When a tragedy happens in our lives, we scramble to look for a cause.
But a perfectly beautiful tree might be struck by lightning, and but for those who talk of nonsense scenarios such as that the Garden of Eden didn't have thunderstorms, we find ourselves looking at the word random, and the word arbitrary, with feelings of detestation.
It's just the matter of the most basic caution to protect ourselves from lightning strikes. But one who has read of thunderstorms in the wild, wherein one has not the hope of finding shelter, with drops of lead killing the animals round about, which drops of lead are but water, such a person might truly begin to wonder if he isn't charmed.
But it can make a man frightfully supersititious.
As one who is more than superstitious at times, I've learnt not to ask for the feeling that I'm in a home and not just a house. I live in a house which was a home which got broken with no more explanation of the cause than the explanation of what a lightning bolt chooses to strike.
As a consequence I see the phrase, stroke of luck, as a vile one.
It came about that I needed to tell one random stranger on the internet about the last ten years of my life. The family all knows about it. They all expressed their commiseration. But the event brought me to taking up smoking again, which my mother strongly disapproved of twenty years ago. Which I say at present because the only way I can bring myself to the time is by tipping a glass or mug.
Which Mom's parents strongly disapproved of.
Whem Mom cajoled me about smoking or drinking I told her we all need vices. The idea of rules being made to be broken suggests that this is plain fact. But that idea may simply be a matter of miserable people who don't know the difference between multiplication and addition.
Friends of mine telling me that programmers are a bunch of arseholes who don't know how to multiply three-digit numbers in their heads, I began to wonder if computers are only a lesson. But that thought contradicts the thought of doing anything useful with computers.
And then we come to wondering if the feeling of having enough isn't that which aught to be most treasured; which some have been precluded from having because others couldn't get enough: what if we, who are the ones most respected for clear and logical thinking, isolate people who aught to be destroyed, for being midway through a life going in the wrong direction?
Can such guilty parties by any will of their own choose to face the other way?
If they've spent a good many years training their children in their ways, I for one would certainly chuck them into a fire and send their kids into an orphanage.
But I'm more than lucky, for not only being able to claim I am a hypothetical husband, I may claim I am a hypothetical father, whose hypothetical wife needn't trouble herself to prevent me doting over my son.
As to Mom's feelings on the matter of virtual reality, she did choose Jacob, and looked at Esau as if he knew where true strength lay.
My dear mommy, I can't give you nice feelings that preclude the matter of who we might do a favour by giving them a quick death.