Who Will Be My Arbiter?
There are different ways to interpret that question. I could fear anyone who would slide into that chair, that resting place of the final say, where my own personal magistrate will pass ultimate judgment on me. Who wouldn’t fear that creature?
Or I could be longing for a neutral third party to settle the many disputes I find myself in, both within and without. A person with the power to decide the basic question of humanity: right and wrong. I do seek an unbiased judge with no agenda, hidden or otherwise, whose pursuit of truth is singular and steadfast, whose final word will end peacefully all debates and conundrums, whose ultimate verdict I will accept as just, and will be unimpeachably accepted as universally wise and correct.
I want that.
Otherwise, I feel the run on sentence that is my life will never have a period. And a seemingly endless series of commas and semi-colons can lead to a jittery, halting, and truncated existence. A lifetime of rolling stops through the red signs seeking a cease fire. A relentless speed walk through the Central Park of life with nary a moment to smell roses or trees or the homeless, no pausing to help people, merely cataloguing what I see and hear but not stopping to engage.
I need that period. That little black dot represents an island of sanity, of reflection, of contemplation, of allowing life to flow over me instead of running from it.
For a non-believer, have I just asked for a God-like presence?