character

We can hire a genealogist or a therapist or private investigator to discover forgotten, misplaced stories and anecdotes. We live in a time when meticulous care and attention is given to the study of our lives. We talk about Adam and Eve. We talk about survival of the fittest. We talk about phonetics. We talk of George Bernard Shaw. The subject of life is always worth a question or two. We can always talk about previous generations and the current generation and my generation. We live surrounded by ethos and pathos. We are allowed to believe whatever we want. We applaud playwrights and poets. We take riverboat rides for solace and inspiration. Yesterday I saw a man wearing a camel hair overcoat. We are all characters. We are all looking for plotlines and storylines. We are angels, prophets, sheperds, teachers, cousins, guardians. Who will be the villain? Who will be the hero? Is your heart pure or a shade of grey? I often want to look up some of my acquaintances sleeves. I sometimes am a bit player. I know when to chew the scenery and when to avoid babies and animals. I am still creating my agenda. Still remembering all those who I have loved and liked and somehow lost. Life is more than metaphors and analogies and rhetoric. Life is more than words. The lucky ones feel the mystical unearthliness, extraordinariness of something dreamlike and perfect, something ethereal and beautiful which asks only for goodness, kindness, reverence, mercy. The subject is limitless. There is much to experience, much to share. Words are to be written down, words are to be spoken. Messages are to be shared and studied. There are things to be noticed and retained and things to be forgotten.