It appears as though I’m being showered with goodness that I neither earned 

nor can deny. These postings are what’s trickling out in words.

 “How’s does this make any sense?” a mind might want to ask and know.

And I can’t answer that. 

It’s an unanswerable question . . . one might as well ask what sense air makes to a fish or water to a bird . . . making sense is an overrated habit. If I lost my keys, it’s never going to make any sense. And, I have to look for them even though it makes no sense that they’re not where I remember putting them.

I can tell you this much for true. It wouldn’t matter even if I give you a hundred stellar answers to that question. Your questions never stop. That’s the trap of thinking. It might feel like cleverness. 

It’s so easy to slip into, most never get out. They will argue fiercely for their staked-out positions. No one is forcing them to hold onto their old ideas.

That’s what defines the word trap.

Think about it.

                                                                        wink wink

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    Disclaimer: Poetic license is at work both here and in my books. Any errors or anomalies are through no fault of my editor. These were left deliberately at my expressed intention to clearly indicate that goodness does not require perfection.

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