What Is Conscience?
As of late I have developed a lunchtime ritual that I have grown quite fond of.
Usually I buy a slice of pizza and sit on a bench to eat it. It is usually very tasty but I normally don’t eat the crust. I used to just discard it but what I do now is sit there and throw the crumbs to an unruly bunch of pigeons that hangs out by the benches. I achieve some sort of peace, specifically on colder days, feeding this gang of winged vagabonds whose cadence vacillates between gratefulness and ferocity, thinking, somehow, through my observation of this basest form of survival, that I am getting just a little bit closer to understanding this thing called life.
I particularly like the audacity of the little ones of the brood who give just as good as they get when it comes to the feeding frenzy that ensues in this little portion of the asphalt jungle. For my part, I try to help the babies of the motley crew. This assistance primarily takes the form of me lobbing the morsels closer to the apparently more feeble tikes who are sprinkled throughout this bazaar mosh pit, but believe you me they do not need it. They swarm the bread with grit and determination sometimes even muscling out one of the “adults” for the prize. After the quarry is secured in their beaks, they fly to safety, a few feet away, to enjoy their well earned feast suitable for a bird.
Well today, in the middle of my quest for nirvana, an older woman, I would guess about 65, comes shuffling up to me with a pretty grim face on. She taps me on the shoulder and says with a very serious voice, “God bless you but you should throw them smaller pieces. They have no teeth.” I thanked the women for the advice and she turned away, confident that she is guaranteed a spot in heaven for her role in the protection of the lord’s Kingdom. The irony of her fur coat wisping in the brisk chill wind was not lost on me.
It has been said:
To that I respond:
But Still, It Moves
Sixth Army
Usually I buy a slice of pizza and sit on a bench to eat it. It is usually very tasty but I normally don’t eat the crust. I used to just discard it but what I do now is sit there and throw the crumbs to an unruly bunch of pigeons that hangs out by the benches. I achieve some sort of peace, specifically on colder days, feeding this gang of winged vagabonds whose cadence vacillates between gratefulness and ferocity, thinking, somehow, through my observation of this basest form of survival, that I am getting just a little bit closer to understanding this thing called life.
I particularly like the audacity of the little ones of the brood who give just as good as they get when it comes to the feeding frenzy that ensues in this little portion of the asphalt jungle. For my part, I try to help the babies of the motley crew. This assistance primarily takes the form of me lobbing the morsels closer to the apparently more feeble tikes who are sprinkled throughout this bazaar mosh pit, but believe you me they do not need it. They swarm the bread with grit and determination sometimes even muscling out one of the “adults” for the prize. After the quarry is secured in their beaks, they fly to safety, a few feet away, to enjoy their well earned feast suitable for a bird.
Well today, in the middle of my quest for nirvana, an older woman, I would guess about 65, comes shuffling up to me with a pretty grim face on. She taps me on the shoulder and says with a very serious voice, “God bless you but you should throw them smaller pieces. They have no teeth.” I thanked the women for the advice and she turned away, confident that she is guaranteed a spot in heaven for her role in the protection of the lord’s Kingdom. The irony of her fur coat wisping in the brisk chill wind was not lost on me.
It has been said:
Conscience is undeniable proof that God exists.
To that I respond:
Conscience is the fact that if you enjoy anything hard or long enough, someone is going to try to take it away.
But Still, It Moves
Sixth Army
posted by Larry B | 2:47 PM
1 Comments:
I enjoyed your blog.
Please keep writing.
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