Enjoying the view from Limbo
It’s March 1st, and therefore as good a day as any, and better than most, to share an Emily Dickinson poem about hope, change, and time. Dear March — Come in — Dear March — Come in —How glad I am —I hoped for you before — Put down your Hat —You must have walked —How out of Breath you are —Dear March,...
That’s it. I have nothing else to say. Why spoil the mood, which will inevitably happen if I start talking about the state of things? Why not just take a few minutes to think of cherry blossoms and spring birds? Enjoy. (Click on an image to see it full size.)
Alfie Evans is a nondescript moniker. In a year or two, only a handful of people on this planet will remember a British baby by that name. In a generation, perhaps no one will remember — apart from two middle-aged people named Tom and Kate, whose youthful hopes for their first child together were crushed, not by Alfie’s terrible illness, which would have...
Politics in the modern sense — the muddy search for individual liberty — is dead. Philosophy in the ancient sense — the soul’s longing for eternity heightened through reason into the search for wisdom — is dying. Religious faith in the humane sense — the communal subordination of souls to the shared belief in a being and truth higher than ourselves and our...
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