What do I fear most? (since you asked). I fear what we all fear most – pitching head-long into nothing. Falling at last into the hands of God empty-handed. Not becoming what great men have become; becoming nothing – Ruled by melatonin, enslaved to convenient. I wait at the corner and watch ragged men scrape the streets with sticks and straws collecting the tailings from the city’s dig into the hole “materialism.” I read of great battles fought by great men with sharp and cunning words. And I wonder, what makes a man great; where does one go to buy words like that – words long and tempered with the truth? These are strong words and faithful wielded by practiced, skilled men. They parry and blow; I am awed. I have a stick, and I imitate them, blocking, striking, thrusting. I do not want to be a sweeper, but if I must be, let me sweep the mountains into the sea and make room for a highway clean and pure – a road for fighting men to march on 12 abreast, row on row and disciplined, eyes fixed on a certain goal. And I will be satisfied...