Writing, For Me, Is A Search For

Justice Itself Is A Chimera, A Delusion. Justice Is Not A Flat Yardstick, Applied In Equal Measure To An Equal Situation.

For In A Swift Radiance Of Illumination He Saw A Glimpse Of Human Struggle And Valor. Of The Endless Fluid Passage Of The Humanity Through Endless Time. And Of Those Who Labor And Of Those Who - One Word- Love. His Soul Expanded. But For A Moment Only. For In Him, He Felt A Warning, A Shaft Of Terror.

I Must Go Home Periodically To Renew My Sense Of Horror.

Doctors, By God; Washing Their Hands, Looking Out Windows, Fiddling With Dreadful Things While You Are Stretched Out On A Table Or Half Undressed On A Chair.

But Look What The Church Has Done To Jesus During The Last Two Thousand Years. What They Have Made Of Him. How They Have Turned Every Word He Spoke For Their Own Vile Ends. Jesus Would Be Framed And In Jail If He Was Living Today.