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Stories...

We are so caught up in our own brief stories that we think we are the measure of things. The Earth has a story of her own, immeasurably longer and deeper than any of ours, or even our collective story as a species. We come and go and Earth abides. But like us creatures, the planet changes continually, ever becoming and unbecoming. For every birth there is a death, every building up eventually subsides into collapse, every rising brings on a fall. Night and day, winter and summer, sorrow and joy, there can never be one without the other. Life truly does hang in the balance. We are always dancing in the dragon's mouth, oblivious to every thing but our one precious terrible or glorious moment. Whenever and wherever you can, as much as you are able, rejoice in it and give thanks that you are here. Henry's books .

Already...


Already two weeks gone in '22. At this rate it will be an exceding brief year. Days were a lot longer when I was small, and looked up to everybody in my life, whether they deserved it or not, simply because they were bigger than me.

Eight decades down the road, there are still some souls in sight whom I look up to, not because they are taller than me, but simply because they are better.

Henry's books.

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