This will, hopefully, become a little corner of the internet where I can share my thoughts and feelings and, perhaps, make a little bit of a positive change in the world – whether by bringing some light into life or offering a new perspective.
Please feel free to look through my musings and comment. I welcome both constructive arguments and kind agreement for, the more we talk the more we can learn and the more we discuss the more we see.
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So, who am I?
Truth be told I’m still learning some of that myself. A year ago I would never have imagined I’d feel strongly enough about something to want to post it online but here I am.
I’m a man who spent much of his youth hiding away from the world but has slowly ‘woken up’ to find that the world looks vastly different to what I imagined it would.
I live in the UK and love my home for the wonderful countryside and colourful tapestry of its history. Most of all it’s the life that fills this lovely land, from the pounding waves of the coast through the ancient forest roots to the echos of past footsteps in ancient buildings. It’s a land of living history born from the lives of every farmer and labourer and rising up through every royal and lord.
There used to be a belief in ancient times that kings were tied to the life of the land – responsible for the lives of everyone and everything they were ruler of. It’s a belief I love the idea of and one I feel still applies today in each of our lives, whether we’re king just over ourselves or landlords watching over tenants and property or farmers who represents vast fields and herds of sheep.
I find it hard to admit it and have only just come to the realization of this fact.
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Three times this week I’ve done something prejudice, each time with good intent and not conscious of what I’d done but still each one is there and something I find myself cringing from the memory of.
We tend to think of prejudice as some form of hate or purposeful destruction but it was only with reading a comment on the internet that I realised it’s simpler than that – prejudice is seeing one aspect of someone else and making an assumption based on that with the underlying impact that, that makes you feel somehow superior to them in some way. In my case it was their disabilities which made me feel they needed assistance and that I had a superior position to be able to offer that. Looking back I came across as an idiot and it was only that they knew me and that my intent was good which left me with only my own conscience berating me.
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I’m lucky in that I’m not going to be prejudiced against very often if at all but for others such things happen every day with malicious intent and to the scale that they become isms ( racism, sexism etc.. ). But being prejudice isn’t something limited to a straight white man, it’s something we can all so easily fall into the trap of.
Now I’m starting to wonder if we’re really fixing this problem. We fix racism by dealing with people’s actions against different races, and we deal with sexism by dealing with our different actions against different genders. I could go on but the point is that if all we’re doing is dealing with our reactions because this is an issue which has finally come to light after centuries of abuse and pain, then have we really learned or are we just following the trend?
Does it count to say, “I wont be racist against them” when we’re still making assumptions? We just make them differently rather than stop making them so have we really then dealt with that particular issue or just altered it so it doesn’t notice?
I’m starting to wonder if we really need to learn to look at our assumptions from moment to moment so that we can get to a point one day when we’re aiming to nip hate in the bud before it can grow from our assumptions of difference and superiority into something even worse
As usual it’s just when I’m due to sleep that the words for a new post or story hit me. Must be a me thing I guess.
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I have my bad habits and flaws. Yes, it’s a huge shock I’m sure – gasp, I’m human.
Anyway, I have my bad habits and although I keep them to myself I’m not afraid to admit I’m flawed, however it was with some reluctance that I admitted that I tend to shy away into them at times, because I find life scary.
I don’t mean one off, big responsibility, ‘no pressure’ moment scared either, I mean the other kind; the scared which seems to sit there whispering in the early hours and calls from moments of excitement and tv screens. The fear of really seeing.
It’s that moment where you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and just see you with no embellishment or glamor. It’s when you look at the life you’re living and realise that there’s still plain walls under the fantastic tapestries you put up and rough hewn wood floors beneath all those rugs.
Strangely I don’t think that the bare truth is any less beautiful or fantastic but it’s like a mirror, while all the trappings are a sponge.
With the bare truth you can’t get away or hide and the only way to see it’s beauty is to spend time and effort in looking while the glitter and wonder of the rest of the worlds trappings leave you feeling ever smaller. But with the trappings you can keep your mind ever filled with the magic of something else.
I know I have to face those bare walls sometime soon but it’s hard not to shy away every time, especially with so many easy options available, ready to tell me a story which I can spend an age forgetting myself in.
What I don’t know is what I’ll find when I do get up the courage to look. Will all my problems be as huge as I think or will they be just shadows and small cracks? Will the world look just plain and boring or will I find myself diving into something more magical than I could imagine?
The honest answer is, I just don’t know. I suspect that once my eye’s get over the bright glitter of all the distractions I’ll start to see life has more subtle wonders to show me but I wont know until I get there.
But the big truth is that I can’t grow much without facing it.
So this post is going to look a bit different to my usual ones. It’s both political and religious, two things I prefer not to write about because of my lack of knowledge, and yet they’re so strong in my heart right now I felt I needed to post this.
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I guess you could say I’m a religious person. I don’t tend to mention it as it really has no bearing on what I post about or most of my person to person interactions in life; it doesn’t change who I am or how I live but it’s something I have within me.
There’s also the fact that I worry that people will imagine I’m going to be trying to convert them or telling them they’re evil.
I suppose that’s why I wanted to mention it now.
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Religion seems so often to be taken up as a weapon or banner for hate – even against others within the religion itself. Or it becomes some totem of power to wield in destructive control.
That’s not why I became religious.
Strangely, right at the beginning ( before I knew which type of religious I was, or even thought to call it that ) I did it because I read something that made me think that a being greater than me was hurt and alone and I found I could empathise with that and didn’t want to walk away without caring or at least making sure they weren’t alone. My religion’s grown and changed direction since then but I still remember caring and every time I think of some myths or deities I think of them as alive and worth caring about, whether they’re the ones I follow or not.
You see, religion isn’t just power or community, it’s reaching out to something more and wanting to care about something greater than ourselves. I think science is the same in that regard, as people seek to touch and understand an existence greater than ever we could imagine and find ever more unique and wondrous things.
Every time I think about the deities and worlds described in religion I think about the emotions and feelings they have. I read their stories and see them caring or being destructive and realise that it’s not about them being perfect but about us learning how to care and learn from both the bad and good in them. Just as reading history is about learning from the bad and good actions of the past and doing better.
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I’m saying all this because I see so much hate being given a religious banner right now, in particular that seen in the overturn of Wade vs Roe, and it saddens me.
It saddens me because of the hate, but also because that hate is used to hide the very deity it’s used as a banner and, in doing so, it makes us think that we have to draw lines and turns a way of reaching out to the world into a way of building walls.
Of course this isn’t something you need a church or prayer for; it’s something that’s at the heart of just being alive. From explorers of deep space to archaeologist knee deep in flints and remnants of calcified grains. From children wanting to touch an insect flying past to people lonely and wanting to find someone who understands them. Our every day is filled with trying to reach out beyond ourselves.
“Trying to touch something more yet being afraid because it’s different” is almost the catchphrase of the human race. I just hope we choose to balance the scales towards reaching out in wonder and caring and not lashing out in fear and hate.
Do you ever look at your life and realise you’re standing there doing things, just thinking you have to because there’s no one else? You find yourself on that horse with bright shining sword thinking, “well the real hero’s not here yet but someone’s got to go out and hold off that army until they arrive. I hope they don’t mind me borrowing this sword for a bit, but I don’t think my old stick would be of any use.
You just go out there and keep doing things, knowing that you only have to hold on for the hero. You don’t want to stop; don’t want to look back and see how far you’ve had to come or how many monsters you’ve had to fight; don’t want to look up and stop for fear that your borrowed sword will be too heavy to lift once more,
And you don’t want to imagine that you might be the only one here because you can’t bring yourself to believe you might be the hero – it’s just too crazy a thought when you know every fault and scar across your heart. How can you dare pretend such greatness for yourself?
You certainly don’t want to stop and think of how much you’re carrying or what would happen if you dropped your guard for even a moment.
“Is this real?” Your voice cries in doubt. “Am I just deluding myself?”
Then you slip and fail for a moment and all those images of great heroes with perfect form and words assault your mind with doubt and the sword feels so heavy and the army so vast.
And you know for certain and an absolute fact that you can’t do this. You’ve only survived from luck and sheer chance and how far can that really take you? You’ve let everyone down because you wanted to pretend you can do this, when really you can’t do anything but make a mess.
Only., only you’re going to hold. You’re going to stand and do this because someone has to and you’re not going to be the one to let everything end up destroyed because you couldn’t wait one more day for the hero. You’ll stand one more time and wait for the quiet of night before you let your limbs shake and tears burn where no-one can see them.
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It’s so easy to carry the doubt. Every day a thousand words and images remind us what a hero should really look like. Every misstep or stupid word is contrasted with the perfection of a hollywood great, complete with adoring fans and wondrous make up.
It’s so easy to remember we’re nothing, when the sound on the air is the trumpet of power and money beyond comprehension, and the blinding light is that great pedestal of movie heroes, unblemished and refined.
Can a hero really be just a simple shop worker or bin person? Can a hero be found in the struggle to wake and simply live? Can it be found in the tears of loss and pain? Can it be found in the struggle just to live when your body fights your every step?
And yet, can a hero ever be found anywhere else? The light and trumpets are just dressing, the absolute perfection, just a mask. When the cameras are switched off do the stars also shake and doubt? Do they fear the mask being torn or shattered?
Sometimes the hero really is just the person who faced their doubts in order to stand up when there was no-one else. And sometimes something as simple as meeting the day and/or offering a person a kindness can be more epic than drawing a sword from a stone to the sound of crashing drums and raucous cheers.
You are a hero. Not because of epic moments but because, no matter how much it hurts, you still care.
A huge population recently turned on itself and a huge group of people found themselves scared and feeling alone in a land they should be able to call home.
It shouldn’t take someone like me posting to remind others that this is wrong or that someone needs to show them they aren’t alone in so many hearts, both near and distant.
It shouldn’t take great insight to realise that saying protect the fetus over the woman is tantamount to saying to a woman, “We don’t see you as having value other than as a child bearing machine”.
It shouldn’t take an emotional earthquake to wake people up to how scary it must be to be told you don’t matter.
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For all those who’ve cheered and jeered at how wonderful it is that Wade vs Roe has gone, it shouldn’t take even a single word from me to guide you to the hurt and fear in eyes around you or to remind you that you would have faced fear before too.
When did your compassion decide to set limits? How did you determine that value is given less to some than others?
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For all those who cried and hid when the trumpets and cheers started, you’re never alone. A million silent voices are saddened though you may never see them. A million arms want to keep you safe from the hate though you may never feel them.
It always seems like the loudest voices are of anger and hate but that doesn’t mean that the vast silence is empty and uncaring.
It may not help but,
That silence is filled with compassion without the words to express itself and that space has hearts which care and love
I’m not even American or a woman but the leaking of the preliminary opinion of the Supreme Court in relation to Roe still leaves me worried for those who will face the hurt if the final ruling is the same. More than that (more than the fact that so many women will be faced with fear of prison and being turned in by their neighbours, more than the fact that those bearing children from rape will be forced to have that hurt with them for day after day, more than that there will be a whole group of people faced with knowing they’ve lost the right to their own body in the eyes of the law, more than all the suppression and pain) this is a ruling which goes against everything I believe in.
This is, allegedly, a ruling to say, “the government has no right to tell the state how to run things.” Well, when did the state get given the right to own a person ( not just the body; the person )! How dare anyone suggest that there is a right in this day and age, to give anyone other than the individual in question, the right to tell them what they can do in themselves.
This isn’t about the government having the right to tell the state what to do. This is about the job of the government to make sure that the first right is always that of an individual over themselves.
In truth it’s not just the government’s responsibility. It’s all our responsibilities. If anyone has power over anyone or anything else their first responsibility must be the welfare and freedoms of those under their power – that goes for every power from the local shop owner to the US government to the UK Prime Minister to the Pope to the head of the UN.. Frankly, it doesn’t matter who else wants a say in things or who feels you’re treading on their toes, if you have the power you have the responsibility.
So, from what I understand, this all issues from the vague wording of the US constitution which states that an individuals rights should be protected but doesn’t clearly state what they are.
This is a document ratified in 1788 and amended after. It was designed in an age long gone when there were threats from within and without to be dealt with and it’s a document trying to envisage every possibility for a far distant future. Of course it’s not going to have all the answers but I’m pretty sure the authors of it would have intended for some common sense and compassion to be used and must have expected new situations to require new thinking.
There’s another piece of paper which was written and is held dear in the US and part of it reads – “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”. I may be a bit slow but to me that sounds like some clear guidance right there.
That is the most well remembered section of the Declaration of Independence and for good reason. In a single line it states clearly the intent of it’s creators. The founders of the US ( and the authors of the constitution ) held those words as the highest and most important truth. In a single line they expressed unequivocally, that they want the people to be free to live their lives safely and unafraid. They even went further and stated in later lines that a government which doesn’t uphold that doesn’t deserve to exist. Maybe it’s not in the constitution and law but it certainly seems like it was in the hearts and intents of the authors of that law.
It doesn’t matter if the constitution is vague, to remove the freedom of a woman to have an abortion is to remove her liberty. That’s it. Final.
Frankly that also goes for all the other civil liberties held in jeopardy if this law is overturned. It doesn’t matter what someone’s sexuality, gender, race, age or finances, they have a right to be themselves unless it somehow endangers others.
If the US government decides to turn its back on civil liberties then it can no longer claim to be a true democracy. If the value and care of all it’s citizens isn’t at the heart of the leadership and forces of law in the head of a country then it has failed to preform it most basic and important task.
In truth, the UK is pretty bad too. We’re lucky we’ve got national pensions and the NHS but we’re still nowhere near being a worthy role model. We still have a lot of work to do to ensure equal access for all women across the UK as well, and we still have a lot of old mind sets to work on, among other things.
Maybe we need to have some over arching law for all the world saying ‘this is what civil liberties look like, now protect them,’ because, without them we have no rights to call ourselves civilised.
Ps. Thank you to my friend Shannon for your advice and guidance over the course of writing this post
He asked why the flowers lay at the foot of the gravestone.
All about them the wild wind whipped up flurries of leaves in its lament; a swirling storm of rusty oranges and muted browns twisting round trees and graves like an ever moving mist. The light was tempered by the angry violet clouds above, which both threatened storm and foretold of the ice and snow yet to come. The graves stood low, huddled to the ground for warmth or part hidden under masses of dark green brambles and overgrown grasses.
He looked up as the harsh croaking voice of a crow pierced the breeze from the dark behemoth branches of the yew above. As he did so, his mother knelt down to look deep in his eyes and hold his cold hands in the warmth of hers. She noted how small and fragile he seemed, how tiny his hands were in hers, how innocent his eyes and the smoothness of a brow as yet untroubled with the weight of the world’s cares.
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She wondered what to say and how to speak. She stopped as her tongue strove for form to tell of the pain that could shatter this perfect crystal-like gem before her.
How was she to speak of the many long wars; to tell of the blood-soaked lands where men whispered their dying breaths to darkening air turned acrid from powder, smoke and gas. What could she say of forgotten trenches where fear bred like rats, or the great prison cages where death waited to wash over in breathless showers. Was it easier to break him slow with purpose and reason, or should she tell him straight and watch him curl about the wound of shattered light.
She looked at the grave. No-one lay beneath it but it marked the spot where all had stood since first blood was drawn many lifetimes ago. It lay unremarked on for all but one day a year, yet it was never truly forgotten, just put to one side so that the hurt was made unreal and intangible. It’s form was low yet its shadow could reach to the ends of the earth. It marked a point that was promised to remember but so often was left forgotten.
What could she tell him? What should she say?
The first drops of rain brushed her cheek as she reached out and kissed his forehead, then gently she led him over to the bench near-by.
Long they sat there as she spoke, knowing only that she couldn’t lie. Haltingly, her words came at first, gaining smoothness only as her feet reached solid ground. About them the rain passed unnoticed and the wind ebbed and flowed.
She spoke of loss and sadness and told him of the loves left behind; the tales of young men marched proudly from her lips and fell in silence to the air. She said about burning bullets of hate and friends made foe in fear and lies and greed. She recounted the great purposes shown as folly in the grim powder light and fire. She explained of hatred, blind without end.
She spoke all the pain that she wished to hide from, and the darkness in human hearts. Then she brushed his eyes and sadly smiled. “That’s why the grave is there.”
She paused and thought. “But not,” she added, “the flowers.”
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She took from her bag a single bloom as she said this; a perfect red of blood it was, bright and warm.
Then, laying the flower to the grave’s edge she spoke once more. Her voice now certain and strong where it had felt frail before. She talked about hopes and kindness when all seemed too bleak to find a friend. She raised her words to recount of those who stopped to see instead of fear. She brought light in tales of those who saw the pain and held the hurt in their arms; of brothers and sisters who wanted no more to see foes in those they didn’t know or harm to those who were counted less. She named those who walked the gravesides to give love, peace or healing, and those who only knew tales but used them to build bridges. She talked of those who remembered that the weak were just like them and saw blood and dust covering their differences so that they could see they were just the same.
She spoke of love born from wanting no more hate, and the light of human hearts. Then, not taking her eyes from this stone made heavy with ages, she raised herself up and stepped back.
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The wild wind whipped up flurries of leaves as they left that day; a swirling storm of bright oranges and warm browns twisting round trees and graves like an ever moving rainbow. The light was tempered by the angry violet clouds overhead, which framed the bright golden rays of an autumn sun. The graves stood tall, reminders of hopes and dreams gone by and yet to come, and the bright sharp calling song of a robin filled the air from the red berry strewn branches of a yew above.
The waves gently brushed against the coracle, rocking it in the most peaceful motion. The briny air – caught on a slight, fresh breeze – filled the noses of the two occupants. Above, the great tapestry of sparkling stars winked, danced and twinkled against the violet-black backdrop of the pre-morning sky; Already they were beginning to fade and blink out of view as the horizon melted into the misty grey light that marked the border before dawn.
One of those crouching in the quiet boat pulled a rough woollen blanket tighter round their arms in an attempt to keep out the early autumn chill. Nodding towards the shadows growing in the shaded light they let out a whispered murmur of hope, “Here, at last?”
A slight grunt was the only reply from the other, but presently a soft rhythm of oars could be heard as the prow began to slowly cut through the water.
By now the light had grown and a thin strip of muted white marked the horizon behind them. Ahead the light picked out deeper shadows: clumps of tall pointed reeds rising from mist tendrils and water shades to the fore, hypnotically swaying arms and water speckled leaves of trees to the rear, smooth and rough patches of soil and marsh plants between.
The first calls of waking birds touched the air as if to rouse the world from it’s slumber, though slowly and gently so as not to startle it.
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The coracle’s body scraped onto mud and earth; the scratching of stones on hide and wood just barely noticeable among the sounds of dawn’s song. A twig snapped as the first occupant alighted and a sharp breath of annoyance from their companion quickly followed. “Shh! Silence,” floated like the soft wings of a moth, upon the air.
The occupant turned slightly and nodded. Their likeness was clearer now, as dawn grew fuller into pastel blues and soft hints of gold on white: Shrouded and hooded, yet still tall and thin, they bore a wrapped bundle in glistening leather with both hands, holding it gentle as a new born, their clothing was wool and hide – well treated but muted in colour, they half crouched and kept to the ample shadows as best they could while they were careful to keep their features hidden in the depths of their cowl.
Both now stopped still and there was a sense of listening; holding even the slightest breath to reach out with every sense.
One heart beat. Two.. Nothing. All was as it should be.
At last the other let out a steaming swirl of air and reached out a hand to touch the shoulder of their companion. “All is safe. Go now in haste, your journey is ahead.”
It’s been a long time since I wrote. I guess I feel like my opinions don’t fit with the world today. I don’t know anymore.
I’ve taken to avoiding news stories and political sites because I’m not sure if I’m even seeing them right. It seems so strange to think that I even thought I might understand.
How can I comprehend? How can I know a world which doesn’t belong to me?
I had, and still have, a dream: A fantastic image where we stop thinking in terms of friend and foe, instead reaching for the commonalities in each of us. An existence built together rather than segregated.
I don’t know if our world can work like that yet. I say ours because the way I see it this world is just built over the natural world with it’s ‘survival of the fittest’ rules. Can you imagine that – we built this world from the ground up to cover a patch of nature and did it so well that we forgot that we made it. We who squabble amongst ourselves made this tapestry; we made these chains and barriers and they’re as real as our collective opinions make them.
Of course there’s power and money and weapons too; I know nothing’s as easy as it can be on paper. Yet the fact remains that this is how it all began – one rule or edict building on top of another with just a group agreement or force of rule making it so.
Anyway, I digress.
I find myself watching children’s/teen movies more and more, because it’s where a lot of the feel good, lets come together, there’s no baddies/goodies movies seem to end up. It reminds me of a work by Tolkien where he argued why fairy tales shouldn’t be relegated to children’s stories and have the power at their heart ripped out.
I don’t know for certain why we relegate things in this way. We take the best dreams and call them fairy stories and pipe dreams. We diminish them until we stop believing they could ever be real. It makes me sad because we made this world yet, somehow, we’ve made it impossible to make it magical.
Yet even this is digression.
I began my concept for this post because I’ve had to stop working due to flu.
It’s odd that I used to love my job but now I feel trapped by it, yet every day I push myself to not fail and berate myself for every moment not pushing my limit. I actually made myself ill’er because I couldn’t be certain anymore if I was ill enough to let myself stop working.
I don’t want to fail or let those around me down.
It’s all weight I’ve put upon myself and sometimes it gets so much I can’t see what I love and why I began being me in the first place. Tonight I actually tried looking inside and felt like something is hidden in there, like there’s this huge block hidden behind a hologram.
It’s something I’ll have to work on over time.
It got me thinking though; It reminded me of how much we don’t see…
Look along a perfect terrace with perfect lawns and perfect cars. White privilege, maybe. 1950s facade, perhaps. Total lack of understanding of any other world, quite possibly.
Look closer and ask what’s hidden underneath. Is there a violent spouse? Someone hiding their gender or sexual nature? Someone covering up razor cuts or needle marks? How many hold their heads high and pretend they’re better so no-one ( including them ) realises they hurt? How many hide from conflict so they can’t be hurt more?
Look deeper and the questions come thicker and faster. A thousand whys. A thousand what ifs. A thousand questions about what broke so many of us. Most of all one big question, why did all of these people have to bury so much until it became a dark guilt, a deep fear or a nasty secret? When did we write this into our world and how do we change it?
How many of us, from all walks and ways, are hiding such deep wounds? How much of our world was made from the scars, blisters and scabs left behind from all these wounds?
When you feel like everything you touch gets broken.
When you worry that every word you speak comes out confused and wrong.
When all you feel you’re leaving behind is dust.
When you want to just close your eyes and hope to fade away for a moment or two.
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I guess it’s obvious that today’s not my best day. As usual I’ve made some mistakes, some bigger than I wanted and I was lucky no harm came from them. Many days I wake to wonder if I can get through or if I’ll make some huge mistake. Some feel so big that I just want to curl back under the covers and hide til they go.
The thing is it’s not like I’m hugely important in the world – I’m not a surgeon or leader who’s every action could make or break the world – but I know that who I am and what I do impacts on others, however small an impact it may be. I don’t like to admit these feelings are real and worth talking about because., well because there are others facing worse, fighting real demons, trying to change and heal real problems. I just feel like I’m whining about nothing.
Perhaps I am, but for me it’s a big nothing made up of all the little ones that have come before and which have lodged in the back of my mind, building up day by day.
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So why post this. Why share my personal shame/blame/failure/weakness/pain? Because it’s not just mine. I may not know or understand the world but I think I’m not alone with this weight of my own creation. I can carry my weight, no matter how heavy, because I wont let others down by giving up, but that doesn’t help others who are hurting.
I could pretend so no one knows that I might share the same fears/hurts they do but all they end up is alone. I only go on some days because I’ve learnt that the same inward guilt that cuts at me can be a stick to take my weight. The guilt of letting others down gives me the strength to carry the guilt of fearing I’ll let them down.
It’s a shadow that’s always going to be near, I guess, but that doesn’t mean it has to own me. I know I’m lucky to have had the support and have found the strength to stand but at least I can say, if any who haven’t had such luck read this, that this is real, it can be overcome ( even though sometimes it feels like you’ve failed- sometimes those are the days you’ve been strongest because you’ve carried that weight and are still there at the end ) day by day and you are important and worthy even when you can’t see it.
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I’d love to get used to the idea that life isn’t like the movies – there’s no instant knowledge of the right things to say in a conversation, there’s room to make mistakes at every turn because there’s no rehearsal, there are a hundred and one real things that have to be done that never get shown ( as a classic thought, where on the Enterprise are the toilets and who has to clean them? ). It can be hard to remember that life’s really a mess that we try to keep together every day, when everything we read, hear and see says it should be perfect.
So the biggest thing I want to say to those still reading is –
You’reok to love your mistakes. They’re what make up this world and sometimes they can create the best of it
Musings of Waking in the World 