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Slow news day…

Not much reporting at which to “hurl” insults today, so I guess I’ll just try my hand at mindless meandering and manipulative mind-control (eeks)…

You know, I was picking blackberries yesterday and I began (as my mind often seems to want to do) to ponder economics/religion.

To set the scene, here I am in the blazing hot, morning sun picking these berries (and making quite a haul, I must say), but I began to consider the pain I was feeling in my arms (they stay shoulder height and higher for most of the foray, not to mention all the cuts from the thorns) but I was thinking ‘what are these berries worth’?

What is there real value?

I began to think “neighbors are charging ten dollars a gallon” (and complaining about gasoline); and yet I’m paying nothing (yeah, right).

So then I said ‘it must be the thorns…my skin feels very sore where they have ripped it open’; but then I thought, ‘well, it’s not that bad, when I consider all the wine I will drink and cobblers I’ll chomp down’…

So, again, what is their value?

I thought about how my Lord and Savior must have felt with his Crown of thorns…man, some of the vines I was trampling back in were as big around as a school-girl’s left ankle….these were some big berries (and bigger thorns).

How it must have hurt him.  And what did He get out of it?  What was the value of his pain, if it were trading on the mercantile?

So the pain in my arms suddenly did not seem all that bad…after all, I will get quite the benefit from my cuts (in the form of sustenance, provided from above).

It is amazing, really.  God seems (on the surface, anyway) to reap nothing from His pains…and from our own, we reap everything (worldy, that is).

Oh well…how’s this for meandering?

Somewhere, in this world, there is a couche potato with a really, cherry tele-commuting job, sitting on their sofa, watching TV and eating divinity-dipped blackberries he (or she) probably paid something like $20.00 a gallon for (white chocolate ain’t cheap).

It’s a perverted life.

But you know, just like the geese and ducks I kill and cook up in gourmet fashion, somehow they taste better to me than in the five-star restaurant. Oh, it is the same animal (albeit in the five-star they were probably hand-raised and fed the finest grains) – but the difference is…I did “REAL” work to accomplish my meal.

The couch potato did what I call “virtual” work (and from my perspective, I can virtually tell you that it just doesn’t look like work at all to your’s truly).

But they get paid, unbelievable sums, to do it.

God help us all when there are no more hand-raised delicacies, or people willing to sell their hard work picking blackberries to some lard butt who programs video games (I’m simply mesmerized by all the virtual wizardry that takes place).

But what a hypocrite am I ?

Here I type, on my blog, and complain about the intrument and those who create it.

I should be cyber-flogged until the blood flows like blackberry wine.

Oh, that reminds me, it’s time to check the wine.

Have a great Sunday, and even better week!

-Preci

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About precipii

An aged anti-hippie, ...

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