Each day, I meet people who would boil the ocean in an attempt to eliminate the salt.
Everywhere, I hear the voices of those who would reverse-engineer the human spirit as if its nature were no different than that of a wheelbarrow.
Always, I sit among people who stare at the popcorn through entire movies; who talk out loud when the actors are silent, because the rest -- the images, the music -- means nothing to them.
I watch them gather facts and put them into a curio cabinet in their minds, thinking they will be complete when it is full.
I hear them brag about their complete independence to those from whom they seek approval.
They are all so sure about their own personal perspectives; they are all so busy, busy, busy, which makes them important, for sure.
When they feel beautiful, they document in a picture and share; when they feel lonely, they say things that will endear them to crowds.
And I all I want is to knock them sideways, a little, so that they teeter on the balance beam, if only for a minute -- not to force them to walk on my beam; just to make them wobble, because it is in that moment that Truth flashes like a bulb in the dark, leaving behind its fading image in the eyes, leaving its everlasting impression on the hungry spirit but disappearing from the heart, which after all, is just a muscle.
