And what agony, thought Krug the thinker, to love so madly a little creature, formed in some mysterious fashion (even more mysterious to us than it had been to the very first thinkers in their pale olive gloves) by the fusion of two mysteries, or rather two sets of a trillion of mysteries each; formed by a fusion which is, at the same time, a matter of choice and a matter of chance and a matter of pure enchantment; thus formed and then permitted to accumulate trillions of its own mysteries; the whole suffused with consciousness, which is the only real thing in the world and the greatest mystery of all.
We talk and tease and bargain with the main dish. Maniacal laughter echoes in the marble halls, sweet to my ears.There__ movement at the banquet hall__ entrance. A child with my eyes tumbles in__ll wings and blue hair and giggling innocence. Holding his hand is Morpheus, wearing a ruby crown.The Red King. My king.The bubble bursts and takes the vision with it, leaving nothing but the sound of my gasp and wisps of gray smoke behind.__ou see,_ Ivory says, __nce Morpheus knew that one day you would belong to him and he to you, that you would share a child, he was no longer willing to die to save Wonderland. But he__ insecure about your feelings for him. He feared you would refuse to help. So he made a new plan, however flawed it was.
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We talk and tease and bargain with the main dish. Maniacal laughter echoes in the marble halls, sweet to my ears.There__ movement at the banquet hall__ entrance. A child with my eyes tumbles in__ll wings and blue hair and giggling innocence. Holding his hand is Morpheus, wearing a ruby crown.The Red King. My king.The bubble bursts and takes the vision with it, leaving nothing but the sound of my gasp and wisps of gray smoke behind.__ou see,_ Ivory says, __nce Morpheus knew that one day you would belong to him and he to you, that you would share a child, he was no longer willing to die to save Wonderland. But he__ insecure about your feelings for him. He feared you would refuse to help. So he made a new plan, however flawed it was.
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As survivors and procreators, we unravel stories that at their root are not dissimilar from the habitual behaviors seen in nature. But as beings who know they will die we digress into episodes and epics that are altogether dissociated from the natural world. We may isolate this awareness, distract ourselves from it, anchor our minds far from its shores, and sublimate it as a motif in our sagas. Yet at no time and in no place are we protected from being tapped on the shoulder and reminded, __ou__e going to die, you know._ However much we try to ignore it, our consciousness haunts us with this knowledge. Our heads were baptized in the font of death; they are doused with the horror of moribundity.
I was struck by an awful thought, the kind that cannot be taken back once it escapes into the open air of consciousness; it seemed to me that this was not a place you go to live. It was a place you go to die.
Loving my son, building my son, touching my son, playing with my son, being with my son_ these aren__ tasks that only super dads can perform. These are tasks that every dad should perform. Always. Without fail.
You have to appreciate where you have come from to know who you are in the present and whom you would like to be in the future.
Gratitude was never meant to be an excuse for giving up on the obstacles God has put before you. Some of the most magical things he can bring us require faith and a lot of planning.