The Men. They dominate the observable cultural landscape. The most interesting, and possibly surprising thing I have observed in Afghan men is their overwhelmingly gentle and kind respect for each other. This is emphasized by morning greetings which always include a respectful handshake combined with the universal greeting, “As-Salamu Alaykum” (peace be upon you). They greet the elders first (that includes me) then they subsequently greet all fellow workers. A smiling hug and a busing of the cheek is reserved for closer “friends”. Afghan men also hold hands as a sign of friendship or when they are discussing something very personal. Later interactions during the course of the workday can get heated and impassioned, but I am getting ahead of myself. My interactions with women are rare. All women are veiled (not burkha-ed but covering their hair and neck). They keep to themselves and always maintain a physical distance and are not prone to anything remotely described as a developing friendship with a man. Co-ed interaction does not happen comfortably in this culture. While you all know that my curiosity is astronomical, I am not going there in the foreseeable future. I will patiently wait for a while before confronting this cultural anomaly.
However, there was this one interaction that absolutely floored me and gave me a completely different perspective on male/female interactions in an Islamic culture. Fakoor is one of the well dressed, bright, quick witted young Afghanis I have the pleasure to work with. He is the head of the companies Logistics Department and quick to smile and say, “Good Evening” when it is morning. He finds this little twist of words quite hysterical. He is a joker at heart. I had the pleasure of spending some time with him on occasion and we engaged in some deeper conversations about anything and everything. His aspect was open and very forthcoming so naturally he was one of the young men I was immediately drawn to.
One day he was bringing me a company camera (I photograph all my projects for documentation purposes and had literally burned up my personal camera). He called me at the guest house to come down and do the exchange. It was our Friday afternoon “day off” which is like our Sunday in the states. I went downstairs and found him holding his beautiful one-year-old daughter who had big eyes and a look of curiosity without fear. (I know this look in children and I am always attracted to it.) I cooed and smiled at her, touched her little hand while her proud father beamed.
Fakoor then paused dramatically and asked me if I would like to meet the rest of his family. I immediately said I would love to meet them. He started walking and instructed me to follow him outside the guesthouse. “Your family is here at the office?” I asked incredulously (our corporate office is next door to the guesthouse where all the expats stay in Kabul). “No, they are waiting for me out in the car, but I told them about you and they said they would like to meet you, so please come with me.” Fakoor smiled at me, reached over and gently took my hand and guided my through the door. This soft and kind gesture was an interaction I was experienceing more as I got to know my Afghan co-workers a little more each day. I followed him out to his car and he introduced me to his wife and his mother. His mother immediately got out of the car and extended her hand in greeting. Mind you, she is my age and the “handshake” with a women in Afghanistan is pretty much taboo around here, so I was doubly touched, taken aback and awed by this obvious expression of friendship. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” I stammered as I shook her hand, “you have a beautiful and bright family, you must be very proud of them.” I offered sincerely. “Yes, I believe they are getting those attributes from me.” She offered without hesitation and started laughing. I laughed at her quick wit, as did we all. Fakoor was quick to explain, “My mother is a very smart women, she is a Professor at the university for the last 25 years, and enjoys lively conversation, which is why she wanted to meet you.” I responded, “Fakoor, now I understand your sense of humor a little better.” After some more lively banter, his mother bowed her head slightly and said, “I look forward to seeing you again Lou. It was a pleasure meeting you.” Fakoor jumped in, “I will invite you to our house one of these days, if you like.” I responded slowly because I knew this invitation is not one to be taken lightly, “That would be a true pleasure and an honor Fakoor. Whenever it is convenient for you and your family, just let me know.” I waved them off with smiles all around, my head spinning with this outpouring of consideration and friendship. This encounter made me smile for weeks to come. It also confirmed my long held belief that all humans, at their core, want the same thing in life. Happiness, security, food and friendship. Observe any family gathering and you will know this is true. 
So it is time to talk religion because it is the basis of the Afghani culture. It is impossible to describe the people without understanding and accepting their “view” of the world. Know that when I say “understand and accept their view” I do not mean that I agree with them any more than I agree with Americans although I do “understand and accept their view”. While “understanding and accepting” another point of view, a different religion or a political position allows me to have intelligent conversations it does not imply that I see eye to eye with them. Bear with me and enjoy the ride. You all have heard me discuss “dis-organized religion”. Ultimately, it is what it is, and when in Rome…
The majority of Afghanis are Sunni Muslims. Their outward expressions of faith are similar to what we know and love in the states, only different terminology. It runs the gamut from jaw dropping “unbelievable radicals” to super subtle nuance. The only core divergence is the Jesus-is-the-one-and-only-God-thing. Some Muslims are totally over the top religion-crazed and pray 5 times a day. They respond to the ever-present “drone to prayer” broadcasts you hear from the ubiquitous mosque loudspeakers. At a moments notice, and for no apparent reason, these fanatics are willing to kill you in order to save your soul. “You will thank me later for saving you.” Can you hear that? Sound familiar? They will try to recite passages from their holy book, the Koran (the Qur’an is considered to be the final revelation of God in case you were wondering) , even though they cannot actually read the Arabic language. (can you Bible people read Hebrew or Greek?) Translations are problematic because it is “divine sacred writing”. I could ask my Christian friends which version of the King James do you read/believe? Which chapters do you identify with? I have asked my new Islamic friends this question and the answers I get vary with the intensity of their “faith”. Lest I get too far a-field on the righteousness of soul-saving discussions, (I probably already did but, buck up and deal) know that I am happy for people who have faith. Faith in something/anything gives us the ability to be “humane”. Saying that, I just don’t need to have someone’s “translated/interpreted version” of personal faith, stuffed down my throat, it pisses me off and wastes my time…just sayin…
Half of my co-workers will thank Allah, at a moments notice, for their fortune in life and their hopes for the future and for their families and their country. A common catchall phrase is “Insha’allah”, which means “God willing”. Sometimes this saying becomes a mantra and I want to bitch slap some of them when they keep saying that at work. Like when they tell me “...it will be done by the end of the day, Insha’allah”. My impatience slimes out on these occasions and I inform my fellow workers, in no uncertain terms, that “god’s will” has nothing to do with their pig-headed lack of a reasonable work ethic. Of course, I really should not use the word pig-headed to describe anything, cuz their lack of bacon eating lifestyle would give them grounds to chop off my head. So I respond evenly, “Insha’allah that I don’t fire your ass for your constant inability to get shit done in any reasonable time frame.” Hell, it makes “Bailey Time” seem like hypersonic time travelling. I like the “done” answer when I inquire about progress. “Done is good”, I remind them of this simple construction mantra, on a daily basis.
The call to prayer is endemic and fortunately, some of the “singing Inmans” have very nice voices and I enjoy listening to their call, even though it is five times a day! Honestly, some of them can sing real pretty like. There is a plaintive kinda country and western style to their outpourings of grief and sadness. Different beat and all mind you, and I have no idea if their dog or truck ran over their girlfriend but it has the same kind of “kill me now” whining that makes you homesick for immediate shots of 100 proof moonshine. Some of the other guys voices, not so agreeable. In fact, one afternoon in Kabul I wanted to take my 9mm and shoot the speaker towers, at the nearest mosque, into oblivion because that dude really sucked. I mean, come on, call me to prayer and be totally out of tune? Really? Is there not anyone in your entire mosque prayer circle that can hold a note? How about a guest singer? Record them and use that. Puuuullleeeezzzeeee. Which brings me to playing music during a civil insurrection…uh, well, basically I have not done that yet, although I have looked for a piano in Herat…Besides the ever-present droning call to prayer, my daily life has some other interesting socio-cultural differences. Due to my “position” with the company and the fact that I am a foreigner to boot, I am given many special considerations and the utmost respect by all the Afghanis I work with. This is an integral part of the their cultural consciousness. They treat me just like we treat foreign co-workers in the states, right! I mean, whenever we hear someone speaking a foreign language we immediately give up our seat on a bus and invite him or her into our house for some tasty food. Right, huh! Okay, not so much, but seriously, my Afghani co-workers would NOT go through a doorway in front of me. Forget about holding the door open for a women, doesn’t happen. In fact if women see you getting near a doorway, they stop dead in their tracks, lower their heads and wait for you to pass before they move forward. Seriously. Women will not pass in front of you if it can be avoided.
It is a sign of total disrespect for my Afghani co-workers to enter or leave a room in front of me since I am a “guest” in their country, and I am their boss. One day in Herat I had a Mexican standoff with a guy after I ordered him to walk through the door in front of me. He had done something fabulous and I wanted to “honor” him and I asked him to pass through the doorway to my office first. It took over 5 minutes of laughing and haranguing coupled with his constant insistence “I cannot do this” talk. The only reason he ultimately walked through first was because it was lunch-time or we might be standing there still. Afghanis do not miss lunch; in fact, the majority of their morning time-management revolves around being available for the noon feed. It is part of the “perk” package they get working for the company. Ti feeds lunch to all its workers partly because if they didn’t feed them, I think they would go home and not come back until the next morning. Eating together and sharing food/tea is a very important part of daily life here. It also speaks to the unbelievable poverty and near starvation that has existed and continues to exist throughout the country.
My “corporate office” in Heart is located on the second floor of the “compound” business office. I share it with my “right hand man” Jawed. (his picture was in my last blog entry) This office arrangement was agreeable until it started getting hot in early May. After weeks of uneven power to my AC unit, it totally crapped out and started belching warm fetid air which did nothing to push the 100º+ heat out of the room. Sitting at your computer with sweat streaming down your back is wrong in so many ways and totally unacceptable. The Afghanis even said it was hot. “Enough!” I declared and I called my electrical engineer guy, Nazari into my office, and told him that the lack of AC in my office was just not okay.
After an interminable translation by Jawed, Nazari explained to me that the brownouts had to do with the power grid for the entire town of Heart and could not be fixed. It took him about 20 minutes to say this. I stared at him incredulously until he started smiling nervously. He had seen this expression on my face before when I was not entirely pleased with his work product. “Really? That is your final answer?” I asked dubiously. I waited while Jawed translated what I had just said into Dari (Dari is one of the Farsi/Persian dialects used in the country and is promoted by the government) . This translation took another 10 minutes. A quick side note here; you must understand that translating anything I say from English to Dari takes an insanely long time. Simple one-sentence questions take a millennium in translation. When my translator seemed to understand my query, he would translate my question into Dari and then listen to the answer. After another millennium it was my translators turn to answer. I listened for a week and finally interrupted him with, “It was a yes or no question, why is he going on and on?” I queried. Jawed replied patiently, “Well sir, let me tell you right now what he said sir, I know what he is trying to tell you now…” I smiled patiently and waited until he explained the intricacies of power service in a third world country. This conversation took most of the morning. Then it was lunch-time. I have learned a lot about patience. Patience with others but more importantly, patience with myself.
Basically I needed a transformer to get steady power for the AC unit. Like Jean Luc Picard from Star Trek, I said, “Make is so Nazari.” Several days later, he proudly dragged a big metal box into my office and plugged my AC unit into it.” Within a few minutes, cold air was pummeling my face and I was content. During the next few weeks of insane 100+ heat I had everyone up for extended “refrigerator meetings”. Sometimes the small things in life are just AWESOME!
In the next week my office mates set up several “Afghani Air Conditioner” units in the other offices. (see photo) These little home made units are a great example of creative back-yard engineering at work. They took bunches of still green tumbleweed type plants and built a screen box outside the window, stuffed the plants into the box and dripped water over the plants. Eureka! An evaporative swamp cooler, Afghani style. It worked incredibly well I must tell you and the fragrance of the plant was very pleasant to boot. Necessity is the mother of invention. Did someone ask me if it gets hot in Afghanistan? Hmmm, I did get to 121º the other day, after three weeks of over 110º…a bit warmish, don’t you know. It is cooler in Kabul which sits at about 6,600’. Herat is at 3,400’ and on the edge of the great desert which covers the south western part of the country and extends into Iran and Pakistan.
Flying back and forth from Kabul to Heart has given me a heightened perspective of what is truly the historical life of Afghanistan. Just as rural towns embody the core of America, the small villages of Afghanistan clinging dramatically to ribbons of green downhill of unseen springs, is a canvas worth describing.
I looked down from the airplane window letting my eyes follow a large river watercourse paralleling the flight path to my north. I imagined the maps I have studied and decided I was looking at the Hari River which runs 1100 kilometers from the mountains of central Afghanistan to Turkmenistan, where it disappears into the Kara-Kum desert. From the height of 28,000 feet I can see spindly narrow trails of tan brown winding along the watercourse and snaking haphazardly up side drainages and along the sides of some of the knife ridges. All the mountains in Afghanistan are a deep shade of brown, devoid of any trees. Apparently, the mountain soils are too poor to support mature trees. It is a very, very stark landscape. Formidable jagged ridges rise up at to the base of the 20,000’+ peaks surrounding these lower drainages. All I see are endless mountainous desert landscapes unfolding below me. It is like I am flying over Nevada…without the neon Vegas watering hole and huge water fountains waiting for me at the end of the flight.
Signs of civilization appear in stiletto ribbons of green fields where wheat and barley is being grown. In between the razor edged ridges, sprout small mud huts dependent on these scarce water resources. All the remote villages must grow their own food and graze their own sheep in order to survive the winter months when nothing grows and the winter snows prevent any travel for months at a time. Their subsistence lifestyle is evident in all agrarian-based societies but it is particularly profound here when viewing the sun-scorched immensity of the land. This is the daily existence for millions of Afghans. The unrelenting poverty and hardscrabble life does not lend itself to a hopeful future. How Afghanis can smile and visualize any glimpse of a positive future is a testament to this cultures inner strength and resilience.
Here is my take on what is going on…just an opinion…
The majority of the Afghan world is tribal, physically isolated from any and all trappings of modern development. No electricity, no clean water, no road maintenance, no schools, no hospitals, no overriding social support structure other than their religion. My meager understanding of this country’s history is a saga of invading countries taking advantage of their lack of centralized government. Centuries of national turmoil and decades of invasion and oppression, ironically, have not significantly affected the day-to-day lives of the majority of these remote villages. Due to the 80+% illiteracy rate, core changes to villages’ daily routines are necessarily endemic and slow to embrace change. This same remoteness has been devastating in the last three decades of never ending civil strife, invasion, insurrection and deceit.
The overriding paradigm is fierce village independence, versus cooperation and inter-dependence. The core of the Afghani existence is the knowledge that every village must take care of themselves because whatever centralized government is in place will not attend to the villager’s needs. History has demonstrated, again and again, that the centralized government will not last very long, even with the best of intentions and the temporary support of the global community. The standing governments of Afghanistan have been unable to pay adequate attention to the individual villagers’ due to national insecurity and the inherent isolation of their mountainous locations. Tribalism is the rule of law and family based self-centrism is the unrelenting force behind it.
Add to this mix their symbol based Persian language. Like their Chinese cousins, it is difficult, if not impossible, to “create” new words, new expressions, new ways to describe their world. My observations revolve around the art of conversation and translation. This is their network; this is their connection to the world. The spoken word still dominates their life and their culture in a way that ironically undermines their need and desire to move forward and modernize. The newly educated youth are the key to long-term peace and prosperity. It will take several generations of relative peace and stability in this country for core cultural change to spread and take hold. Hopefully this change will allow for the universal education of their children and their children’s children. Without the prospect of stability the future of this country will be reflected by it’s tormented past.
All our efforts to “install” democracy in Afghanistan will fail miserably. History should have taught us that the barrel of a gun does not create democracy. Afghanistan has no history that would lead towards embracing a representative form of government. Part of their culture is an understandable distrust of all foreigners. Imagine that. The world has been using this country as a ping pong table for questionable security reasons, from the silk trade route to the current position of “buffer” between a nuclear Pakistan and Islamic fundamentalist Iran. This ancient culture demands a different reckoning and deserves decades of peace coupled with Afghani born and bred prosperity versus the current “no end in sight” war profiteering. They need a break from the boom/bust, let the good times roll, mentality. The spigot of money being poured into the country is not letting up and, like honey for bees, more people and more companies are rushing in to get their slice of the gushing “war profit” pie.
The international community recognizes that allowing Afghanistan to falter and devolve into another civil war would be disastrous for the entire region. The possibility inherent in this no win situation will take our attention and the worlds’ resources for decades to come. By rebuilding infrastructure, educational and medical facilities we are taking steps in the right direction, certainly. Ultimately it will be up to the majority of Afghanis to embrace the changes necessary for them to evolve into a secure and stable nation. I think a democratic Parliamentary system fits this culture best. They really like to talk about it and question their leaders, so why not give them a national government that provides that forum. …sorry about the social political barrage but I think it needed saying…
Where were we before I started yapping about the “why are we here” conundrum???
Yesterday I was traveling back from a project site called Khwaja Jeer, near the Turkmenistan border up in the northwest corner of the country, when a convoy of Army Rangers stopped all traffic going in to Herat. I had nodded off on the drive back and woke up hearing English. American-English at that. I got out and walked over to a small group of soldiers to say hello. It was such a cool thing to be able to just stand around and mingle with some home-bodies. I had the wonderful opportunity to talk with several of the Rangers about their recovery mission and get a close up look at their massive machines. The weirdest thing was that everyone was taking out smokes and standing around looking like old TV commercials, “The Pause That Refreshes!” For the first time in decades I really wished I smoked cigarettes. I mean all the Rangers were sucking on tubes and I just wanted to fit in. I was offered a cigarette by two different guys and honestly, the undeniable attraction of standing on a remote road in north-western Afghanistan, smoking a Marlboro in a hundred degree heat with a bunch of Army Rangers was priceless…impossible to resist…
They talked to me about their mission and told me there were no serious injuries from the IED attack. The M-RAP personnel truck, took the blast and ended up breaking a guys nose and giving another soldier a mild concussion. The blast ripped the whole front end off the vehicle and flipped it over. In light of the seriousness of their job, the general attitude of all the Rangers I spoke to was surprisingly positive. They expressed their opinion that the youth of Afghanistan will eventually bring this country around. Our continued presence (US and NATO) will help keep the levels of violence down while we train the Afghani’s to serve and protect themselves. They did admit, in no uncertain terms, that we will never stop these kinds of attacks without the help of the native Afghanis. We have invaded their country (regardless of our best intentions to eliminate al Qaeda and the Taliban) and the history of this country has been a very harsh teacher. Belief in a long-term positive result is in short supply. Understandably.
I totally agree with the Ranger’s frank assessment of the future of this country. I work with many well-educated young Afghani's who really hate the Taliban extremists and what they have done to their country. They grew up with Taliban influence in school and totally reject them and their religious fundamentalism. This revelation gave me some hope for our ongoing mission in Afghanistan and afforded some support for my personal reasons for being here.
The Rangers were covering up the blown up remains of the disassembled M-RAP vehicle with netting and camouflage before they drove through the town of Herat, because some of the armor design is heavily classified information. A higher ranking officer, a Captain or Major I think, had come up and introduced himself. He chatted freely about their mission. This recovery team had been out for over 13 days getting in to where the attack occurred and extracting everyone. It took them over 4 days just to drive out from the site due to the terrible conditions of the back roads. Once again, the extreme isolation inherent in this mountainous country coupled with the lack of basic infrastructure and agreeable social contracts inhibits Afghanistan’s ability to join the 21st century.
As we got ready to leave I enthusiastically shook hands all around. All the Rangers I talked to were refreshingly friendly and forthcoming. With smiles all around, they let my car pass in front of the convoy on our way back into town.
One of my co-workers who is a Western dress style-hound, described his youth in Heart under the Taliban rule. He told me that he was required to study Islamic fundamentalist literature. They did not allow his sisters to attend school. During the years of Taliban rule he witnessed shopkeepers getting beaten in public and restrictive dress codes enforced. Western style dress was considered a punishable crime. He remembers walking with his head down, never questioning his instructors and being told that all non-Muslims are infidels, evil, and should not be allowed to stay in the country. He recounted the frequent sound of exploding bombs and gunfire in the streets while he and his family huddled in their homes hoping the next incoming missile will not strike them or their friends and family. He knew some families that lost someone during these raids. I listened to his recollection of his childhood in shock and disbelief. He was quick to tell me that things are vastly different now and he was very happy to have a relatively safe, decent paying job, which allowed him to support his family. Everything was definitely improving in his life and he was happy the US is helping his country move toward a new future.Several of the older Afghans I have had the pleasure to spend time with, insist on explaining to me that they fled before the Russian invasion took place in 1979. You may not know this but the Russians were invited to help the fledging Marxist communist government in their fight against the warlord directed Mujahideen insurgents. (the same Mujahideen that our tax dollars supported during the Russian invasion) These Afghani expats returned in the year’s following the US invasion in 2001 when we overthrew the Taliban regime. The effect of continuing instability does not afford itself to long term optimism, yet these expatriates returned to their homeland with the hope of a better tomorrow for their family in a war torn country. After seeing what these people have gone through in their lives, I hope we do the right thing and stand by them through the long haul. Afghanistan deserves the support of the entire world community and we should feel compelled to find a way to give them the opportunity to live in peace. A couple of historical side notes, to date, only the Mongol Empire led by Genghis Khan in the thirteenth century, has ever successfully invaded, conquered, and subjugated Afghanistan. In the 1980s, half of all refugees in the world were Afghan.
One older gentleman (he was my age) told me several times that he hated the fundamentalist Taliban rule and welcomed a return to a more secular style government. He fled to Pakistan and worked there with his family over the years during the occupation. He explained to me that the most educated Afghans fled the country and were generally moderate Muslims who do not agree with the Islamic fundamentalist radicals. He pointed out that he still isn’t comfortable being too politically active for fear of reprisal and/or harassment to his family. After philosophizing about “You never know what tomorrow may bring”, he says he is cautiously optimistic about the future of his country but he understands that the Taliban have a very strong hold on a majority of the uneducated people. They augment their influence by providing security to remote villages, ensuring basic services including clean water and food, and religious schools for the young men. In essence, the Taliban are front line providers and exert direct and daily contact interactions with the remote tribal population.
Today’s blast happened at 7:30 pm and was WAY closer than the one two mornings ago. Maybe less than 0.5 Km away (about 500 yards). It rattled the large steel doors that guard the entrance to the compound and shook the doors and windows of my bedroom.. I jumped up from where I was working on my computer, and scooted out onto the late afternoon sunlight of my front porch. I expected to see people gathering in the courtyard but I found two of my guards calmly sitting on the grass talking quietly and looking at the garden to the west. I asked them about the blast direction, since they did not speak English it was more like a pantomime of shit blowing up…they casually pointed north toward the street in front of the compound. I ran up onto the roof to see if I could observe some smoke or something. What I observed next tells the tale of how people deal with everyday life during a civil war. There were people on the street milling around and pointing north east toward one of the mini town centers, a area where I had gotten some Kabobs from in the past. I glanced back at the guards who had not even gotten out of their chairs. My mind is racing, “a huge fucking bomb just went off around the corner…why aren’t you as freaked out as I am?”
The family that lives next door came strolling out of their door and casually sauntered up the road toward where the blast occurred. I have heard this family’s young children playing in the past but I had only seen two of the kids. The family started up our alley, all seven of them, to the street to see what there was to see. They looked like they were going to the mall for some ice cream. Nobody was cowering, nobody seemed to be overly concerned; everybody was walking in the direction of the blast like they were out for a Sunday stroll. Come to think of it, they actually were taking a Sunday stroll, since today is Friday, and Friday IS their Sunday. Why are they walking toward the blast? Don’t they realize there could be other insurgents or crazed suicide bombers waiting for a crowd? I was dumbfounded.
About 10 minutes after the blast, my Security Director, Farid, showed up to check on me. He told it was an IED set off by remote control near the election officials’ compound and asked me if I wanted to go do a drive by look-see? No one was hurt but it left a big crater. The site was surrounded by green 4-door Nissan Police trucks, (the ones with the 50 cal machine gun mounts on their roll bars) rubber-necking bystanders and a TV crew. I told my driver to stop and rolled down my window to take a couple of photos. Thought you would all like to “see” this scene second hand. I was immediately yelled at by a fast approaching police man who looked pretty pissed off. Farid said a few strong words to him in Dari and waved him off…I never got out of the car nor did I get the picture taken. At that moment I thought it was better to tell my driver to “Balei, balei!!” and NOT end up in jail. Just sayin.
A “Let’s Wind This Up With A Little Big-Picture Philosophy” I think my experiences reinforce my "core" beliefs. I choose to assume that everyone else understands this and has their own "core" beliefs. But I also believe you have to have gone through the introspective and philosophical meanderings necessary to create a "personal belief" rather than just accept an indoctrinated dogma. Like the dog-shit-ma we get in school or at church. With the slight bits of wisdom I have accumulated over the years, I am sure the true difference between “personal belief” and “dogma” is that they are impossible to separate in how we walk through our daily lives. We are an amalgam of society's "imposed" knowledge and our personal revelations. But I can tell you that I will be totally pissed off if I find our there is NO difference. That tidbit of knowledge would have saved me so much moral/spiritual anxiety over the years and it would have allowed me to be a blissful social/emotional ignoramus. Too late for that at this point, so I will chalk that mind-numbing thought up for another life story, waiting for another life experience.Yeah, we make choices every moment of our life that alter our paths in micrometer shifts. Then something monumental happens which twists our heads around like Linda Blair and all known bets/assumptions/dreams are off...I hope my choices came from where I squeezed myself out of, like toothpaste out of a tube. My continuing choices are where my being continues to evolve from…or toward…I don’t know…a little introspection that went on and on and on...what else am I going to do here? Eat?
On that subject. You won’t believe it until you read it here. Watch for my next installment of, “It Tastes Like Chicken, Only Wetter.” Hasta Later My Friends.
