What is man that you are mindful of him? We push on behind our layers of reality, behind our safe layers of civilization. Our rules, our laws that protect us from ourselves. We draw the cord tighter in an attempt to keep it all together, and we come that much closer to bursting at the seams. And out would flow a dreadful mess for you and me. Deep down what remains of a man? You back him into a corner and what will he do? You strip away his livelihood, his possessions, his family, his laws, his rules; what does he have left? His morals? Or do those slip away with everything else? Bad things happen and am I supposed to believe that was by divine orchestration? There is a certain darkness clouding men’s hearts, and it clouds the world as well. We like to hide behind our pretty ads, our clean clothes, our sweet smelling perfume, our new cars, our beautiful civilization. But something primal dwells deep within. Something so horrible that we don’t want to admit that it’s there. But it is there. Only the hollow men, the stuffed men push on and try to ignore it. They proceed not with a bang, but a whimper, and all goes so quietly into that good night. But they don’t understand. They’ve fallen asleep in class, again. They don’t understand the horror, the horror. And they don’t understand that the end has begun–there is a hope, it springs eternal, and it’s not finished yet. It doesn’t have to end with a whimper.