When Religion And Politics Ride In The

Guilt Starts As A Feeling Of Failure.

Words Are Such Gross Machinery, So Primitive And Ambiguous.

Each Life Creates Endless Ripples.

I Hear The Wind Blowing Across The Desert And I See The Moons Of A Winter Night Rising Like Great Ships In The Void. To Them I Make My Vow: I Will Be Resolute And Make An Art Of Government; I Will Balance My Inherited Past And Become A Perfect Storehouse Of My Relic Memories. And I Will Be Known For Kindliness More Than For Knowledge. My Face Will Shine Down The Corridors Of Time For As Long As Humans Exist.

Knowing Where The Trap Is-- That's The First Step In Evading It.