The problems in our world seem increasingly are as the results of stubbornness and inflexibility of few leaders whose imagination comes short every time to realize that the words they so lavishly use, and that itself is one of the unfortunate realm of life, impact thousands of lives. Fortunately, the world is not with few who have that sheer sense that just because the technology of destruction is there, it is bound to be developed and used. Those who embrace peace are becoming a voice in our world. They are the only hope for our specie. Some one has to stop madness of war and dictatorship. People, all over our world, are this new force.

But he did not think this now and he had seen those same niggard blazes all his life. He merely ate his supper beside it and was already half asleep over his iron plate when his father called him, and once more he followed the stiff back, the stiff and ruthless limp, up the slope and on to the starlit road where, turning, he could see his father against the stars but without face or depth - a shape black, flat, and bloodless as though cut from time in the iron folds of the frockcoat which had not been made for him, the voice harsh like tin and without heat like tin: Barn Burning - W. Faulkner

I stand in front of full moon
I growl like a lonesome wolf
The moonlight over the roofs
The cool night in desert seems never lasting
And I am craving for some blood.

There is a bird on the tree in our house
There is a coin in my pocket
I will get some water for the bird
I will give my coin to the first needy I meet
I leave behind my greed – just to be happy

Freedom is nothing but having choices.

One does not have to be a saint. This does not meant that one has to be a devil. There is a fair line between goodness and badness. Goodness is to uplift sprits of others. Badness is hurting them.

Damn fucking cold. I need some medicine, that bloody ibuprofen.

I got cold. I feel like that vicious bulldog that now is sick to her stomach pull her right leg up to piss upon a gravestone in an old cemetery in London.

There seems little desire to challenge any thing. My bones, my forehead, my body are in pain. Yet, I feel life. I hear my heartbeats well and sound. I am shivering in cold. My head feels like a gigantic balloon floating over Hyde Park. It feels I am going to blow over the park into nothing.

Back in some remote village of a country in Asia, old Persia or perhaps even Siberian Russia, there came a vulgar trainer of shepherd dogs into believe that the origin of his people are from entire different stock than the rest. He began his own rituals to celebrate his new findings. Some ridiculed him first. Some dismissed him as a con. Angered by his words, the local priest called him an apostate to the village tradition and believes.

One very cold winter night, under persuasion of the head priest, the police chief sent out his men to investigate him. So, they waited behind bushes of his hut till the candlelight dimmed and darkness covered the place. When they ambushed the place, in their surprise, they found him naked in bathtub with two women, one fat and one skinny. The bathtub was decorated with all kinds of flowers, candles, and scented colorful knitting. Next to the bathtub, right on floor, they found head of a pig still fresh in blood.

Overwhelmed by the sight, they remained indecisive to carry out their acts in any instant manner.

“What do you want, my son?”

“We are here to ….”

“To kill me!” He abruptly said this with a tone of a voice so unmatched with that atmosphere of ritual and scarification.

“Well, go on! However, I am demanding you to do it with the very axe this hog is slaughtered!”

For few minutes, the silence governed the place. Then, he continued with his ritual. He filled the bowl with water, read a verse, and poured upon the breast of the fat woman. The dying light reflected on her breasts as water was dripping over her fat belly. He filled the bowl with water again and practiced the same on the slimmer woman. Women in response uttered some words in a language not to unfamiliar with the intruders.

“What are you waiting for?” – He asked without lifting up his head.

“Yes! What are we waiting for chief?” Asked one of the men.

“Lets get out of here”, ordered the chief.

Next day, the investigator chief reported to head of the investigation police of the region on his findings. So, they send him back with more men to arrest that self-proclaimed holy man next day.

They found the place completely burned. In search of the wreckages of the place, they found ruminants of pigs and other animals but nothing of human beings.

Twenty years after this incident, the locals experienced a widespread cult in the region honoring the sprite of that holly man and his two female disciples.

It was said that his teachings, a masterful intermingle of some lost rituals of the area and his own divine was to save souls in pain from sorrow, degradation, and loneliness. As part of his rituals, he asked his followers to bath in-group and witness slaughtering animals like pigs, monkeys, and jackals. It was said that he saved some marriages and settled differences among peasants. He was remembered as a healer at times when the peasants had exhausted all modern medical offers from the city. Though, he insisted his preference to not interfere with natural progression of diseases. Among his followers, there was a very old woman who recalled him simply as “My miracle papa!”

It is for a while that I have come into this conclusion that a man’s belief system is primarily made up by not reaching it via a sensible logic. Rather, the truth of the faith manifests itself in forms to address his physiological needs. And this is how I found so many people fan to teeth for a particular branch of religion. More or less, I found same to be true for those who feverishly are atheists. Only those few agnostics and or few who insist to keep their faith private that I found to be mild on the subject, conveniently free and indecisive for one or the other. The very few who give meaning to tolerance in our world.