Poetman stands next to a mountain and tries only to be Poetman with no wish to be the mountain – being Poetman is mountain enough.
Poetman has read all the holy instruction books and has a pile of them crowding his office floor – and realizes that old wisdoms have only a partial relevancy to what is happening in the world today.
Poetman laughs at himself, at his folly for once believing in anything as an all time certainty, there are after all so many whys, wherefores, and becauses.
Poetman is content to live with the contradiction lists of 6 billion mostly lovely people, as long as they embrace their beliefs as something personal, cultural or geographical.
Poetman believes there was once a great nothing that became a great everything and wonders at the quirkiness of others who must define the original nothing as something that can be explained.
Poetman worries when minor minds escalate rhetoric into flames of high fury and excite even smaller minds to kill, or legislate against intelligence as a duty.
Poetman believes that the only devil that exists is “Anger” unchecked by anything resembling compassion for a different opinion.
Poetman is really just a guy who lives in a house at the edge of his own reality – probably like you – awed by the extraordinary.