Thou Shalt Not Make A Machine In

The Summer Night Comes Brooding Down On Earth, As Love Comes Brooding Down On Human Hearts, With Bliss That Hath No Utterance Save Rich Tears. She Floats In Fragrance Down The Smiling Dark, Foldeth A Kiss Upon The Lips Of Life-- Curtaineth Into Rest The Weary World-- And Shuts Us In With All Our Hid Delights.

The Problem Of Leadership Is Inevitably: Who Will Play God?" Muad'dib

The Whole Universe Sat There, Open To The Man Who Could Make The Right Decisions.

The Future Remains Uncertain And So It Should, For It Is The Canvas Upon Which We Paint Our Desires. Thus Always The Human Condition Faces A Beautifully Empty Canvas. We Possess Only This Moment In Which To Dedicate Ourselves Continuously To The Sacred Presence Which We Share And Create.

There's Hope Left In These Dusty Chords. There's A Song Left In Our Rusty Hearts. We Are Torn And Frayed But Love Remains.