Part of it, perhaps.

Again and again, I look up from my desk at the world – which is now a screen full of moving pictures – and deplore what I see. I am quick to observe, unasked, I’m not an ‘unhappy’ person. I have a sense of humor. I chuckle. I watch my boys, and my pride is exhilarating. I should be more direct with myself: I am disappointed.

I can claim it’s not ‘unhappiness,’ really, but it leaves me absent the freedom to disrupt my schedule and gather with a cheerful group of others in a line – just to, say, purchase the latest telephone. Instead, I’m dismayed all that joyful energy isn’t being used in protest parties outside the Pentagon.

I’m disconnected from myself. I was raised on forced Christianity and I grew up to question the Book – so now I am truly on my own. I’m pushed around by my own ideas. There’s no center to hold. I imagine you are not like this. Perhaps I am wrong. But the few people I do speak to, and certainly those on my screen full of moving pictures – are emphatic about what they believe; they don’t tell me they’re wondering about it.

In the end – and there will be an end – the planet will again be roaring molten magma. If we’re projecting ourselves toward some future prospect, nothing we do matters. But if we’re just filling our skin, because here we found ourselves and what a joy to be here, after all, then there is something to this. It’s a big thing. There is nothing like – this. Shake your fingers and toes. Feel the tingle of emotion. Give to somebody on the street. Let your kid do what he wants for a change.

There’s a life in this mere coil of mine. I want to find it.

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