The Paradox of Our Age By Dr. Bob Moorehead

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.

We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too seldom, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life; we've added years to life, not life to years.

We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We've conquered outer space, but not inner space; we've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; we've split the atom, but not our prejudice.

We write more, but learn less; we plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait; we have higher incomes, but lower morals; we have more food, but less appeasement; we build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication; we've become long on quantity, but short on quality.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion; tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships. These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.

These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throw away morality, one-night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer to quiet to kill.

It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stockroom; a time when technology has brought this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to make a difference, or to just hit delete.

Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember to say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember to say "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak, and give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

Life is not the amount of breath you take, but the moments that take your breath away.

Essence of love in this word what i mean,
nature of two, of a dove,
the love can never be seen.

Presence of touch in the palm of your hand,
a gypsy ladies cup, seen trying to understand,
a faith not lost in a redeeming hope,
for a quest in life, lets an honest man grow.

Thank you - a word, not a meaning in full,
one prayer for one star i now give to you,
for those who know in their heart of hearts,
Im blessed by you all.

The only constant thing in Life is CHANGE. Knowingly or unknowingly, I believe the changes in our lives has been the best thing that could ever have happened. Some might sit down regretting and whine about the 'What If' in their life. Would their life have been better if they had chosen another path? Would I be happier if I had taken that offer? What if I had done that? This questions used to run through my mind like a bullet train racing through Japan. However, slowly but surely, we all will come to a realization that we will not be who we are now without going through all that has happened. Who and where we are now is best possible outcome that could ever have happen. The past has been instrumental in shaping the person I am today and I appreciate that.

Agent Smith: Why, Mr. Anderson? Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? For more that your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Yes? No? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can't win. It's pointless to keep fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?

Neo: Because I choose to.

An essential characteristic of the superhero mythology is, there's the superhero, and there's the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When he wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man. And it is in that characteristic that Superman stands alone. Superman did not become Superman, Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red "S", that's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears, the glasses, the business suit, that's the costume. That's the costume Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He's weak, he's unsure of himself... he's a coward. Clark Kent is Superman's critique on the whole human race

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And so it continues. From where the stark-paper white pages of sour crisp fragrance has been left off; I have begun to write in my handwritten journal, once again. Furiously now, writing and writing furiously. Of each and every individual who mattered and matters, whom I hold close to my heart; of every little riot and events that have been a part in shaping the man I am today. Like I knew something is going to happen. In time, everything will fade. But I just want to write. Furiously now, writing and writing furiously. Like I knew something is going to happen

Poignance

As I leaf again and again through the pages of crisp white of my fabric-black hand-written journal, it struck me just how much poignance I possess deep inside of me; that it breaths life into my writing, from the elusive chambers and fleeting imagination in my mind and the incomprensible yet all-too-familiar ache in my heart. The words athwart the sour-crisp, immature pages stared back at me like a familiar, old friend from out of nowhere at all; out of eternity and out of my head.

I am an intrinsic, imaginary writer and poet of sorts - a wisp of complexities in the shape of a boy. Yet a poor writer, I confess I am. And how my immortal dream never dies - black and white, cigar and brown leather, yellowing pages from the faithful Underwood, nineteenth century reverie. I long to touch - time.

Alas, these words are mine. I am a simple boy who dreams of a crazy and beautiful love (of a lifetime, no less). And so it is, that I am not quite the web of complexities and intricacies those of you conjure up, in the chambers of your minds.