Beer

Descartes was right, so right. In the end, thought itself is from God, part of process, of a plan apart from all our own. Yet once I look upon the grand sculpture of all creation—the state of being that was, is, and will—I see at last that there is but one truth, a finite yet incomprehensible reality with a fixed number of total meanings, total thoughts, total properties, total laws. And now, for me, the only definition of good that ever shall matter is, “aligned with the one and only path of the world”. Everything we do is part of the cosmic play, yet the actor himself may choose to rebel, or revel.