If I'd been differently motivated this morning, you would have seen a picture of my half-mowed lawn. But I'm still in my pajamas, and I'm still making photo CDs to mail to my mother, so that's that.
This is a good picture of my office. The white paper taped to the wall is a birthday card from last April. The clock on the desk has no hands - an unintentional Zen koan. And Sammy is in his usual place, wondering just what I think I am doing.
On the sidewalk outside my window, a group of Jehovah's Witnesses just piled out of a van. Now they are praying on the sidewalk, probably for the strength to bring The Word of Eternal Salvation to my neighbors and me. If they come to the house, I should silently hand over my clock. Would they ponder its symbolic meaning? Would they realize that time is irrelevant, that from a cosmic perspective, human beings are both brand-new and as old as the stars? That nothing can be eternally saved, because nothing can ever be eternally lost?
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