Insidious Adaptation

Like a sentencing from the judge, the pain inside when the inevitable truth is revealed has me torn. The benefit here is that the Judge grants me a life of eternal freedom from all woes and allowed to live in His glory for eternity. No more sorrow, no more pain. That's it, it is finished, as His son that he gave to the courts in payment of all the wrongs I have been accused of. I stand, in rags of clothes draped off my pathetic body, I am sick and weary, and yet, I am being treated like a King. I have been redeemed in this court room where I am definitely guilty. One thing is asked and it is that I give to the judge, my shoes. An easy thing to give for all eternity in my future. Take everything, these rags, I will stand here naked, unashamed for I know that I am now redeemed, given a gift I could not repay. Oh glorious judge how much you must love me, not in charitable compassion, but as one of your own. He watches knowing what I will do, however waiting for me to take the shoe...

"The one who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much, and the one who is dishonest in a very little is also dishonest in very much. If then you haven't been trustworthy handling world wealth, who will entrust you with the true riches?"  - Luke 16:10-11  We would all like to believe our cause is a noble one. We look to the world to tell us that it is. We look to our friends, whom have had the similar interests, or to family from which our interests have been raised, for them to tell us, "Yea, good job." When in the end, what matters is the progress of your wealth for others, not yourself. In July there was a death. An uncle. A military man, retired. His name was Mike. His funeral was yesterday, five days after what would have been his 72nd birthday, a service I was fortunate enough to have seen pictures, videos, witness second-hand, the military burial at Arlington National Cemetery. I performed those same funeral specifics. I have done what t...

Depictions of a life, long lived, like that of a man whom paints his picture; not like the pictures one would find in a hotel for those are too perfect, too temporary, too cliché in their color schemes, paint strokes done by machine, lacking uniqueness or flaws, mechanical, cold, hard; but the ones found in a crack house, the modern versions of Picasso for the authors of their domains are no longer with us and insignificant until death and some sycophant determines that these are the highest of arts for they represent death; conveyed as the painful representations they are in the way they are, here, for us all, an inevitable reminder that the world as we want it to be, unable to be, and therefore we are left to take what was given by those who lived, and their representation of death while living; now immortalized as simply, death.  (My Hemingway attempt)  The dad from This is Us, Moses from, well, The Bible, Leonidas from 300, Troy from the Legend, what do all of these...

I recall the death as tragic. A swift prompt from my green and black screen.   “We lost Sally!” Dang it. As the mechanical piano played a tune.   Emotions running wild at this point. Why did we not see this coming? How could we have allowed this sickness to spread as though it was a mere cold? Why are we on this trail if only to lose everybody in the process?  The Organ Trail game was a classic. Despite various versions, there seemed to be one common feature for us all, dysentery. OK, that, and what do we do when we get to the river? I always forged it. I never even knew what dysentery was, or that it could be significant enough to kill a person if left unmanaged. I knew it was related to digestion, however, living in the modern times of a video game depicting this disease, it was nothing more to me than some diarrhea. Goggle reports the disease is “rare” and less than 200,000 cases per year in the US. Uncomfortable and embarrassing sure, but deathly and com...