see the cost but I have gained more than I have lost. I was born under the sign of oppression but I have learned their lessons. My family is what is important to me. That is why I have to make this dark journey. Every time I get discouraged, I simply withdraw into myself and I find new courage. They want me to despair, they took away the key to the door and they do not care. All I am to them is a number, my life they think it is theirs to plunder. I will not be denied my place. They sit in judgment but I write my own fate. I was given no choice, but with what I have gained my family and future now have a voice. I lifted myself out of poverty and became the man that I had to be. One day this nightmare will be over, then I will crossover to the other side. I will live life again but on  my terms. Until then I will keep going on this journey, I will hold fast to the dreams I keep hidden in me. I will live through the freedom that I keep inside of me.

Sound asleep, dead to the world. Enjoying the best sleep in a long time. Then the alarm goes off and I roll over to turn it off. The blaring sound goes away and I relapse into a peaceful slumber. On my only day off, I find rest to be bliss, but alas life is not perfect and my wife has other plans. The battle is fought once a week, with new and creative ways found to jar me from my sleep, but on this particular day I am determined to not be bothered. So through 3 alarm clocks and innumerable catcalls I snooze on. Only rolling to one side or the other to avoid the harassment that seeks to steal my peaceful sleep. Then as if by design, I begin to have the most elaborate dream. Wrapped in a sheet, I am held fast as my feet slip and slide in the mud. For a moment I feel the ooze beneath my feet. Then at a moments notice, the ooze is replaced by warm water running over my toes. I begin to giggle as the water feels as if it is filled with sand. Then to my stark surprise, I open my eyes to find my feet slathered in peanut butter and my golden retriever licking my feet to relieve me of the ooze of which I had dreamed. Thus once again my wife wins the battle, and rattles me from my slumber with a furry alarm clock and a list of things for me to do today.

Trees are adorned with lights and tinsel. Holly wreathes cover light post and doors. People huddle around fires close to keep warm. The season of giving has come again, but not for some it seems. At a hospital in a children's ward, happiness is far from being realized. Small frail children lay in wait for hope to come. Reaching for joy to hold on to, but seldom finding it. This is what inspires me to give my gift. A present I give this season will not be of silver or gold, but of a thing more precious than riches untold. A single gift of blood, can redeem someone's life. It can bring a child back from the brink and put joy back into life. So while others shop for clothes and the latest thing that must be had, I will be giving a part of myself that is the greatest gift I have.

I do not desire wrapped up gifts cover with glitter and bows. I do not want silly ties or sweaters that blink and glow. What I want is far simpler you see, I just want to help another find joy. If I am allowed to help a friend in need. If I can be a guiding light for someone who has lost their way. Then I will have received a wonderful gift, because I will have touched another persons life. That is the gift I want for Christmas and I wish for it will all of my might.

Play the strings on the Mandolin and strum the guitar. Play an Irish jig or a Spanish ballad. Let the music flow and wash over the people. Give merriment to the heart of those who have burdens to lay down. Shake the Tambourine and put you hands to the drum. Let the beat play until the night is gone. Give no reason for celebration other than to be alive. Let the hearts of the people rejoice in one another. In all manner of life, let things become surreal, let music inspire the movement and sharing of  all things, from the common in the street to the refinement of the great halls. Let music makes us alive and let us all dance.

A pleasure that you have never known. A treasure that you could never find. A feeling of comfort and assurance that is mine to give. Devotion beyond understanding, with loyalty that is unquestionable. Such is the gift of my love.

Ties for Christmas, boxes of fruit cake, and ugly sweaters galore. The list I have kept for many years now I will keep it no more. It is time to give back to many people at last. To each person who ever thought of the tie, I re-gift just not the same one to the same guy. For all of the sweaters that I could never wear, I have kept them tucked away with great care. Back to a like minded sender they go. I will enjoy watching people try them on you know! For the numerous fruit cakes that resulted in many gym trips, I return twice the confections in their place. Oh how merry I will be watching others pack on the pounds with glee. Finally after all of these years, I will be vindicated you see . People will wonder why oh why, did I give such things that one should not buy. That is the point exactly, with each thoughtfully thoughtless gift. The gifts from the mad guy beware, perhaps you are on his list.

The sun shined off of her hair as it fell free down her back. Her freckled smile could warm the coldest day. She walked with a purpose, full of life and wonder. I held her hand and I felt as if time stood still . Her red locks always smelled like summertime and her love was a treasure that no king could buy, but would give a kingdom to possess. For a brief time I knew what heaven must be like as I loved the girl with Auburn Hair.

Half of the sand is gone, the time runs by fast. The hour glass is half empty or it is half full. The choice of how to see the glass is yours. You can lament the time that is gone or you can embrace a positive outlook and make the most of what time is left. So I choose to view the glass half full and take the time and make the most of it.

Take a pencil and paper and sit down in a quiet place. Now make a list of all of the extraordinary things that have happened in your life. Document each one carefully then do a search online. See what the probability of each occurring individually would be then put them together and quantify that. List them by the good and bad, then figure in the things you have done for good or ill. Once you have the numbers with and without your actions ask yourself, is it all coincidence or are the numbers too improbable to be anything but divine action. Then decide for yourself, what do I believe?

One time when I was young and in school, I was taught the golden rule. Do unto others as you would have done to you. Live and let live, this lesson was very true. Then I grew up and found it was all a lie. The golden rule is different when you are grown up. The lesson that I learned at work is not what they taught me in school, it is now who ever has the gold makes the rules. So perhaps we should all begin again. Let's start with ourselves and perhaps the lesson will spread. Stop hoarding up wealth and let's return to what we were taught in school. Treat others as we would like to be treated, let that be the golden rule.

We are all told that there is no God, but most don't believe that. We are told that we can live as we please, but many question that. The one thing that we are often told and many of us will buy, is that we will always have more time. Put it off until tomorrow, you can worship God then. You have too much to do today, pray later it will be all right. What we are doing when we put off God is playing with our lives, for no one is guaranteed tomorrow, so don't believe the greatest lie.

Fields lay golden with wheat and hay. The air has begun to be crisp in the morning. The days are getting shorter and the moon seems a bit fuller. Pumpkin plants have put forth chutes with Green melons forming that will soon be golden, then orange. The leaves have begun to fade from their vibrant Green. Flowers in the field have turned Golden as the rays of the sun disappear a little more each day. Fields full of corn are brought into the barns and farmers begin to store up for the winter. All things are changing slowly, festivals are beginning to take on a different hue. Summer dresses and sandals are replaced by sweaters and boots. A transition has begun as the harvest if brought in.

I wait on the seasons to change, I long for the coming of spring. I see the plants hold fast through the winter and grow in the short sunless days. Despite all that I know to be real, it seems kind of strange. That despite the order of the seasons, the harvest comes in the spring. Wheat grows in all seasons, it survives through the winter cold. When all other things are turning green, it becomes golden and must be taken in. So I will wait through the long dark winters and rejoice at the coming of spring. I will rest in the comfort that my labors will bring abundance, as the harvest comes in the spring.

The sounds of horses thundering can still be heard on a moonlit night. The cries of coyotes pierce the darkness. In the early morning mist, the images of Buffalo can be seen floating in the air. The distant beating of drums and the tom tom echo down the valley and over the hills. Deep tracks of wagon wheels can still be seen fresh in the grassy earth where deer still run and clear streams run cold out of the earth. History seems to stand still and the ghost of  memories past recur often on a path that once saw many things, this a haunted trail.

Creak and groan goes the rusty hinges on the gate. The moon is full and the hour late. A cold wind blows from the north and an old cat wails. A dog barks then howls. Curtains are drawn tight and a single light is on, it lights the long hall that goes down to the master bedroom. Many people have tried to stay in this place, but now no one would dare. The neighbors never speak of what happened there. On a night such as this, all the doors are shut up tight. People huddle under their covers for fear of things in the night. For those who would live to see tomorrow will not even pass by the house with the creaking and rusty gate. They fear that they will become the next victim of the haunting of  house 1628!

From the mountains of the old land, out of pools of water left over from when the islands rose. The mist rises in the morning or the evening depending on how the winds chill the land. Echo's of people past ring off of the mountainsides, as the sound of bag pipes lament the lost and dearly departed. Down the narrow slopes covered in sparse patches of Emerald Green, the mist finds it's way into the valleys and covers cottages. Drops of water come off of thatch roofs like the tears of a weeping young widow longing for her fallen love. Such is the way of the highland mist, that falls like the breath of creation from when no time was.

A cackling laugh and horrendous screech with a vitriolic scowl that could freeze a river to a standstill. Knives sharpened to stab you in the back, with her husband who will give your ***** a whack. A child that was a one off, at men she does often scoff. No feeling of love except for herself, compassion is something to be kept on a shelf. Oh how rich I have become is her mantra, if you want so help then let me get some money to my foundation, and then we can have foreign relations. Shaking and shivering coughing for an hour, but don't mention it or things will get sour. What a wondrous disaster  to say the least, not once but twice did she suffer defeat. First to the smooth speeches of an upstart rogue, when the highest office was hers to take. Then a second humiliation at the hands of another ***** grabbing male. Oh could it be her husband 2.0, crying all night this can't be so. The glass celling did not break, it can' be right this has to be a mistake. At the end of the day into the forest it did retreat, perhaps this is the last we will hear of the Hilda beast?

Hanging the Mistletoe, decking the tree. Getting a shopping list or 3. Hurrying to get all of the gifts, forgetting what the season really means. All of the hustle and pomp, overlooks the thankfulness that we should show. Taking a few moments to be kind to our fellow man. This is what holidays should truly mean.

Oh ****** tree that is reviled and stands alone among the sinner. Oh wretched plank upon which the perfect Lamb was slain. If you only knew the burden that you bore, you would crack and splinter asunder. Upon your rough limbs was hung the most precious of all things. The blood that covers you was for cleansing and sins burden was placed upon the shoulders of the man who was hung upon you. So now is the moment, when the blood and water flowed from the side of the innocent that you bore up. So now let you oh ****** tree, become an emblem of forgiveness and victory for the hour of atonement has come.

A broken *** shattered and scattered into pieces that are strewn everywhere. Oil and water that cannot mix together and will not coexist. So are the ideologies of humanity, the things we think are important to us. That which we feel we must scream at another in order to get them to understand in truth is of little consequence. If one way is right and another wrong, then let them exist side by side and see which bears the fruit of success. If we cannot agree on even existence with tolerance, then we are a house divided and to null effect for we shall both come to nothing and fail in the end.