Will You Welcome Him In?
Ah. The age old question. Who is He? Or who is She? Or for the bolder, who are They? The question is forever asked and the answer forever escapes the figurative net we hold precariously above our quite literal heads. Some of us can answer, in a heartbeat, but The Answer, we cannot have. We can claim we do, as sure as we can claim anything we believe we have. I can claim that Bob did me wrong, and Bob can claim he did not. We are, both of us right, and both of us incorrect.
I can claim to know the secret to the universe, and I may be right, but you may not agree. You may have the secret to the universe. And it may seem quite far-fetched to me. Then again, were I to give it a chance, it could change everything I know to be real. Then again, it may not. But give it a chance I should. Shouldn't I? If my beliefs are as strong as my faith in them, I could meet yours at the table and we could share a dinner of divine intervention. And come dessert, if we so choosed we could bow out, full, and leisurely go home to where we could comfortably digest. And the meal would not be spoiled, because we respectfully declined to hear any more of it than we were willing to hear.
We could even meet again, perhaps for lunch next, and once our bellies and our minds were full of the rich, flavour of new audience we could break apart, before the whole thing became tiresome. Ah, that is what I desire. To converse with someone foreign to me, to share and share alike. To break bread, and spill wine and then to astutely move along to the next digression, unsoiled but made fuller by the first. Soaking up the magnitude of the insignificant.
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