Trap mike leave ankle rewind table cackle tribe
Belief amiable trout tank tree stipend quietude
Succulent sweep banter switch reap rowdy near
Move week ward bottle stick vitamins wok not
Buckle nip wand silk mope render feed bought
Trap mike leave ankle rewind table cackle tribe
Belief amiable trout tank tree stipend quietude
Succulent sweep banter switch reap rowdy near
Move week ward bottle stick vitamins wok not
Buckle nip wand silk mope render feed bought
Bomb sweater lift angle rowdy pickles table beet
Maneuver beam rankle narrow tangent seal tent
Pillow searing stalwart tutelage sick sharp sample
Green kneel band rainbow centered shaken until
Hackles frame grail cereal tale swat real bring hit
Singe open loud space cry close balance tide react
Reach custom needle lounge meal tricked goose
Plea tarry jumping course tentative juniper old
Rude freedom psyche nose higher fault become
Pop trees candle wane yell flood solder neck reek
Bible stories are an enigma. Some of them are so intimate, private and personal. Some of them are so extraordinary, hard to believe, supernatural. So many are so alien to life as we know it. And who could have originally accounted for each story? When John leapt in Elizabeth’s womb upon a visit from Jesus’ mother Mary, who recorded that story to be passed on for centuries? When Moses encountered the burning bush, when the Hebrews followed a pillar of fire and smoke, when a touch of Jesus’ robe healed a bleeding woman, who wrote down these things? Who told the story to others? So private, so personal. So hard to believe that they came to be part of a book that we read. I don’t think Jesus told these stories. Was it a disciple? An apostle? Who passed it on? Did leaders in the first churches started by Paul tell these stories in church? Before there was a written record from the Catholic Church? So many questions, so many unanswered doubts. The Bible stories are so foreign to life as we know it today. How could they have really happened? Isn’t it more likely that they were made up to enhance the power of the church over its followers? And the synagogue over its faithful people? Other religions have stories that we assume are just literature made up by followers of a religion to give power to their leaders. Why don’t Christians believe the same thing about their own religious books? Is it too terrifying to consider that these stories could be false, made up, simply literature to build up a myth?
Drink orb light trick benevolent create stopping
Jumbled stork main realize cozy power scrawl
Pond together stipulation honey briefly beans
Pointing refrigerator lied rooftop bramble type
Prevention detour zoological nominate oil rod
Swivel ring boost hype banal require slope drink
Heavy wicker slant hope rewind apple pressure
Looking stream ballad quagmire relief downturn
Leaves crunch sifted stovetop alienation solace in
Potable Yuletide rearrange viewfinder puncture
Banned books are silly. Why try to control people’s access to knowledge? Let them read what they want to read, especially if teachers approve it, and even more so if it’s considered a classic. Banning books is futile anyway, as it just makes people curious about them and want to read them even more. And usually the reasoning for banned books is based on incomplete knowledge of the book or misinformation about the book from people who haven’t read the book or people who don’t understand what they’ve read.
Knowing the truth is possible but being certain of the truth is not possible. Certainty is a luxury of the ignorant. There is an argument that can be made against the existence or presence or activity or feeling of about anything. Claiming certainty is possible only for those who ignore some or all of the facts. What is truth? Well, that depends on who you are, where you come from, how you were raised, etc. there is not one truth that is superior to all other truths. That’s ridiculous. The only thing certain about truth is that truth is not certain. It must be accepted by a leap of faith.
There is no meaning in the word unless it is an extension of a personal relationship and it is about the relationship, not about objects or things. Words about things are empty, and carry little meaning. There is little meaning in the management of objects around us. Moving them, cleaning them, buying them, selling them—it is all empty and meaningless. The meaning comes when we give them away to another person as an extension of caring or love, not as a transaction, or a evening up of favors, but with no expectation for reimbursement, payment or reciprocal kindness. Only as a gift does it gain meaning, and this only because it is an extension of a relationship. The same goes with management of objects. If the movement, cleaning, buying or selling or giving of objects is an extension of a relationship, with no expectation for reciprocity, it gains meaning for the relationship. None else.
There is really no meaning in a word. The meaning is in the thing and the word is not the thing. And even things don’t really have meaning. It’s our relationship to the things. Actually meaning cannot be found in relationships to things either, but in personal relationships only. There is only emptiness in things and in relationships to things. It is a bottomless pit of regret and abandonment that never ceases to disappoint. Things disappoint every time.