Thank You Mr. King - Installment 2

     There are some (and some very smart, very 'aware') people, some with some very long tracks, who are of the opinion that Lee Harvey Oswald -- while involved -- was either a dupe or programmed; and that there was actually another shooter on the "grassy knoll" who murdered John Kennedy.  And, this may be so.  I don't know.  All I know is that when God brought home Lee Harvey Oswald, God didn't care that someone else may have had something to do with it.  Responsibility is not something that you can divide into pie pieces -- regardless of what certain legal doctrines of 'comparative' fault may say.

     To the extent that, at your 'Judgment Day', you try to deflect YOUR responsibility by pointing out (however truthfully) that it was not "all" your fault, that someone else 'did it too', and that, if it hadn't of been 'for him' (or 'her'), you would not have 'done it' ... if you don't just stand up straight as a board and say:

     "Yep, I did it.  I decided to do it.  It was my idea.  I wish I hadn't of done it."

If that is true ... never lie about what is within your heart, because every time you do, you die just a little until at some point light-years into eternity you become a solid 'rock' (for lack of a better term); you can no longer move; you can barely think; lies seems to be true; you are, for are essentially a mass of darkness -- darkness you yourself created because you turned away from the light just a few times too many.

     We have all heard about the 'laudable omission' or the 'white lie', and there are those times when avoid the bald unflattering truth is the best policy, not to mention the mortally safest route -- if a gang banger has your nuts in a vice and a gun to your head, that would not be the time to observe that he needs a Tic-Tac.  And, if your wife, or husband, ever ask you "Does this make me look fat?", the only answer you should EVER give -- and with no delay -- is "No!" ... [astonished expression] ... "Absolutely NOT!".  

     But, laudable white lies -- so-called 'social lies' -- are few and far between and about as rare as hens teeth (ok, ok, ok, Mr. King would disapprove of my vernacular, especially as I don't employ it all that good, and often mix my methaphors -- so sue me).  You've all heard the example bandied about in "situation ethics" courses all over creation of the fellow in World War II Nazi Germany who answers the door, to find the Gestapo asking him whether he's hiding any Jews?  It's always wrong to lie, right?  So, he has to tell the truth, in order to be a moral man, that, yes, he's got ten of them hidden behind that fake partition?  Right?  If the does not, he's SOOOOO respectable, the Gestapo will never question him and he'll never get caught, and the Jews will be safely out of Germany the next day.  If he does, the Gestapo will thank him for his honesty, and will immediately execute the family of 10 Jews ... right down in the street out in front so that everyone will know the evils of hiding Jews.  So, his choice is to either lie, with no chance of ever getting caught, and save the life of 10 innocent people from the criminal insane known then as the Nazi's, or to be a 'moral' man, tell the truth, have a 'clean conscience' and be causally responsible for the murder of 10 of his friends.

     THIS is one of those few and far between 'laudable' or 'white' lies.  Obviously.  And, all the 'discussion groups' that have considered some version of this apparent conundrum in college campuses across the United States, haven't got the slighest chance of 'proving' that the fellow ought to tell the truth.  Of course he shouldn't.  He'd be an asshole, with no chance of redemption, if he allowed his friends to be slaughtered by the Nazis.  

     But, in talking about personal responsibility -- the kind that gets you into Heaven (if that is where you prefer to go, instead of to the third galaxy at a vector of 28.7 degrees South of the pinnacle of Eiffel tower, for example) -- and not lying to yourself, or to others, about your crimes, transgressions and stupidities, we're talking about seeing clearly what there is to see, without agenda, without alternation, without goal.  Just seeing.  And, about not lying to yourself about what you see. Because I'll tell you a secret, which is really not secret when it comes down to it.  You can see everything.  Just like I can.  I'm just a little better at seeing trends than you are, right now.  If fact, you cannnot not see everything.  Seeing everything is built into what you are; it's the self-deceit that is not you.  So, every time you pretend that you didn't fart on your sister's birthday cake; or every time you pretend that your husband is stronger than you are, when he isn't; or every time you pretend that you didn't know that you'd hurt your wife's feelings by dismissing her worries about how fast you are driving after she asked you to slow down, you're lying to yourself and your throwing your personal responsibility down a little farther down the toilet.

     The happiest, most fulfilled, most joyous and most hungry for life among us are those who do not lie, who take responsibility for everything they perceive and who admit it when they have fucked up.  No matter how badly.  No matter how embarrassingly.  These fine folk are happy because they are not lugging around in their spiritual suitcase all of that CRAP that THEY created.  They recognized how stupidly they acted, admitted it, and it then does not hang around to bother them.  But, if they had 'overlooked' it, and 'swept it under the rug', or tried to blame in on their mothers, their husbands, their kids, their bosses, the police, Donald Trump (!!!), then, by God, until time immemorial, that lie would follow them around.

     Where are we (me at least) going with this?  Basically, no where except to note that -- if he had lived -- Lee Harvey Oswald's only salvation would have been in admitting his role in murdering John Kennedy.  And, if he happens upon God while he's floating out there somewhere in the ether, waiting to find another body, he damn well better admit his transgressions or he'll be saddled with them for some time to come.

Thank You Mr. King - Installment 1

Scott Weible

July 21, 2017

Thank You Mr. King

A Testament.

I have always seen things that others cannot.  Trends.  Facts.  Mainly consequences of the present leading into the history we are going to make.  I didn’t practice.  It - whatever it is - is not a skill.  It cannot be taught or learned.  But, it can be honed, developed.  The latter — the honing — however is pretty much just being willing to accept, believe, see.  And, you have to be willing to imagine the truth, instead of "find" it.

The first time I was acutely aware of knowing something that everyone else seemed to be unable to know, was the day that John Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas.  In front of God and everybody.  If you want to know the true definition of a ‘terrorist’, the man (or men, if you believe the conspiracy theorists) who took JFK from us was the very first terrorist.  He was even worse than Hitler.  Hitler at least played by the rules until he did not have to any more.  He played the game of pretending to be something you are not, distracting us with one hand, whilst the other hand drew out the dagger.

But, the man who killed Kennedy, and I really do think it was that fellow (I don’t remember his name, and I’m too lazy to look it up on the marvel we now call the “internet”) who had been found to be in the library building with the rifle and such (interesting, isn’t it that Kennedy’s murderer had stayed, for a time in Germany?) who murdered our President, simply rose up one day, with some kind of design in his soul and (some say) singlehandedly destroyed the world.

"Destroyed the world" is a bit dramatic, I suppose.  But, that is how it seemed to me, at 10 years old, at the time.  Sitting there on the wooden gym floor of my grade school (I think it was called Longfellow Elementary -- so named for a man (Henry Wadworth Longfellow) of letters, of accomplishment, merit and production, and not, as so many schools are named these days, for the local roads, mountain peaks, valleys, streams or, God Forbid, eventually, a corporate sponsor) listening to events unfolding, uncertainty in the voices of the news announcers (we didn't have video feeds in those days), the terror in their voices, trying to be brave adults ... I thought to myself "Oh, now it starts."

I could see what was going to happen.  Not, of course, like the modern 4K UHD cameras can see the detail of each pore and blemish on the actor's skin, illuminate all imperfections so that we do not concentrate on the story, but on the annoying and ultimately unimportant details.  More like an imprint, a trend, a world wide disintegration that would be attributed to this financial trend, and that dictator and this loss of that natural resource ... to anything but the promixate causes:  Lee Harvey Oswald & The Texas School Book Depository.UIKeyInputDownArrow

America, for since at least about 1940-something had been the model of worldly honesty, freedom and bravery.  If you ignore for a moment, anyway, the continuing, nay worsening, racial inequities.  And now, however, in an instant, on national TV, America became the model for mayhem, insurrection, (what would come to be called) terrorism and destruction.  My God.  If THIS could happen in THIS country, then nothing could be held sacred.  We're all down the chute.

And, that has come to pass.  America, from that day forward, November 22, 1963, from my 10th year, 5th month, and 20th day, has led the people of Earth into hell-fire and damnation and a future in that State of Nature which Hobbes rightly described at 'nasty, brutish and short'.  Hurried along by the internet, Steve Jobs' iSpyOnYouPhone, Bill Gates' appallingly conceived and designed "Windows" platform (whether he stole the idea from Steve Jobs, as is often repeated, is really beside the point -- the point being that Bill Gates, mirroring the irresponsibility of Lee Harvey Oswald, has led the computing humanity down the garden path of destruction, destitution and isolation by foisting upon the world a (legally defensible) distant copy of something valuable, thereby wasting our time, wasting our resources, wasting eternal mountains of energy and ingenuity in trying to use his overt product for good and productive things), and Mark Zuckerberg's sinister evisceration of humanity and decency, Facebook, America has run aground on the strength of one 'modern advance' after another ... welfare ... foodstamps ... HB-1 Visas ... "undocumenting" illegal criminal foreign aliens ... elevating the fine art of financial fraud to a high art.

You may think me too harsh in my indictments of Jobs, Gates, Zuckerberg (and for that matter Jeff Bezos, Richard Branson and Elon Musk).  But, I'm actually being easy on them.  Instead of using their technology to put men and women of letters, of thought, of intellect, or artistic merit into the hearts and minds of the masses, these men have used the lowest possible common denominators appealing to the most stultifying amongst us, to capture and monopolize our money, our time and our souls.  We think it’s cute Alexa can render us soft, vapid and incompetent by recording our grocery list for us.

Bill Gates contributed as much to the end of the world as Lee Harvey Oswald, just in a different way.  He replaced Steve Jobs consummately valuable product with a piece of shit, apparently realizing that if he could sell his piece of shit (Windows) cheaply enough, the unwashed masses would seize upon their "savings" and ignore the fact that Gates had created a monumental waste or everyone's time and energy.

It does, absolutely does, matter what you do, and how you do it.  The ideas, borne of Lee Harvey Oswald's influence over the flower children of the 1960's and 1970's, that 'it doesn't matter what I do' ... 'it's my life and I have a right to live it as I want'.  These selfish, self-centered and ultimately ruinous reflections of the timbre of the 1940's and 1950's when the individual was sacrificed (or so it seemed) for the good of the whole, the 'free love' that went along with them, and Timothy O'Leary's "Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out", are a salute and surrender to the statement made by Lee Harvey Oswald the day he murdered John Kennedy:  It doesn't matter what you do, it doesn't matter who you are, it doesn't matter how it will affect others, and it doesn't matter what will become of me, it is my right to do any damned thing I want to do, no matter what.  No responsibility.  No sense of the future.  No understanding of what might be worthwhile outside one's own pitiful monadistic existence.

pursings

pursings (111111.1)

share with me the sweet murmuring pursings of your lips
the honest, every so slight, smile of your joys
the glowing, pulsating, immensity of your light
and the way you soooooooooo enjoy chocolate pie

knowing you as i do, i never wonder at your beauty
i never imagine life without the blessings you bring to me
i never feel as if there is something better for me
or if the birds in our yard do not love you every day

but sometimes i contemplate a fantasy in which we run away
to another place, riches over flowing, and honey dipped nights
where we can dig a luxurious garden and grow prize flowers
and lay about in the sun, snuggling and warm in the breeze

because i want to be with you where you are most yourself
where your creations persist, unless you discard them,
where the game is to create the best of everything,
rather than stop others from destroying it utterly.

oh that i keep just one simple memory of you when i go
something to warm me on even the most arctic of stations
a keepsake of the life which was worth it, worth it, worth it
and gives me the one seed i need to start again anew and live again.

Copyright Scott Weible
All Rights Reserved
November 11, 2011

fleeting sounds

fleeting sounds (10 November 2011.1)

fleeting sounds of night and rain
of cars driving to their shelter
of men wondering what is for dinner
of women worrying if the cat ate the fish
of children, crankily loving the ride home

all after a trying day being apart
being lost in the maze of other lives
others needs for answers and rigid order
after thinking they were required to do as they were told
after the desperate thrust to understand what they cannot

as i listen to the sounds of the night
to the choruses authored by the wind
to the hopes and worries of my fellows
it comes to mind that all of this will settle down
and then, just as quickly, boil over into a happy coincidence
of sounds, of joys, of coming together again.

Copyright 2011, Scott Weible
All Right Reserved.

Sunny Sunday

16 October 2011.1

Sunny Saturday, Sunny Sunday
Sunny skies opening for all to see
The big bright clear happy fall.

night night (24 February 2006.1)

night, night, i'll rejoice when i hold you tight
when i have you for my own, when i'm in you
when you receive me deep down and far inside
all that you are, all that you know, all that i give
beside you, below you, beneath your freshness
i, enmeshed in the wondrous succulence of you
wandering about in the aqueos light of your form
i want you beyond all wanting
i need you beyond all needing
i urge myself to go and have you for my own
as you lay beside me, welcoming me into your place
giving me leave to take you into my arms
and love all that you are, every night, all my life.

Copyright 2006.

6 August 1997.1a

he was on the phone
in the sun
trying to reach her
through the electric lines
through the rubber
through the copper
the tin
silver platinum
the microwaves
resistors
amperage
standing at the phone booth
along the busy Boulevard
people passing thinking
'he's probably a drug dealer'
calling his target, his supplier
what scum
on the phone,
at a phone booth
on Foothill Boulevard
right across the street from Memorial Park.
Ah, yes.
Memorial Park.
What a coincidence.
The first phone he came to
the first phone he thought he could use to connect
the first phone that worked
the first, no the second phone, that didn't
make the connection
she's gone
in the air
in the plane
on donner, on blitzen on dancer
on to New York
to Aussie land
to greatness
to what she is
to ... where ... exactly
to him
half a world away
cold
beautiful
....
disconnected by a crutch
an electronic crutch
in the days of letters
and no air‑mail
were loves disconnected though
miles a part ...
one hundred miles
might as well have been 20,000 miles
connections are not simply about
tactile touch
visual cues
but about understand
awareness
reception
a clean window
the view cannot be blocked by mountains
if the window is open

yes, Love
the window is open
i cannot shutter it
cannot
cannot
my hands are able to shutter it
my arms can hang blackness between us
but i cannot
you have me because you want me
keys to a door?
no need
nor even possible
to enter
to re‑arrange the furniture
to re‑decorate
there is, my friend
no door.
never has been
never will be
not within me
not within you
not within anyone
i feel
the power of the Sun setting
is that you can see it
the power of the Sun setting
lies not in breaking into the core
only to be instantly vaporized from
the nuclear reaction
only to be consumed and used up
the power of the Sun setting
or rising
a clear line of sight
you have that
and a clear line of sight
requires that one look
we do that
we look

my friend
there are no mirrors in the soul
there are no t.v. monitors
no video tapes of what we are now
but there is feeling
there is sensation
there is reception of what we see in each other's windows
and when the windows are in sync
straight on
without angular reflection
what we see is the honest reflection of us, our impact our self
we are warmed by the warmth we convey

it takes a very great person to sense their own warmth and
carry on even when that warmth isn't radiated back
your greatness is apparent,
warm and sweet
when no one will allow you to see them,
when they are so out of sync the reflected radiation is so distorted
it cannot be you

close the shutters.
allow the warmth to reflect back upon yourself
warm yourself
you are the Sun
you are the Moon
you are a Star of such brilliance
and magnetism
that my universe is now realigned
and moving closer
hoping that, when you feel the heat on the outside of the shutters
you will know that i am there
and that what you will see
when you open them again
is the warmth we create, share and thrive upon

"It is the heart with one sees rightly. What is essential is invisible
to the eye."

1 August 1997.1a

fundamentally we live within
what we are
surrounded by those who cannot see
but what they are
and when we find, stumble upon
trip over
are knocked down by
one who vibrates at a complimentary
frequency,
so that their soul
does not disturb the concentric
ripples of our own life
but drops seamlessly into the center
a bulls eye
causing not identical but complimentary
ripples across the watery flexibility
of the surface of our soul
then,
from the bottom
of the clear blue lake
we can still see the sun
and the stars
through our own eyes,
but with the amplification and power
also
of their own,
and they too feel us
being with us
in between us
in between them
and the ripples never stop
always resonating and reverberating
until, at long last
the water is clear
smooth and flat
and the energy from the sun
and the moon and their stars
warms us,
feeds us
and shows us the light within
our selves
that the waves had always known would
erupt when they were gone

23 August 2011.1

I am the Walrus, I am the Sun
I am the Breeze that Fans the Flames of Love
I am the Light, I am the Dark Dead of Night
I am What You Need and What You Want and
I am Laughter and Joy and Mirth Among Children.

I am your Conscience, I am your Free Will
I am the Song of the Bird Chortling in Victory
I am What I want and What Is Good and New.

If You Want Us to Be, If You Know Us as We Are, There Will Be Beauty
There Will Be Song, There Will Be Melodic and Mesmerizing Verse
And, the Celebrations Will Not Die, the Gatherings Will Not Disperse
The Creations Will Not Cease to Amaze, Entrance and Reward
And, We Will Have a World of Rewards and Lives Happy Together.

17 August 2011.1

Oh, you of little faith,
You of doubting persona
You who wonder how God
Made all these horrific mistakes.

Oh, you who love the wind and the sun
You who know the good of even the vile
You who understand rain and cold
And, you, who need not tolerate adversity.

Give me a hand, Give me a shout.
Please help me to bring a change
Bring a fervor to life that has been missing
And, find a friend in all of this dislocation.

Help us all, together, in concert
To keep the flow going
To keep our families celebrating
To leave something behind we can enjoy when we return.

31 Dec 97.2

there exists in the freshly
cut rose
a sure sweetness
a surety that sweetness
will emerge through you
as surely as the bees converge
in their dance before
the mating begins
before the honey flows
before the energy of life
burst magically upon
that delicious scene of
greeness, yellow daffodils
and the brightly painted
faces of little children at
the merry-go-round
and their laughter
filling the air and the hearts
and the spirit of millions
of those who before
them made these routines
for happiness
for joy
for the pure exuberance of
being
these things were not made
for you or me or for those
men, and yes, women
in the offices to put upon their
billboards, in the super markets
or to use as adornment for their
very important desks
this joy,
those thorns that prick
and the blood that trickles
from them onto the newly
laundered white play dress
are but the perfect
and plainly good examples
of the essence of life
the magic of breath
and the expectation of elation

Ahhhhh, the beauty brought by Spring. What is more beautiful than the fragrant, undulating rose? Just my love. Just my love. Just, my, Love.

Oh, it's Spring and your essence brings me to song,
Brings me to celebration and boisterous rejoicing,
Leads me to jump, to shout, to run all about,
And, leaves me so breathless I fear the end is nearly near.

Oh, the Daffodils are braving their merry heads,
Heading towards the sky, loving you all the while,
Knowing that when you glance their way,
Every One who passes by will sing their praises, Oh My!

And even the Winds do put on a lusty show,
Blowing your love here and there, and virtually everywhere,
Hoping that some of it will rub off on the sky
And, in the end all of us will be happier, for having loved you
Bye and Bye.

3 March 2011

what's the matter with you?  what the matter with me?
where's those things we worry about so needlessly?

you're a marvelous one, so sumptuous, so bold, so wonderful to hold,
no matter what's the matter with you, with me, with eternity,
no matter what may seem like it may stop the game we now play,
no matter whatever else we may be down that long road of destiny.

there's not a thing worth the fuss, worth muss, worth our dying breaths,
that will not resolve into the laughter and merriment of our pasts,
nothing that will come to be less than we are, less than we glow,
less than the joys, triumphs and eternal celebration we so richly deserve

take this time, if you will please, to recognize the beauty you immortalize
take this moment, i implore you now, to stand up and beam your gentle love
rejoice in the knowledge that all that you are you brought here into life
and, regardless of what we will make, where we will be

i so thoroughly, and for all eternity, do, indeed, love thee.

16 December 2010.1

This Ain’t So Bad



I love it here. I love the light. I love the wind and the sun and the sounds.

I love all that there is and all that there could be.

And, yes, indeed I do love the sumptuousness of thee.

No matter your problems, no matter mine.

No matter the seriousness from which we sometimes think we’ll just die.



We ought to run around, and sing and shout and have a grand time.

Reveling in what we’ve got and the time we can make to take it all in.

Rolling down the hill into the arms of yonder rambling stream.

Basking on the slopes of the mountains that fuel our fantasies with its view.



Let’s just live in love. Let’s just find the harmony in what we can.

Let’s just know the time to see each other breathe and sigh.

Happy to know that we are in love with a beautiful girl, a sweet guy.

And, frolicking through the tall grasses we’ve found on the side of the road …

… where we stopped just for a moment to savor just this.
 
 
12 July 2010 A

as sweet as your bosom always seems to me now
the light of your soul is far sweeter
and the succulence of our hands twined together
fills the aches of my voids from which love
had long since seemed to have evaporated
until that sumptuousness of our first syllable together

30 January 2008

This day in the Fall, the Sun shining bright

I adore you against the clouds, on through the twilight.

18 September 2008

Incite


 incite me to learning, incite me to love, to yearning, to the heart's palpitations that men can but live a mere second without

 incite in my passions the desire to know all that there is to know about you, how you tick, how your heart beats when i am near

 incite in the lovers around you the desire to be the best for their loves that they can be, that they can imagine, that they can feel

 incite in these words the dedication of one who can know no further, no better, no more immaculately conceived feeling than the touch of your warming hand in winter.



 and, my dear, my friend, my long lost companion, please play for me that soul's music, the poetry of the blessed, or the children at play

 play for the scores that are wrought from the effervescence flowing from Mt. Olympus down into the valleys at noon

 down into the streets and the cafe's where the workmen, the washer women, the mothers and fathers take their mid-day meal

 thankful and relieved that they have, this day, met with the love that they had waited upon for so long, for all those years when they had no hope.




 yes, please, concoct those verses, those melodies, those rhythms that play on long into the night, wafting through my heart's strings, setting me to singing

 setting me to a chorus of accolades for the brilliance that i have felt through the reeds that blow upon the lake's shores,

 in the warm days of spring, just before the Sun's setting moments bring me back to the recognition that it is your touch that brought me here

 it is my searching for you that has kept me going on into the night, into the days, into the creations that guaranteed my joys would overtake my cries and disappointments.




 incite me to playing that wondrous song that flows all around us when we are hidden beneath our bedclothes, snuggled against the cold

 snuggled against the uncertainties that others have tried to impress upon us, others have tried to make us believe are the hallmark of love

 others have not recognized are nothing to do with love, but rather the traitorous lies of the few that would separate us, would have us forsake our future

 the future which, because we have been brave enough to love, no matter what, we have now found assures us a blessed and beautiful life in the arms of the one we love as if they were life itself.

29 January 2010.1

I think this scene is perfectly marvelous. And, I don't know where it is. Or even, for that matter, if it is a "real" scene. What with the ability of artists and technicians to concoct all manner of seeming reality out of 'whole cloth' (as people were wont to say at one time), one could take the pessimistic view and lose the pleasure of seeing a beautiful scene merely because it might not be "real". Real or not, I like it.

Now, for those fascinated (or worried) by the question of whether a "real" experience is better or more to be preferred than an "imaginary" experience (or perhaps more accurately, an "imagined experience") -- which should not be confused with the question of whether the content of a drug induced involunatry hallucination is "real" -- it seems to me that the question of whether "imagination" is as good as "reality" makes a fundamental assumption about the nature of "reality" which just may be false. I think that those people who vehemently insist that there is just ONE reality, and it is the SAME reality for everyone, are the same people who insist that we, human beings, are nothing but a remarkably complex collection of atoms, electrical charges and chemical interactions and that we have no uniquely, and non-corporeal, 'mental' or 'spiritual' component. In other words, there is no "ghost in the machine" (or deus ex machina). The machine simply runs itself. Of course, the assumption --- and it is an assumption --- that one must prove the existence of an un-seeable soul, spirit or other non-corporeal agent, for the simple reason that one can't see it, really ends the inquiry before it starts. If you're interested in this kind of inquiry, you really have to ask yourself from the get-go, why it is that you assume that you've got to be able to see, touch, taste, smell, hit, gouge, run over and otherwise mechanically manipulate in order for "it" to be "real"?

So, to bring this 'round back to where I started ... while writing this post, I realized that part of what makes this photograph/representation so inviting is, for me anyway, that it actually represents a "real" scene which has been 'created' and actually exists in the firmament. I'd still think it is a pretty and impressive bit of art work even if it were made from 'whole cloth'. But, for me, its (presumed) representational nature makes a difference in how thorougly I enjoy viewing this scene.

In "Don't Fact-Check the Soul" (New York Times, April 29, 2008), Rosanne Cash observes that creativity is "outside" linear time and that commitment and diligence are more valuable, and productive, than infatuation, or as she calls it, youthful inspiration.

And, she's right. The supposition that everything we do, say, or feel must be a 'confession', or a reflection of some unyielding superstructure which exists entirely independently of our mark, our contribution our development of IT, is a misguided Freudian-style bias which wholly robs the soul of its power to create life, beauty and harmony.

We --- each of us, and all of us together --- are the creators of what there is, how it is conceived and what comes "after" now. Someone who is inclined to wallow in victim-hood would demur, I am sure. But, the fact remains that we aren't mere observers of what has been set in motion by forces greater than ourselves and which runs independently of our contribution to it. We are the authors of life, the architects of beauty and the managers of our self-directed fates.

Don't look for the truth. Create it.