All I know

is that I know nothing. -Socrates


There was an unusual call to happiness this morning. I live right on a busy street on the poor side of town, and all too often I wake to the sound of someone's subwoofers shaking things off my shelf. But today it was a sparrow, perched neatly on my window sill, that not even my cat could scare away.
Sometimes I wonder of these things are blessings, a gift from some divine parent. Like when my parents would surprise me with breakfast on a Saturday morning. It refreshed the spirit, even this morning when, for all intents and purposes, I should be on the bathroom floor in the fetal position after last nights libations.
I know I believe. But the hardest part is beginning that dialogue with the Divine. In the Baptist church I grew up in, you just had to tell Jesus you were sorry for everything you'd ever done. Or not done. But I think that's unfair. Nothing I've done, I've done with the intention of hurting another person. And to me, that's the only true sin. And even then, it's for that person to forgive me, not the onlooker. If you bump into someone's car, you don't apologize to the other people at the scene.

To what, then, must we aspire? This, and this alone: the just thought,
the unselfish act, the tongue that utters no falsehood, the temper that
greets each passing event as something predestined, expected, and
emanating from the One source and origin.
-Marcus Aurelius