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How can we all, as Human Beings, truly appreciate or believe?
Why do we all insist on having proof a belief or God exists?
It is said, that of another generation wanted a sign, and all they received was the sign of Jonah?
Would they know what this sign actually means? Or would we all assume there is no sign and turn?
With hundreds upon hundreds of different religions, each having their own sets of rules,
How would we all know which one to, for the lack of better words, believe-in?
How would we all know? For sure?
Do we have to step-out of our comfort zones, or rely on traditions held through the generations?
By learning literally, then learning and seeing from another perspective as parabolic, in-nature?
To reconcile both? Or to use the knowledge to discount one or all and then to rely on safe-holdings?
It is said, for all who seek, the thing in which they seek, will be found, when the intent of the heart is true.
Lessons, which seem quaint or of-old, tell of morals, which seem ancient and as dust, but are they?
One small artifact, which may seem insignificant and sublime, could be priceless, and a missing-piece of the picture of truth.
Perhaps the entire point of the whole is to learn how to hone the skill of being unbiased, open.
Perhaps the entire point is to never to discount even the smallest "mustard seed." Or mountain.
The charitable act of giving of oneself; but is it the best and noble quality of mankind.
One of total selflessness and being a choice of no condition.
A "Pearl of Great Price," "The Prodigal Son," "Lazarus," "St. John the Baptist," "Jonah," and the most-greatest of these, Jesus Christ, are most-excellent examples of mankind's greatest qualities.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air.
And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself— Yea, all which it inherit—shall dissolve, And like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack* behind.
We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.