I’m a forty going on fifty carpenter that was self taught from a young age. My fathers father was farmer that died to early. His son was a farmer turned parts manager that died to early. I am not a father nor do I intend to die to early.
In daily life we all see, hear and feel the stress and killing that goes on in the world. Man’s inhumanity to man has never taken a holiday, despite the teaching of some fairly influential people and ideas. We see and hear it in past history, in the books we read, the media we watch, and the future we ponder at our ever shrinking time to ponder.
I often wonder what our departed family and friends would say to the massacres and the starvation of physical and emotional being we seem to endure, increasingly, every day.
I never knew my grandfather and as older age approaches I realize I never knew my father.
Do they in their anonymous wisdom influence my mortality and lack of children? Do they exsist in another place and time to create an atmosphere that allows me to question the seemingly endless stream of oppression and violence seen in the world?
Is it my father that allows the feeling that rises up from my chest when I see a beautiful young child discover something new or smile innocently?
I believe that in its infinite wisdom exsistence is bestowed upon a human being by an intelligence. Whether it is within or detached, I do not know.This thought and reason came from somewhere. That I become aware of its origination, its beginnings, I can only hope it will allow me to know before an early demise.
This I believe
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