All Of These Are Names Given Me

It Will Be A Great Day When Our Schools Have All The Money They Need, And Our Air Force Has To Have A Bake-sale To Buy A Bomber.

I Know What I Really Want For Christmas. I Want My Childhood Back. Nobody Is Going To Give Me That. I Might Give At Least The Memory Of It To Myself If I Try. I Know It Doesn't Make Sense, But Since When Is Christmas About Sense, Anyway? It Is About A Child, Of Long Ago And Far Away, And It Is About The Child Of Now. In You And Me. Waiting Behind The Door Of Or Hearts For Something Wonderful To Happen. A Child Who Is Impractical, Unrealistic, Simpleminded And Terribly Vulnerable To Joy.

It Doesn’t Matter What You Say You Believe - It Only Matters What You Do.

I And You-we Are Infinate, Rich, Large, Contradictory, Living, Breathing Miracles-free Human Beings, Children Of God And The Everlasting Universe. That's What We Do.

If You Notice Phrases, Ideas, And Anecdotes That Closely Resemble Those That Appear Elsewhere In My Writing, It's Not A Matter Of Sloppy Editing. I'm Repeating Myself. I'm Reshuffling Words In The Hope That Just Once I Might Say Something Exactly Right. And I'm Still Wrestling With Dilemmas That Are Not Easily Resolved Or Easily Dismissed. I Run At Them Again And Again Because I Am Not Finished With Them. Any May Never Be. Work-in- Progress On A Life-in-progress Is What My Writing Is About. And Some Progress In The Work Is Enough To Keep It Going On.