For to rest in the gymnasium
Is to watch others wrestle.
There is no pendulum
Which is not but itself a pebble.

I am the gnomon.

For all are free
And each person is their own mason.
From the block of marble we chisel
Out who are ourselves.

Delineations on wisdom
Can be but delineations of ignorance!

Delineations of wisdom
Can be but disfigurations by the ignorant!

Is there a difference?

There is a difference!

Some universal common ancestor,
Some roots we all share.
That's how it is, right?
**** some connection
To the natural world around us,
**** the universe.
It's in the symbolism of it,
It's by the reality of it.
What can one say?

We do what we can with what we're given.

I don't know about that,
But whatever brings comfort.

Some find comfort inside caskets;
Some in the idea of the end of it,
Some on the idea of a new beginning.

Some find comfort outside in nature;
Some in the idea of being a part of it,
Some on the idea of being apart from it.

It's recognizing you are already seperate,
Yet still totally together with it.

Ah, yes. Holocaust. Genocide. Yes. Pagans are familiar with that. Just not in the way that you think.

Ah, yes. Holocaust. Genocide. Yes. Abrahamics are familiar with that. Just not in the way that you think.

I've got an inquisition I've put together! We've got to exercise! Burn all these things! For surely they contain evil spirits! For why else would someone think differently from me?

No! Hogwash. Darwin? You must be mad, man! For surely you don't also contest that the Earth is the center of all of the heavens! If we're not special, why else do we exist as we exist?

Do you believe more in the imperfect or the perfect? Do you assign more value to the material or the immaterial? Is there correlation between those two? There is an obvious relation comparatively within each question. For they could be graphed on a spectrum, if one were able to conceive of that. But what is "perfect?" But what is "immaterial?" For I may find the perfections in the imperfect. For I may reach and could touch the immaterial.

No! Some council several hundred years ago settled this! No! I don't know & I don't need to know who attended. Don't need to understand that moment's political atmosphere. The motivations and intentions of those who participated. I just need to worship! I just need to worship! I just need to worship! I just need to worship! I just need to worship! I just need to worship! I just need to worship!
I just need...

The greatest poem I ever wrote
was the note I left to a future friend,
a wish, I hoped, that would project
my hopeful mind, and sense of depth.

The greatest thought I ever spared
a future in a dream I'd shared.
A piece within a scene complete,
the place where mind and spirit meet.

The greatest step I ever took,
to take the time enough to look,
to raid my thoughts and scour my mind,
and on my trail my friend I find.

The greatest friend I ever knew.
The friend a thousand times consumed.
By glowing screen and jingling bell.
My friend, I wish, would be myself.

There's a scale at which rocks crumble.
A time by which the old leaves tumble.
A cadence to the clap of thunder.
A pace at which new grass will wander.

There is a scale at which man feeds,
and such a scale would have no need,
if hunger could be left behind.
Then maybe in another time,
We'd walk with ants, and grow with pines.
We'd swim with comets, drift with planets,
and maybe curb our eating habits.

We'd fly with bees, and swim with titans,
and our descendants would enlighten
and inform our view of Earth
of all nature and its worth,
and down to every single cell,
we'd love the earth and treat it well.

"Jesus, son of Stada, is the Jesus, son of Pandira?"

Rav Hisda said, "The husband was Stadia and the lover was Pandora. His name was Spartacus & her name was Pythia."

"But was not the husband Nicodemus, son of Socrates and the mother Juno?"

"No. His mother was Raet-Tawy, who let her hair grow long and was called Maccabees." Maacah says about her: "She was unfaithful to her husband."

"But what of the roots of his tree?"

"The fruit that you see be not enough?"

"What of that which still eludes me?"

Do you still wonder?

Am I even religious? I ask myself.
Am I spiritual? I ponder.
Feudal, socialist, capitalist, fascist?
Hmmm.
Am I more over here,
Or more over there?
What's my hereditary, what specific mix;
Where exactly am I from?
From where did my family come,
Where have we been?
What did we take part in?

It's interesting,
But where are we going?
What's the heading?

He stands upon a stalk of grain,
Rested atop a leaf,
Balanced on the branch of a tree,
Nestled on the back of an amphibian
Four who salute longevity.

She comes as a breeze,
Graceful & gently.
As like spring blossoms
She extends an offering,
Ripe & sweet
Is the fruit of her peach.

Those given to fanfare of the stork;
Who hold nature, like the cosmos, sacred
And celebrate its different changes & forms.