Dialogue

It is a nagging subject, this quest within the mind to reach beyond the self to that great universal churning of the truth-- unfolding rays of light we may not quite depend upon, yet praise. It does not go away. One may be thankful. Truth has a way of coming back. Another self, autonomous, may then step up, select a gleam, do with it as the will dictates, and toss it in. Caution! The cauldron seethes; belief is on the dock, tender, foetal, vulnerable to scrutiny--not yet worthy of the eyes of time. It may still moil an instant (or millenium) emerging as an honored tool, or ignominious, lost, unworthy, slipping quietly away as it is found. There you have it, an elusive servant but our single hope of nurture for an ever infant cry that resonates throughout the ages: Tell me why. ~