Still Here
Langston Hughes

I been scarred and battered
My hopes the wind done scattered
Snow has friz me
Sun has baked me
Looks like between 'em
they done tried to make me
Stop laughin'
stop lovin'
stop livin'
But I don't care
I'm still here

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008)

Make sure that you have sound. I love this video. It just makes me smile. In the tragic sadness of everyday living, there is an enormous amount of beauty to be found and shared. Thank you, Matt, for reminding me, us, about this simple truth.

Fighting In The Pizza Parlor

WARNING!!

This video is very upsetting. My friend turned it on to me, and I was left extremely troubled and saddened. If you get a chance to look it up on YouTube, please look at the comments that follow this video. I am not sure what disappoints me more: the obvious barbarism of the video, the sadness of our inhumanity towards one another, the zebra mentality of onlookers, or some of the comments I read below the video based on fear and ignorance. I am disgusted by the actions of the two violent individuals in the video, not only as a black man, bat as a citizen of humanity. The perpetrators' reactions are despicable, in spite of race, but no more so than the comments of hatred and nescience that I read following the video.

We have such a long way to grow. We are still infants in our existence. I am bent by it all; and yet, I am not broken. I am hope, and I have hope. I would love to read your comments and reactions, my friends.

Good News! I know many of you have been waiting, and I've been lazy, so I should tell you: It is SARCOIDOSIS, not lymphoma. I'm asymptomatic, and that's a good thing. I'll try to keep you posted on any other developments.

Other good news. I've been writing a lot for my book lately. Unfortunately, this means that I haven't been posting a lot. I want to post stuff, but then what would be the point for you to buy my book. You may laugh now. Seriously. Laugh.

Well, I will give you some teasers soon, but the juiciest parts will have to wait for the book itself. I wouldn't want people to stop booking me because I revealed the ancient secrets of Tykan Chi. Look it up.

By the way, if you are having trouble finding Tykan Chi it's because I made it up. See? I have a lot of juicy things to share with you, and it will be up to you to figure out if they are lies or just plain truths. Good luck on deciphering my ramblings.

Live long and prosper.

“Dokyo wrote his last words while seated in the upright
Zen position. Then he put down his brush, hummed ‘an ancient song’
to himself, suddenly laughed out loud, and died.”
The Death of Dokyo Etan, a Zen Monk, taken from the book,
Japanese Death Poems

Lately, I’ve been thinking about death. A plethora of books and religions have been written on the matters of living and dying, though the overwhelming scholarship dedicates itself to the functions of life. That being stated, it should be of little surprise that even the matter of death is mostly treated as the annoying, younger sibling of life, (e.g., how to live after losing a loved one; the stages of death grief). What is to be said about our own deaths? What advice can be passed along about how to face, (if we are fortunate to recognize it), that brave transition? Death is inevitable, so we are told; or, at the very least, the physical death is inevitable. There is no escaping, my friends, we are condemned to die. All the religions of the world cannot save us from this savagery.

I think about my own demise. How will it approach me? What veil and costume will it choose to cloak its misshapen appearance? Will I know her when she arrives? Believe it or not, I don’t pray to avoid death; I think I want to embrace her when the time comes. When Dokyo Etan died it seems he released his spirit. He laughed out loud and then died. What an eerie, yet amusing, event. What a presence he had about him to choose his final breath. He consciously released his spirit. He wasn’t the first to do this, (Jesus Christ, among others, did likewise: while on the cross, he bowed his head then he died), and he wasn’t the last, but certainly one can applaud with much appreciation the manner in which Dokyo Etan succumbed to the inevitable. He died laughing! What a joy; an ultimate victory: to leave this life laughing.

What of my own death? Recently, in an x-ray, it was discovered that I have several, abnormally large nodules surrounding the Hilar region, (chest and lung area of the body), along with some that have found themselves under my armpits. So today, March 6, 2009, the day before my 38th birthday, I will go in to the hospital to have a biopsy taken from the area of my lungs. The doctor believes that it may be a disease called sarcoidosis. Sarcoidosis is an inflammatory disease, potentially fatal in some carriers, though most people live with the disease unbeknownst to them. I am asymptomatic. I would not have discovered these nodules if it weren’t for an emergency room visit I had concerning a pulled muscle in my lower back. When they x-rayed my body they found nothing concerning my initial complaint, but they found these nodules. It was unrelated to the reason for my hospital visit, but once it was discovered, I followed up, (at the recommendation of the hospital), with a CT scan. I admit I was alarmed at first. When you get an x-ray result that states: you have a prominent silhouette of the hilar region – it fails to bring comfort. I think that my response was something along the lines of: “What the hell does that mean?” And then I felt panic. The CT scan confirmed the initial findings of the x-ray: I have enlarged nodules. I was still at a loss. What did it mean? The panic subsided when I took the follow-up steps of visiting my doctor and then scheduling an appointment with a thoracic surgeon. For me, serenity has often been obtained by having more knowledge and less obscurity. It was after my visits with the doctors that things became clearer. I have sarcoidosis or lymphoma.

Lymphoma is another affair. Briefly stated, lymphoma is cancer, cancer of the lymph nodes. This disease, unlike sarcoidosis, is not just an inflammatory disease. It is The Disease. The Great C. The Beast. The Unknown. The rapist of the body. Death personified. Surprisingly, I have not been overly anxious by this possibility. Technically, I was not meant to discover these nodules at this present time. I hold on to this mystical, yet vaporous, comfort. And with this mixture of tossing emotions, I face today. The biopsy will clear up some questions.

What do I feel? I suppose the overriding emotion that exists is a sense of peace. At the moment, I feel no fear by what may lie ahead. I hesitate to say this because I know that many of my friends rush to bring me hope, albeit, unsecure as it is, these friends seek to alleviate what they perceive would be a natural reaction on my part: panic. They want to bring comfort by telling me that all will be well; that it will not be cancer; that cancer does not happen to someone like me. Their intentions are positive. They want to raze the fear they feel for me or their approaching mortality. What they achieve, however, is more problematic. I shut down, and then I raise an emotional barrier. I feel sadness, not fear. I need no false hope, no cold comfort. Quis ero ero: what will be, will be. If it is sarcoidosis or cancer, I will take the necessary treatment steps to deal with it.

I am not trying to put on a brave face. I will be fairly expressive about all my emotions along the process. I’ve never been adept at forgoing public announcements concerning my private life. I just don’t think denial of any possibility is my best comrade. I will suffice it to say that I don’t believe that this current process is how I will die, though it is a test of how I choose to live. Please do not misconstrue what I am saying. I hope that it is sarcoidosis over cancer, but I have no fallacies concerning my mortality. I will one day depart this life. It may be soon or it may be years from now, but I shall drink the same poison found in apples, within foreign gardens, of long ago. It is heartbreaking that I will not be a part of the carnival ride forever.

But what of my sadness; from where does it spring? My sadness is the byproduct of the sadness my death will create for others, primarily that of my daughter. What if my time is now? My daughter, Saskia, not yet five, is hooked to me, as I am to her. I shudder when I envision the turbulence from which her young life would quake with such a loss. And I am stuck with this enigma: I am ready for my own death, but I am not ready to die now.

Life is queer. We are here but for the moment, moving towards our death the moment we are born. We fall in love, establish friendships, and fret over our pets; we hate one another, inserting our vitality into the hips of greed and disparagement. We are immortal spirits trapped inside mortal vessels. Oh, how beautiful and terrible is this gift of life, this commonality of death. I am thinking about all these things today. My death is tracking me; she is timing her approach. If my time is not now, make no mistake, death has already begun to hum my tune. I hope to laugh when she sings her song, bowing my head, delivering a final joke, and then taking her hand.

am i afraid? you ask.
i've spent 30 years walking with morbidity
whispering in cemeteries
drinking liquid candy of melancholy
flirting with silence as if it were melody
and you ask, am i afraid?
no, i don't think so;
i've earned the right to simply smile,
nodding at this carnival man
who now seeks to disturb me.

Read the essay below.

When Others Are Oppressed

There he was, Sean Penn, masterfully playing Harvey Milk in the current and timely film, MILK. I sat there for two hours completely absorbed, humored, impassioned, and ultimately, deeply saddened and grieved. I couldn’t help but to think about a line from a Greg Brown song: “why does good change take so long?” Why do we, as human beings, take so much joy in seeing others oppressed, others suffer?

MILK is a movie about Harvey Milk, California’s first openly gay supervisor who was assassinated by fellow supervisor, Dan White. It unfolds as an intriguing, emotionally provoking, yet terrifying, depiction of what fear can do. One can replace the struggle of the gay community with the struggle of any group that has been oppressed. I contemplated the advancement we could make as human sojourners if we stood together, if we recognized that their fight IS our fight, thus, removing the silly categories of group that limit us.

I thought about the suicides of Bill B. and the thousands of gay, lesbian, and transgender youth and adults who were hated, tortured, teased, ostracized, and/or judged by a world built out of sands of fear. I thought about parents who reject their children because they believe being gay is a choice. I thought about Jesus and how it would grieve him to see his children suffer at the hands of those who claim to know him. I thought about myself, and how my struggle as a black, heterosexual male is defeated if I can’t speak out and up for my brothers and sisters who are gay, Hispanic/Latino, Asians, women, transgender, physically challenged, elderly, Muslim, Jewish, raped, abused, hungry, or voiceless. Is not my cause their cause? Can any of us truly be free when others are oppressed?

I thought about California’s Proposition 8. I thought about how 70% of the African-American vote in California voted to uphold Proposition 8, overturning legalized, gay marriages. I thought about the forward steps in the civil rights movement when Barack Obama was elected, and then I thought about the stumble backwards on that same day. How could the African-American community, the same community who wept, wailed and bled for their equal existence to be acknowledged by the masses, be the identical group who would support a proposition that, in short, sealed the shackles of tyranny for another group? How could this possibly be?

I thought about the tears Harvey Milk, had he not been assassinated, would be weeping on this past election day. I thought about my family and loved ones who are gay/lesbian/transgender. I thought about shackles and yellow stars and closets. I thought about bombs falling and government lists and associations and accusations. I thought about my daughter, and the world we are passing on to her. And I cried. And I thought about my tears, and how I weep for the gay community, and how I stand with them because my struggle is their struggle. And their struggle is my struggle. “We are all in this together. We are all in this alone.” – Pierce Pettis

“And you’ve got to elect gay people, so that child and the thousands and thousands like that child know that there’s hope for a better world; there’s hope for a better tomorrow. Without hope, not only gays, but those blacks, those Asians, the disabled, the seniors, the Us’s . . . without hope, the Us’s give up. I know you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living. You, you, and you got to give them hope.” – Harvey Milk

Tearful Republican reverses his stance against gay marriage

I was deeply moved by this Mayor's speech. I, too, felt disheartened by Proposition 8 in California. Why? It was the irony of it all. Our country saw the first multi-racial president elected, in part, due to the record turnout of African-Americans at the voting poll. Proposition 8 was passed in California, in large part, because 85% of African-Americans who voted supported Proposition 8.

For those of you who do not know about Proposition 8, allow me to summarize. Proposition 8 was a voting point to ban gay marriages. However, gay marriages were already made legal in the state of California several months ago. Why was this important to people, who are not gay, to ban? Could not the African-American community see that we as a country made leaps in civil rights with our presidential choice, but stepped backwards with the support of Proposition 8? I need to ask the African-American community: could you imagine a proposition for re-instituting segregation on the voting blocks every two or four years? How safe would you feel? And don't you realize that no one is free when others are oppressed?
Do you not see that the civil rights movement was not just a "black thing", but a human thing? And do you not comprehend that by setting back another group, you set your cause back?

Thank you, Mayor, for following your heart, regardless of this setback. I stand at your side. I speak for all who have been oppressed. All. Not. Just. Me!

Wassup 2008

This had me laughing in hysterics. Ha! Love it!

I've never quite cared for fashion, and style is in the eye of the beholder. I like how certain colors (like black) look on me. I've never been hip to all the changes in fashion. Don't get me wrong, I can dress very well, very cool, if I actually give a damn about what is labeled, "hip" or "cool". Usually, I just don't care. And I'm not trying to be a rebel, I just be who I be, and throughout my life that has been labeled everything from devil worshiper to freak to "what the hell?" to "turn down those colors!"

What's a guy supposed to do? There have been times when I have gotten in trouble for my dress assembly. I went through a phase in college where I was really into collecting knives, mainly hunting knives. Now, I've never hunted a day in my life, and personally, I don't care for the activity. My interest in hunting knives was an interest in knives, not hunting.

I purchased this very cool knife one time at this midwestern fair. I still have it today. It is this amazing, Texas toothpick, hunting knife. It's so rad. I love it. In any case, one day I was getting dressed at college, and I thought of the coolest idea. I would wear my camouflage, army pants, black boots, black t-shirt, and my knife, locked and loaded, attached to my boot. It looked so badass.

As I've mentioned in previous writings, I attended a conservative, evangelical Christian college. And it probably goes without saying, but dressing in that style and going to morning, religious services did not show a great deal of prudence on my part; although, I never thought it would cause the stir it caused. I was pulled aside by the campus police, because someone called me in, stating that my dress was very threatening, and that they were worried that I may do harm to someone.

Are you f'n kidding me? I'll tell you what, after being pulled aside like that, I most certainly wanted to do harm to someone.

Well, eventually, my camouflage clothing days faded away, and I moved on to other fashion styles, and some of them people actually liked.

Now, jump ahead with me. A couple of months ago, I was getting my daughter dressed for the day. I picked out a shirt and pants that looked good together. My daughter, with eyebrows raised, was incredulous. She said, "Daddy, that doesn't even match! Let me do it."

My daughter is three. . . .

Some things never change.

Saw my mom in the hospital today. She will be having open heart surgery on monday or tuesday. three of her arteries leading to her heart are 90% blocked. she went to the hospital yesterday for a catherization. she expected to be out of the hospital within hours. after the catherization, the doctors told her that it was not good news. they immediately admitted her to the critical care unit. though bypass surgery is somewhat routine these days, there's a reasonable chance that my mom may not make it. this makes me terribly sad and troubled. Did I see my mom for the last time today?

My friend Matt wanted to comfort me. He said, "I'm sure your mom will be fine." I said, "And what if she doesn't make it? Whether she makes it or not, her life is in the hands of God." I've never really been good at duping myself, at pretending that everything always works out for the best. It's not the way life is. My mom will die some day, and it may be on Monday or Tuesday or 20 years from now, but the one thing I can't do is pretend that this may not happen soon.

I couldn't keep a smile while with her. She's scared as hell. She's so torn, so sad. I am so sad, so torn. I couldn't do much except cry today. I wanted her to hold me like she did when I failed that test in the 5th grade. I wanted her to hug me like she did when I was busted for shoplifting, and the store owner wanted to press charges. I wanted to hold her and let her know that I am in pain, as well.

I knew when I reflected on Joan of Arcadia that God was telling me to pay attention and prepare myself.


I sat there in the hospital room and wondered if I was ready for all of this, and these tears that run down my face right now have no simple solution. The bear has jumped out in front of me and is loudly roaring.

"You can take it in stride
or you can take it right between the eyes
suck up, suck up, and take your medicine
it's a good day, it's a good day to face the hard things."
Cloud Cult, 'Take your Medicine'

Some of you know that I had an interesting few days a couple of weeks ago. I felt that my death was somehow approaching me. Then I felt that it wasn't necessarily my death, but something that had to die within me or around me.

I was feeling rather anxious on my birthday today. Didn't know why. I took a nap and I had a dream about my tooth falling out for no reason. Apparently, teeth dreams are about blocked anxiety within a person's life. Why was I feeling anxious?

I suspected that it was because my mom went into the hospital for an explorative scope; the doctors wanted to see if there was any blockage to her arteries. My ma doesn't have a crazy amount of medical problems, but she does have some concerns.

The procedure was only supposed to last a couple of hours, and then she would be released from the hospital within the same day. Perhaps I was feeling anxiety because of this. I hadn't heard from my dad, and I was slightly worried.

When I went out for dinner with Tessin this evening I couldn't concentrate on the meal. I needed to find out what was going on. I called my dad and he told me that they had to admit my mother to the hospital because she needs an immediate triple bypass on her heart. You heard me right: a TRIPLE bypass.

I don't know how I feel. I'm numb. I feel as if death is approaching my mother. I'm trying to gear up for the worse. No sense to give myself some idea of false hope. For if she dies, that will make it much worse for me, if I sit there and say, "Oh, she'll be fine." I am much more of a realist than that. I am not afraid of death. We all must die. But though I know death's inevitability, I am sad about death, and the thought that I will lose my mother one day. I just don't want it to be now; yet, I sense that this is one of the signs I was sensing a couple of weeks ago. And oddly enough, I feel as if there are more signs to come. This is only the beginning.

Dear Charlie:

Do you remember back in that April of 1993, back when I was on that desperate train that had gone far out of control? Do you remember? I called you one day because I wasn't sure if I was going to make it. I tried to call my mom and tell her that I was in pain. I tried to tell my mom that I never really wanted that boy to take advantage of me. I tried to tell my mom without really telling her, but she couldn't see that I was bleeding, so she just kept cutting. And I was almost bled out, Charlie. I almost bled it all out on that day, Charlie. My thoughts were cutting me, and I wanted to jump from that train. I was almost convinced that jumping would be fun. I almost couldn't see past the moment of my jump, but then I called you. And you listened. And you pulled out that bandage. And I cried because it hurt so bad, Charlie. And I never saw God more clearly than on that day. You listened. You prayed. You let me cry, Charlie. And I almost couldn't take it. I wanted to punch my head through a wall, so all the blood could come out at once. And you never made me feel bad for that.

If ever the time comes, I would gladly lay down my life for you, Charlie. You have always been the soft whisper of God in my darkest nights.

Dear Aine:

It's strange how timely it has been for your footsteps, your friendship to enter into my life. I know you think that you don't have the magic words to speak me out of the whirlwinds and hurricanes that beset my path, but you, Irish soul, listen graciously with heart. Your words and thoughts have brought comfort to me. It was you, in my darkest moments in the fading autumn light, who reminded me that darkness was only the absence of light; darkness truly doesn't exist within a relationship unto itself. It corresponds to the degree of light. Darkness can only exist if light dims herself; darkness can never take over light. It was you who reminded me of this simple truth. And I know I've said this to you before, but it's worth saying again, you, with laughter and truth, have melted some burden down. Ferron said it best:

And I found that all the world could love you save for one. And I don't know why it is, but that kiss will be the haunted one. You'll pine and weep and you'll lose good sleep and you'll think your life has come undone, until you learn to turn and spurn that bitter wind.

Because it'll probably be the one you least expect to, who will wager through your storm with you, who will give your fears respect... who will melt your burden down...though you probably don't want that yet, still...the odds fall sweet in favor to an open heart.

So, that's it. I'm learning to turn and spurn that bitter wind. I just wanted you to know that I am deeply blessed to have your friendship in my life, at this time. And when you do finally resign yourself to those Irish shores, know that you will always be irreplaceable within my heart.

Dear Charlie. Dear Aine. I think on you two today, my birthday, and the friendships you've bestowed upon me. And with this, I give thanks.

What more could I say? This day is cloud dust and star shine.
Mostly what I choose to make it; mostly almost done.
And yet, as I breathe, as I know,
We, (mostly I), are fortunate to dance with each other
in time, in step. Who knows what our silence will bring? Who knows if we will be awakened, or sleep with sleep, dreaming
about it all again? For now, I am grateful to curl in my bed,
returning back to that place where I almost knew all the
answers. Birthdays should not feel sad; yet, something about
the rain coming down causes me to focus on the rain coming
down. I am the perfect seven on the dice, so humbled and
gracious for all of you beautiful friends. All of you.

Happy birthday to me.

The Rubik's Cube: A theory in defense
of the existence of God

We've all seen the Rubik's Cube; that six sided enigma that has perplexed simpletons and the brain-powered. To some mathematical geniuses, it is just a fascinating equation, one that can be solved using a minimal amount of moves. To me, it was, and remains to be, a luring quandary.

I started playing with the cube when I was 10. I studied books on the cube, and would spend hours trying to solve it. When I eventually solved, (with the help of some suggestive books), I decided to mix and match different approaches in solving the cube. (I've never been quite good at following someone else's approach.) I had Rubik's cube books that claimed the cube could be solved in 45 seconds or less. I've never been able to solve it that quickly. My fastest time was 70 seconds.

When I was younger I focused on results, (e.g., how fast could I solve it, why is it so hard to turn at times). I wanted to do it faster and faster. But alas! 70 seconds was the best time I could get. Eventually, I got bored with the Rubik's Cube, and I put it away.

Within the last six months, I mentioned at a show about my Rubik's Cube abilities. After this show, a girl came up to me, holding out her cube, asking me to solve it. I froze. I hadn't seriously tried to solve the cube for more than (Gulp!) 20 years. And because the cube is not a mathematical equation to me, (geometry was the only math I disdained), I was stuck. I couldn't solve it. I couldn't remember my moves. I walked away embarrassed that I even mentioned my Rubik's Cube days.

I went home determined to solve the cube, once again. Within hours, I was able to solve the cube; I rediscovered the process. It's odd how things start to come back to you when you haven't done an activity for so long.

This time around, though, I was intrigued by the process, the "how," and not the "how fast." There are hundreds, maybe thousands of ways to solve the cube. I have my series of 20+ ways. One approach that remains consistent with me is that I start off solving the cube by working on two opposites first. The color patterns are always the same: red/orange, blue/green, white/yellow. Therefore, if I choose the yellow as my first color, the white side will follow. Before fully completing those two sides, I arrange the corners of the four remaining colors, and then I finish the rest of the two colors with which I began.

Upon completion of the initial colors, I work on completing the remaining four sides. However, in order to complete the remaining four sides, one must be willing to "upset" the order of the two completed sides. When I am solving the cube I don't even pay any attention to this disturbance; it is what is necessary when I am trying to solve the cube. I thought about how wonderful of a metaphor solving the Rubik's Cube is for life. If there is a lot of distractions and disturbances and confusion for a relatively simple cubed equation, what more can be said for the distractions and disturbances and confusions within the multi-variables of life?

As some of you are aware, I am intrigued by philosophical and religious meanderings. I love to sit and ponder; this brings me joy. Lately, I've been reading and listening to discussions about Evil. For those of you who are unaware, the problem of evil is the chief weapon for atheists in their defense that God does not exist. Personally, I believe God exists. Yet, I can't just ignore this serious premise: If God exists, why would God allow evil? If God is loving and benevolent, almighty and omnipresent, why would God allow bad things to happen to good people? Why is there suffering?

For the sanctity of blogging, and for the sanity of my reading audience, I will keep this discussion to simplicity; yet, I recognize that even simplified, this discussion can be discoursed equally as well with mushrooms, as with sobriety. By the very nature of this discussion being philosophical, some of you may bow out right about now. For those of you who are still around, let us enjoy one another's company.

I can get bogged down with themes such as the local and global arguments from evil, the idea of God, the hiddenness of God, and the suffering of animals to approach this discussion. However, time and interest is of the essence; therefore, allow me to draw upon my rediscovery of solving the Rubik's Cube as a general, but faulty, approximation of why evil exists.

Earlier, as you may recall, I mentioned two salient points concerning the cube that I would like to infuse within this discussion. First point being, there are multiple methods to understanding and solving the cube. Secondly, the process in which I take requires the disruption of seeming perfection in order to obtain holistic perfection. In other words, I must first destroy the two sides I solve in order to complete the remaining four sides.

Could not the Rubik's Cube, in theory, be seen as a working metaphor to address this question? What if life, as we know it, (or life unbeknownst to us), is working to achieve some level of perfection? And what if this journey is far more extravagant than some simple cube? What if the mathematical computations are played out through billions of years, with infinite possibilities, with pieces (i.e., people and things) that don't necessarily fit within their given time and space, and can only later be understood through reflection or the revelation of other factors? What if God is beyond the scope we place on God? Beyond the books and sermons and suicides and prayers and judgments and boxes in which God so neatly fits? What if God can only be God? What if stopping all the evil would no more be of God than stopping all the good?

When I solve the cube I solve two opposite sides first; the opposites work in tandem with one another. They work together and rarely against each other. What if these opposite sides were to be seen as love/hate, evil/good, suffering/healing? What if to God the framework is not greater and lesser evils, but rather, greater and lesser goods? And what if it is about the intentions of things, rather than the acts themselves? For example, if I say to you is a mother evil if she purposefully shoots her child? Would it matter if I told you the mother was mentally ill? A criminal? Or if I told you that the mother had been wounded during war time, dying, and her eight year old girl would be raped, tortured, and killed by her captors. Would that make a difference?

We can only see through this glass darkly. We are trapped within the immediacy of our time. We attempt to understand the pieces of this cube we call life, but we don't know the intentions or strategy of the Cube Solver. Onlookers can only gasp and remain baffled by the movement of life within God's hands, and what appears to be the destruction of perfection, what we label as evil, could in the end, be set to serve the greater good.