Things are so subjective from person to person. According to perception and attitude, the smallest can fill or the largest can breed want. The job of each heart and brain is to place the self at a point where it is comfortable in relationship to its surroundings.

Those surroundings can be true, they can also be an illusion. From whence come these illusions? Those same perceptions that protect the self from assail from the possibilities of day to day perception.

Suddenly, the world can shudder like a tin building from the blow of a single word, or remain utterly nonplussed at the death of a half million in another country. One might visit a new mansion for breakfast and see downcast eyes and wanton looks for the unfulfilled promises of a broker or politician On the same day, the destination could be a flooded tenement made of cardboard and plastic at sundown and dance in the street for the return of a brother and friend from war in the mountains. The mind is a universe of mythic size and means, purpose is the rhythm that can move the heart to smile toward song.

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