A man in himself is nothing, yet he thinks himself so across life. And the greatest transition a man endures in this life is from usefulness to uselessness in his own mind and his own right. A man might be chained to the fence, barking at the moon about how many more good years he feels he has. Society may have cast him aside some time ago, and told him that he has no intrinsic value, and that his instrumental value is slipping through the fingers on time’s hand. We are each born with value that we cannot ascribe to other things. And that value does not diminish with time. For when the song of doubt, darkness, and danger sings, those who listen have also committed a crime. We must push each other to see the need for repair. We must pull each other into the place we belong. For those who are filled with hope, love, and care, sing an altogether different song.


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Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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