No angel of G0d came, no replacement animal happened by the scene. Abraham slashed down at the neck of his blessed son, spilling his blood on the holy mountain.
I feel like a visitor to the earth. This place is absurd but oddly thrilling. I've learned to cope and even enjoy it. I may not be home, but I'm here.
My crime? I’d rather be having my own ingathering than awaiting an engraved invitation to objectification.
Nostalgia calls,
Beaming from ancient hillsides,
A legacy lay dormant,
buried in the Judean soil
contoured crests and valleys
unfolding along a lush river of time;
What will you do with all of this outrageous beauty?
We would never fix the brakes on our cars without help, yet we routinely assume we can fix the far more complicated brakes on our thoughts, speech and deeds.
Impermanence, no self, non-attachment: no, thanks.