“Totalitarianism demands, in fact, the continuous alteration of the past, and in the long run probably demands a disbelief in the very existence of objective truth.”
Ramblings of a Retired Mind You are wrong, I am right, even if I am wrong Yesterday, I was minding my own business in the right lane when a car veered in front of me from the left—zero turn signal. The urge to honk or extend a specific finger was overwhelming. Instead, I chose peace, breathed deep, and turned up the radio. Moments later, a massive pickup truck came flying down the left lane. Before I could even think, where’s a cop when you need one? The truck cut hard into the right lane, cutting off my original offender. Clearly, turn signals are a lost art form. The best part? The first driver, the one who had just cut me off, was absolutely furious. He lay on his horn, completely blind to the irony. It perfectly captures the new normal: "Rules for thee, but not for me." We see this hypocritical projection in politics every day, where everyone accuses the opposition of the exact dastardly things they are doing themselves. I don't know when this became...
Ramblings of a Retired Mind Death Among Us Living With Death, Choosing Life Nothing stirs emotion quite like death. It is the one certainty we all share, yet it arrives without a timetable or warning. We never know when it will come—only that it will. We encounter death constantly. Sometimes it touches our lives directly; other times it reaches us through news headlines and distant tragedies. We witness loss involving strangers and people we love, and the difference between those two experiences is profound. The Distance of Public Tragedy Recent weeks have been filled with reminders of how fragile life can be. Acts of violence driven by hatred, live...
Ramblings of a Retired Mind Angel Smoke The scent was unmistakable. Being hypersensitive to every shift in the air, I recognized it immediately, that crisp, biting aroma of burning leaves in early December. It felt nostalgic until it didn't. At the front of the room, Sister Mary sighed, her mind already drifting toward a quiet cup of tea. Only one hour of school remained. But the smoke began to cling to the inside of my nostrils, a persistent, sharp irritation. "Sister Mary, what is that smell?" Before she could answer, three students burst in from the library, faces pale. "Sister Mary, there’s smoke in the hallway!" No alarms. No warnings. Sister Mary peered into the corrido...
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