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I’ve never felt that the presence of God and the science of humankind were incompatible. It is enough for me to feel that God has given us the skills to decipher His or Her or Their universe accordingly—science is just how we map that creation, how we understand it, and how we use it to better ourselves.”
The mind is its own place, and in it self Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n. — John Milton, Paradise Lost
Life presented moments and events that felt like falling, Benji knew. Moments where the path collapsed beneath your feet and you tumbled into a pit, no roots or rocks to grab hold of. So you fell because you had to fall. The descent, irreversible.
At heart, what we give to the world is our service, and what we give to ourselves is our purpose.
For the world to progress, for it to heal, we must see clear to both of those things. Our service and our purpose must be two circles perfectly overlapping. What we give to the world must be the work that defines us. Meaning we give ourselves to the world to make it better. We don’t just work to work. But we don’t just let our destiny die on the vine.”
out there, in the absolute middle of nowhere—like, in the middle of God’s raw, red, dust-caked asshole,
Sounds like where I live
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
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“My dear, nothing matters. Literally nothing. It’s all just salt and stardust. The meaning that life has is only the meaning we are fit to give it.”
Sometimes doing the thing is about doing the thing and not about the result of having done the thing. It’s the journey, not the destination,
Grief is like a cut in a strange place. You never know when you’re going to bump into it, make it hurt again.” “Yeah.”
Benji wondered what life would’ve been like without White Mask, but with this man as the nation’s president. How fast would a brutal, fascist regime have risen? Would the checks and balances have held against them? He betted now that they wouldn’t have. In four years, you give a man like this the helm, he’d crash you into the rocks because it pleased him, and because he’d find a way to make money from the wreckage. Even if the nation survived in some way, this man’s presidency would’ve been a mortal wound.
