Some would counsel running though the fear is seldom real. They fear to remember or forget the things that once gave them the hope upon a dream. It seems at each dawn the frozen hearts of men determine how to look upon chance, reason and possibility with the dispassionate gloom of the captured. Where are the wings of freedom that swept forth hopeful of touching the sky and dreamt of someday looking upon the fires of the Sun? How are dreams diminished by the slow steady drip of rotten news and bad food apportioned appropriately to steal any measure of abundant understanding? What is a future if a past must be rewritten simply to be tolerated?

We are the song of God’s Dream. We dance the waltz of God’s glory lived out for pages to recount and hearts to remember with passion. Hand to hand with gleaming teeth some so bright that the night seeks evening’s respite and repose. No one knows the day or the hour and half can begin to comprehend upon the Glory that awaits but all are quite certain that it just isn’t going to pan out to half of the ingredients we’ve purchased. I want the thing beyond gold, the thingy thought of stories told about that prize beyond wealth and escrow. What happens when you live in a ville beyond word’s explanation must you develop code to dumb down expression that others may begin to glimpse in reason what your eyes behold in measure?

Now if not then or when and if then, how if not when but then why would what matters be true? What are dreams but linguistics of the sleeping man. Perhaps God’s little programming angels sending new data for copy to the synapses of transformation, New libraries of code to talents yet measured for lack of understanding. Remanding ourselves to the shelves in tomes recount we search for our reason in Rhyme section. Dissection of the folly from the pride I find that I would have married a bride then lived with and died not possessing or comprehending once iota of how to operate the machinery never mind make it function to optimum. What is success and must everything be defined by each individual in order for it to be truly subjective achievement?

This World is worth the fight for the simple reason that we are the dog that God has put into it. I wrestle and wrangle with Dominions and principalities not because they look to destroy lesser men but because they foresee our becoming. It is not the me from which they wish me to flee but the him I will be when I learn to stand in good courage without reason or hope but that which is based upon the Character of God and His mercies. I am an isotope of hope, an analyscope of color painted upon the tapestries that hang in the hallway beyond time’s tiny grip. I will inevitably make a larger bite of life then makes reason or sense but in my defense that is how this equipment was designed to look beyond the bubble, escaping the boxes of oxes and burdens of beasts to find that measure of dimension beyond the mind’s eye. Yes, I am that guy and you fortunately may choose to deal with it or hit the road a bit and find a bit less of me in the next quadrant. Smart Cities do not necessarily dictate that Wise people will populate them. AI will dismiss me as irrelevant while God looks upon one of His skeleton keys.