Man, Born Of Woman, Has Found It

Man, Born Of Woman, Has Found It A Hard Thing To Forgive Her For Giving Him Birth. The Patriarchal Protest Against The Ancient Matriarch Has Borne Strange Fruit Through The Years.

To Find The Point Where Hypothesis And Fact Meet; The Delicate Equilibrium Between Dream And Reality; The Place Where Fantasy And Earthly Things Are Metamorphosed Into A Work Of Art; The Hour When Faith In The Future Becomes Knowledge Of The Past; To Lay Down One's Power For Others In Need; To Shake Off The Old Ordeal And Get Ready For The New; To Question, Knowing That Never Can The Full Answer Be Found; To Accept Uncertainties Quietly, Even Our Incomplete Knowledge Of God; This Is What Man's Journey Is About, I Think.

The Human Heart Dares Not Stay Away Too Long From That Which Hurt It Most. There Is A Return Journey To Anguish That Few Of Us Are Released From Making.

For Men Tied Fast To The Absolute, Bled Of Their Differences, Drained Of Their Dreams By Authoritarian Leeches Until Nothing But Pulp Is Left, Become A Massive, Sick Thing Whose Sheer Weight Is Used Ruthlessly By Ambitious Men. Here Is The Real Enemy Of The People: Our Own Selves Dehumanized Into The Masses. And Where Is The David Who Can Slay This Giant?

The Question In Crisis Or Ordeal Is Not: Are You Going To Be An Extremist? The Question Is: What Kind Of Extremist Are You Going To Be?