seeing beyond zero visibility

What do you do with zero visibility? A man who posted this in the chat exclaimed that visibility was zero at that point but he was determined to get home in time to cook the family reunion dinner. Yes, a man rushing home from work so that he could give his family of grown up live-at-home working children a real treat.

He loves cooking and has owned food and beverage businesses in the past. His family persuaded him to retire and he has since gone into minor home expansion construction line. But he has not stopped cooking. He treats his own home like a cafe, rises extra early just to cook for the day before he goes out. The wife and children can eat them cold or heat them up after work. The soup and rice are always kept warm.

Daily I read a different menu across the ocean in the group chat. His heart has remained a chef. On special days (reunion, birthdays, Christmas, New Year Eve) he goes home early and cooks for his loved ones and old faithful clients really special dishes.

In writing too, at times, I ask if I should move on to a more leisurely field. Because writing an original story, like a chef cooking, is not a delegable job, and can become taxing as years go by. But then, I know because that is where I have laid my heart, one day, I too, may have to resort to making a menu for writing bite-size stuff for the sake of a few very old loved ones, a handful of friends, and even some faithful stranger-readers I have never met.

2023-02-10

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a river of parting poems

second page restartSecuring a second page to restart
running this cold steel ruler to mark
a boundary, a demarcation so hard yet tender
in souls that had been torn asunder
cutting heart to heart

If you gaze enough
upward and beyond this gentle
starry night, you will see this river by which every poem must part
glistening as ever
blue as steel

Love and pain: a haiku (with prose)

white snow n black rock
Concealed and revealed
interspersed with love and pain
compelling unveiled
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~He decides to dedicate today to the subject of LOVE. On waking this morning he observes that the snow has melted and revealed dark foreboding jagged black rock, like he is suddenly going through a lesson on the description of rocks, including their color and surface shape, plus characteristics such as size, shape, and arrangement of the grains or crystals in each rock. The partially melted snow has cleansed the rocks. It is as if a giant painter has walked through this patch of the mountain and used his gigantic brush and drawn a pattern for the snow to turn into liquid and flow away so that the rock may appear and assume its place in time. He think of his own life that it too has been drawn and brushed and patterned by an invisible hand from birth to this dawn of the melting snow. He wonders what each rock had been before it becomes a rock. He wonders why he had not found a love patch in his own heart until he was twenty and met her, a young smart mature precocious girl of ten. He thinks of the eight years they have had mostly on an intellectual and spiritual connection and comradeship, relying mostly on technology to link up. She lives with her very exclusive folks and travels extensively for her study of draught and underground water. He lives with the convention, also traveling extensively round the globe to all premium conventions held and hosted by the Midas hotel chain. His friends deride him, “What kind of love is that? Love in the virtual world?” He has taken her advice and started to study building. The two of them are going to take care of two major concerns of the world’s poorest and most disaster-hit people groups: water and shelter. His boss taunts him by singing the Impossible Dream from Man of La Mancha with daily rendition in full*. Is he taunted? No. Remember? He is a star gazer. He sees and focuses on one star and he is going after it, and he knows it is not unreachable. The name is called LOVE.

~~~~~~~~~~
*Lyrics
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far

To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause

And I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest

And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star

Landmark for love: a haiku (and a prose)

Purea snow landmark
snow clothing with might
authenticity that tied
love so pure in sight
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space.* He suddenly recalled how he used this line and wrote his first prose. He did not have access to this book then and read it as a quote somewhere. It invoked imagination now of what he would do when he re-visited his own life in time in the different dimensions of space like a layered cake through which he sliced, exposing its various perspectives, colors, smells, textures and ingredients: sound, sight, touch, feel, appearance, love, hate, happiness, sadness, success, disappointment, fulfillment, failure, good, bad, loving kindness, mercy, charity, selfishness, delusion, indifference,  warmth, coldness, passion, hopefulness, disillusion, credibility, integrity, wretchedness,  lowliness, lacking luster, mediocrity, grandeur, majesty, magnificence, clarity, excellence, stupidity, brilliance, despondency, desolation, elation, jubilation, celebration, melancholy, exuberance, blissfulness and contentment. At twenty-eight he had gone through far more than many of his peers. He was at least happy. He sometimes wondered what was beneath the thick cloth of snow on the mountain. What the snow tried to shield and protect. His life too had been a shield for many things. The convention service too was a shield for many. The participants came and allowed the artificial environment and near real technological simulation give them a pretense of greatness and well-being. Then they left and went home with a fully charged life battery for another year on their respective fast track. He never looked for reality in the convention hall. His verisimilitude was in her. There was no need for simulation or artificial intelligence. Life was not simulation despite the money bags in that game. Life to him was authenticity. Often he and his love exchanged audio recording of each other. He listened to her laugh. They were fresh and sparkling like the mountain spring that rushed down the steep ravine as he trekked up the mountain. He could hear her smiling as she talked, exulting optimism, expectation, expectancy, confidence, faith, trust, belief, conviction, assurance; promise and possibility. Love was a reality between them. (to be continued)

(*the one line quote is taken from Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye).

coming home to the rain and typing

Since returning to my more stable and familiar station, I have encountered two major issues: the weather and the internet.

I welcome the tropical weather. No more heavy clothing and encumbrances in terms of what to wear for jogging and walking in winter. Of course the rain is bothersome at times. This station has rain that does not stop except for brief intervals. It goes on for days and nights and weeks. It does not flood the land as I am on high ground with good drainage and least over-development. But it does mean that I don’t go out walking and neither can I walk or bath the dog. Another inconvenience is I don’t like driving in the rain too. So I am sort of grounded with the dog, watching the rain day in day out at the window.  The dog is fine as I have enough food and snacks readily stocked for her to last until the rain finally stops. As for me, I can hardly say that I am sensibly stocked enough for a month or so. All that I have done so far since returning was to visit the computer programmer and worked through an internet issue that stopped me from using my new MacBook Pro to access the internet using a local internet mobile USB broadband.

I have inadvertently left behind my other laptop charger in the foreign country across the pacific ocean. So I have no option but to keep working at solving the MacBook issue. I cannot get a replacement locally. None of the other charger fits. There is no stock in the market. Amazing. Even a charger can ground me.

Under such circumstances what does a traveler writer do? I started spring cleaning so that I perchance might locate a long forgotten laptop in good condition and is internet friendly. At first I thought I could perhaps borrow from someone who has similarly gone on her own long journey. I looked through the common cabinets and drawers and came upon a tiny laptop in a pretty wrapping. I thought it was one of her old discarded one. Behold, when I pulled it out I was in for a pleasant surprise -it is my own back up notebook from another foreign land, a third world poor country where I purchased it for a mere $100 in the second hand market. It is in perfect condition and immediately goes online without any trouble.

Well I have finally solved the internet and MacBook issues. Now I am back to my large print screen and beautiful pictures display. I suppose it is a matter of habits. During the days when I had to use the tiny laptop I actually became accustomed to its size and fonts. I once thought it was never meant to be of any serious typing. I thought I could not even look at its fonts. But when I started using it I hardly noticed any such weaknesses. I was giving thanks daily this last resort backup typing machine was hardy, reliable and faithful.

So in a way I learn a writer’s lesson. A writer uses a typewriter or something we call a notebook to write. The internet does not really matter. I was so obsessed with the lack of internet ease of accessing relevant information and good visibly large prints of what I type and display of the beautiful photographs I have taken that I have forgotten that it is the writing in texts and the originality of my contents that really matter. The rests are frills.

a browser of the heart in a chest called “Love”: a haiku (and a prose)

a browser called love
a browser of the heart called “Love”

so deep is the night

these two fingers click a heart

locked in chest named “Love” ~~~~~~~Browsing through this blog, I found that this is the series that bares an aspect of my heart that I hardly talk about except in the deepest moment of a random night when I dare venture into a browser of the heart hidden and locked in the chest called: “Love”.

https://freemindconfession.wordpress.com/category/a-haiku-story-dear-love/

two minds: To love at all is to be vulnerable

CS Lewis

a haiku for this story of the love of two minds:

a mind who ponders

met a mirrored mind of his

late but not too late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken…””For Jack the attraction was at first undoubtedly intellectual. Joy was the only woman whom he had met … ”

Thirty great quotes from C.S. Lewis

1. “Friendship … is born at the moment when one man says to another “What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .” The Four Loves
2. “You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”
3. “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” The Four Loves
4. “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”
5. “Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”
6. “A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.”
7. “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”
8. “The Christian does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us.”
9. “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art…. It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.” The Four Loves
10. “Eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably.”
11. “I can’t imagine a man really enjoying a book and reading it only once.”
12. “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” Mere Christianity
13. “No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.”
14. “To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.”
15. “We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.”
16. “A man can no more diminish God’s glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word ‘darkness’ on the walls of his cell.” The Problem of Pain
17. “Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.”
18. “There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
19. “God can’t give us peace and happiness apart from Himself because there is no such thing.”
20. “Crying is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do.” The Silver Chair
21. “I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.” Mere Christianity
22. “Atheism turns out to be too simple. If the whole universe has no meaning, we should never have found out that it has no meaning…”
23. “It is a good rule after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between.”
24. “I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia.” The Silver Chair
25. “Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
26. “I have learned now that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.”
27. “You can make anything by writing.”
28. “The homemaker has the ultimate career. All other careers exist for one purpose only – and that is to support the ultimate career. ”
29. “He died not for men, but for each man. If each man had been the only man made, He would have done no less.”
30. “What draws people to be friends is that they see the same truth. They share it.”

CLIVE STAPLES LEWIS (1898–1963), son of a solicitor and the daughter of an Anglican priest, was one of the intellectual giants of the twentieth century and arguably one of the most influential writers of his day. When he was four, his dog Jacksie was killed by a car, and he announced that his name was now Jacksie. At first, he would answer to no other name, but later accepted Jack, the name by which he was known to friends and family for the rest of his life.

As a boy, Lewis was fascinated with anthropomorphic animals; he fell in love with Beatrix Potter’s stories and often wrote and illustrated his own animal stories.  He also grew to love nature and its beauty. Lewis was raised in a religious family that attended the Church of Ireland. He became an atheist at age 15, though he later described his young self as being paradoxically “angry with God for not existing.” He eventually returned to Christianity, having been influenced by arguments with his Oxford colleague and friend J. R. R. Tolkien, whom he seems to have met for the first time on 11 May 1926, and by the book The Everlasting Man by G. K. Chesterton. Lewis vigorously resisted conversion, noting that he was brought into Christianity like a prodigal, “kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance to escape.” He described his last struggle in Surprised by Joy:

“You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”

From 1941 to 1943, Lewis spoke on religious programs broadcast by the BBC from London while the city was under periodic air raids. These broadcasts were appreciated by civilians and servicemen at that stage. For example, Air Chief Marshal Sir Donald Hardman wrote:

“The war, the whole of life, everything tended to seem pointless. We needed, many of us, a key to the meaning of the universe. Lewis provided just that.”

The broadcasts were anthologized in Mere Christianity. From 1941, he was occupied at his summer holiday weekends visiting R.A.F. stations to speak on his faith, invited by the R.A.F.’s Chaplain-in-Chief Maurice Edwards.

It was also during the same wartime period that Lewis was invited to become first President of the Oxford Socratic Club in January 1942, a position that he enthusiastically held until he resigned on appointment to Cambridge University in 1954. He was unanimously elected to the Chair of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge University, a position he held until his retirement.

In later life, Lewis corresponded and fell in love with Joy Davidman Gresham, an American writer of Jewish background, a former Communist, and a convert from atheism to Christianity. Lewis’s brother Warren described Joy:

“For Jack the attraction was at first undoubtedly intellectual. Joy was the only woman whom he had met … who had a brain which matched his own in suppleness, in width of interest, and in analytical grasp, and above all in humor and a sense of fun.”

After complaining of a painful hip, she was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer, and the relationship developed to the point that they sought a Christian marriage. Since she was divorced, this was not straightforward in the Church of England at the time, but a friend, the Rev. Peter Bide, performed the ceremony at her bed in the Churchill Hospital on 21 March 1957. Gresham’s cancer soon went into remission, and the couple lived together as a family until 1960, when recurrence of the cancer caused her death.

He wrote more than thirty books, allowing him to reach a vast audience, and his works continue to attract thousands of new readers every year. His most distinguished and popular accomplishments include Mere Christianity, Out of the Silent Planet, The Great Divorce, The Screwtape Letters, and the universally acknowledged classics The Chronicles of Narnia which is a series of seven fantasy novels for children and is considered a classic of children’s literature. Written between 1949 and 1954, the series is Lewis’s most popular work, having sold over 100 million copies in 41 languages, has been adapted several times, complete or in part, for radio, television, stage and cinema.

(The above is excerpted from various web sources)

perfect love, he wrote again: a haiku story

the rock.jpg
the rock

He went to the rock

in time to witness the waves

spitting spurting foams

~~~~~~~He thinks he should write this letter to her to report his whereabouts. “My dearest love:

You have heard that I come to the ocean to visit the rock. Yes, I have just returned safely to my well-heated room, warm, filled with festive food and drink, slept for eight quality hours, now feeling rested and contented despite having braved the somewhat physically taxing journey in this cold alone. As you will note in some pictures you will receive, the general look is sunny but the feel of the north wind is freezing and slashing over exposed skin like sharp razor-thin blades of ice. The ocean remains innocently blue like the clear uncluttered sky. But do not be deceived -the waves rage. Being completely trusting you will not ask why I choose to proceed with such a trip in the first place to such a desolate and void wilderness. Like before, you will look at the scars and marks on my limbs and shake your head gently and sigh softly, like a light breeze that brushes my forehead unobtrusively and soothingly. “Just look at you!” You will wash and mend the gaping new wound with clean running water, wipe with a swap, apply olive oil and then pray. “Don’t hurt the same spot again, okay?” You will urge me to be careful. But you will not tell me not to go away again. You will not ask me to retire from travel like others do. You will not put fear in me.

I just want to say how much you have lifted me and built me up by your kind silence. Indeed, the physical world (the sea is the world) is not what it appears to be. Things (living and otherwise) with evil intent may try to intimidate but they will be in vain when we stay fearless. Often they use sounds, movements, volume with speed, suddenness of onslaught, and other means with the purpose to bring fear. Who will fear? A ship without an anchor and a safe unshakable anchoring place will be in fear. A ship without a clear and accurate direction will have fear too. Because it will not reach its safe and sure harbor. Sometimes I lie in bed at night far away in a distant shore from your land and wander why you do not have fear that I will be lost.

Many years ago I read of a family printing thousands of handbills to distribute all over their country because the grand-dad went out to buy a packet of cigarettes and never returned. He had forgotten to come home. They are still looking for him. Year after year on his birthday they publish an open letter signed by all his family members: children, grandchildren and their spouses, appealing for him to return. at the time of this letter he would be close to 90 or more if still alive.

I once met a young ‘derelict’ who said he had traveled from his parents’ home across the sea to become a cook without success for two years until he had lost every cent. “Why do you want to be a cook when you have no qualification or experience?” I asked after hearing his brief account. I was interested to hear perhaps a touching story of a young person who would be cook. He answered plainly, “Because I think cooking is easy.” I tried to advise him, “Return to your parents. Maybe even for a short while.” But he shook his head. He said he could not afford to call them either. I found him a factory job which gave him free board and warm meals. When I next called they said he had left after a few days as he said he still wanted to be a cook. He seemed to have vanished. You know the story ending. I never found him. Perhaps he has returned to his parents’ home. Perhaps they too have been printing handbills and plastered posters all over to find their lost son. He would be in his forties by now.

You will not ask me why I bother to recall others’ stories in my love letter. I ask myself too. I can imagine the disappointment in the readers’ thoughts. There is not even a love phrase. What kind of love letter is this?  I am not the old man who will forget to come home. Neither am I the young man who has lost himself in his unreal dream. I suppose I can relate to the common factor of love and loss in a manner. Each man is given perhaps one or more loved ones. The pain is always in the one who wants to give love. The giver loves more than the receiver. In the case of the old man I like to think that he has truly forgotten his home and those who love him. In the case of the young man too. I like to think that they do not feel the pain of being left behind. Having loved and being made to stop is a sad thing in life.

Sometimes I hear and see fear in a person. He fears because he cannot perform adequately to earn love. Fear cripples. Fear makes one flee. He wants to flee being hurt. Some flee physically. Some mentally and emotionally. What can cast out fear? You know my answer: Perfect love.

I am not saying that you and I have perfect love for each other. I am saying that you and I have one Perfect Love. The Love that will never cause us to flee from each other. Even when I cannot perform to be worthy of your love, it does not matter. The same applies for you. Perfect Love casts out fear. My love for you will not base on your performance. Neither is yours for me. Many years ago I read this verse:

“Love does not demand its own way.”

It hurts. But it gives the material to sustain love. For a long long time to come. I believe. From your beloved. “

1 John 4:18 [Full Chapter]

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves torment. But he who fears has not been made perfect in love.

[ Love and Joy Perfected ] “As the Father loved Me, I also have loved you; abide in My love.

I in them, and You in Me; that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that You have sent Me, and have loved them as You have loved Me.

But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection.

[ The Consummation of Love ] Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness in the day of judgment; because as He is, so are we in this world.

He heard a sound so familiar: a haiku story

a sound from above

 

he heard his name called

from a distance but not far

warm and tender thought

~~~~~~~~~~Naturally her. Gentle. Firm. Hope overflowing from every pore if sound has pores. He heard a sound so familiar that for a moment he thought he was at home seeping hot coffee reading new poems at his favorite armchair settling down to his much loved routine of living normalcy with familiarity. Looking through the audio files in his external travel backup he has found an unnamed file today. The sound that comes through surprises him pleasantly. She is reading a book, chapter by chapter. Like she is standing at the podium, casually lifting up her head from time to time, her long thick black hair blown and somewhat ruffled under the twirling ceiling fan, occasionally smiling with her large, dark eyes that could speak countless words just by looking so intensely at the awe-struck audience. “The Kingdom of God –Chapter One,” she reads effortlessly with a certainty and assurance that comes only with her cool confidence and belief of the subject. The voice. He remembers the first time they met. Newly returned to his home country after a long and weary corporate posting far faraway he was invited to a fund raising function. Formal and crowded with important guests. Having been cramped in an economy class cabin due to unavailability of business class then, flying and not sleeping for over twenty hours, he arrived late straight from the airport, decided to stand near the door as all seats were taken and he thought perhaps he could slip away without being noticed. An elderly clergy went up the stage and said a prayer. After that she walked to the center of the platform from the backstage. A very young woman with long black hair in her early twenties in a comfortable white cotton dress with blue waves at the fringe. He was too far to see her facial features clearly but he thought he needed to hear her out because he was drawn to the voice as she spoke the first sentence. He stood there for about two hours because of the voice. There was kindness in her voice. When he closed his wearied and heavy eyelids he heard a lifting kindness. Like a gentle hand lightly holding a tired, cold, weathered, scarred with old wounds and bleeding with fresh wounds seagull who had lost its way at the vast ocean, fell and swept ashore, flown inadvertently inland and too far home, and crashed in from the storm, the voice said, “Don’t be afraid. Come to me. I will give you rest.” The deepest part of his wound-up soul which he thought he had secreted into a forgotten treasure chest sealed and hidden so well was suddenly exposed, unlocked, touched, unraveled and the thick opaque veil on his hardened heart lifted. He could not help but walking toward the stage, nearer and nearer, spurred by an anticipation that drew out every effort from a tired body that silently and sensibly advised, “Go home, and go to bed!” He just wanted to say “hello” to her, shake her hands, thank her for her efforts for all those lost people, and perhaps look into her large dark deep pupils that smiled at him so kindly. Perhaps as habitual in his profession condescendingly, “You seem too young to be doing this,” he practiced in his mind. Or should he say affectedly, “Thank you so much for all the little homeless children”? Or simply bluntly and honestly, “I like your voice!” He practiced and revised many times before he had the courage to go and shake her hands and introduced himself. He was being presumptuous he thought. Did he look preposterous and out of place in his rumpled executive suit dragging a suitcase? What did she see? An anonymous stranger of indeterminable age who was obviously out of place in that crowd. What did she hear? Some cliché words or sentences which real meaning she did not have time to digest. What did she expect of him? Really nothing much. Many hands she shook. Many kind and appreciative words she heard. The rain came. Heavy armored thundering battalions of horses and chariots marched down from heaven, drowning out every mortal sound. People were leaving. She was surrounded and protected by her admiring friends and they shielded her to her vehicle and drove off. He did not speak to her after all. But he found out her name and her profession. O yes, even her age. Her friends had hurried her off to celebrate her 29th birthday. Not as young and juvenile as he had first thought but still half a generation away from him. What can he ever say to her? What words did her generation use? What words could a man from the forties speak to a woman of the sixties? What could they have in common? He called a cab and left the hall alone in the silence of his mind. The year was 1992.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
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