A Sunday...

Who knew? Not I. This life is not something easily defined. We think with confidence that we can look up existence in the dictionary and be rightly satisfied. This is false. We are not who we think we are, no matter how much we smugly contemplate it. Love is the only answer, as wavering of a thing that it is. My hand is your hand, and God is all around us. So breath deep next time; matter matters. The king of the Earth is blind with an empty hole in his meaty chest where his heart used to be, and his voice is the deafening thunder that splits the sky. And we will continue to love him for it.