What more could one ask of heaven

As I stood on my small farm this evening, as it has on other evenings, this question comes: What more could one ask of heaven? My body, such as it is, does its purpose well, and generally without complaint. There is ever changing beauty to see anew each day. I lack for...well, nothing, mostly.

My complaints and fears are what get me up in the morning. My desire for novelty and for repitition.

Who would want to dwell in heaven, and have naught to seek, naught to care, naught to worry, and a full understanding of all awe and mystery?

I will lose this feeling, I am sure. Though, when it comes, it seems that to have these moments is worth any suffering I have had to get to this moment.

The thing that comes to me, though, the stick in the mud. It is what I do not do, and have not done that pushes me onward again. I gain advantage from those who must work, doing things that I would not, and could not stand.

My lifestyle is built on the desperation of millions in slums and in sweat shops.

Even, come the day, that I could call myself "self-sufficient". The country itself survives on the pain and suffering of others that we do not see, and so do not bother with.

That they could one day stand in a field, or sit in a warm apartment, or share their thoughts, hopes, and dreams on a network such as this.

I stand aghast. How can we bring them to this brink of heaven where we live? What is the secret?

That is what I would ask. Heaven is here for all. That is the kingdom. How can we make it?

How odd the world

What a strange world it is, and to be back in it is quite something.

The computer took a vacation, and staunchly refused to stay on for any decent length of time. So, an organ transplant occurred and we are back with much the same thing we started with. A little more fleet of foot, a little different, but here I am posting at the same spot.

We need things so desperately.

Money especially.

I wish one could solve the problem of money, but it is not to be. We live in a country where socialists must be at least decently paid.

One might as well bang one's head against the wall, but one does go on doing so.

This is not a sad thought, but a rather happy one that I hope says something about the nature of the universe itself.

It tries and struggles to be...and here we are...but, at the bottom of it all, it seems to be nothing. We must convince ourselves of our own lives on some level every day.

And so...life was quieter without a computer. Though, it seemed, more of a life.

Much more time to think.

Now I must share.

That is a life too.

Such as it is.

SCHQC