There Are No Random Acts.

What Do People Fear Most About Death? I Asked The Reb. "fear?" He Thought For A Moment. 'well, For One Thing, What Happens Next? Where Do We Go? Is It What We Imagined?" That's Big. "yes. But There's Something Else." What Else? He Leaned Forward. "being Forgotten," He Whispered.

Giving To Other People Makes Me Feel Alive. Not My Car Or My House. Not What I Look Like In The Mirror. When I Give My Time, When I Can Make Someone Smile After They Were Feeling Sad.

Happiness In A Tablet. This Is Our World. Prozac. Daxil. Xanax. Billions Are Spent To Advertise Such Drugs. And Billions Are Spent Purchasing Them. You Don't Even Need A Specific Trauma, Just 'general Depression' Is Enough, Or Anxiety, As If Sadness Is As Treatable As The Common Cold.

At That Moment I Felt Lonelier Than I'd Ever Felt Before, And That Loneliness Seemed To Squat In My Lungs And Crush All But My Most Minimal Breathing. There Was Nothing Left To Say. Not About This. Not About Anything.

He Did Not Know That The Child Who Had Asked For Yesterday Was Now Seeking To Own Tomorrow.