2023 Solstice and Divine mercy for those even too stupid too ask.

A postulation, that the "unsearchable riches of God" represents both mercy and the plethora of nearly infinite possibilities in front of brow-beaten and usurping man.  In his impertinence man has grown more and more to contempt the Divine, when in fact, he would be more pleasant if he otherwise contemplated the Divine, to unclench the buttcheeks and experience the air, not as he wishes it, per se, but such as it is already, to behold what irrevocably is.  

And on the first day of Summer in the hemisphere, the air is butter-clutch thick, a milkshake of humidity, an earthen sweat.  Of earth, i smelled the soil as the latest rain began, either it was something elemental in the drops or the very dust breathed a sigh of relief.  The Solstice, a time of perhaps, some kind of naked polarity, in which emotions run clear and pure like the mountain brook, without complication, and without begging distinctions, but just happening as the Now has been continuously unspooling and the winding around increasing universal chaos for generations without end.

There were spirals to the immediate northwest, and the general malaise flowed, determined, from the southerly section, passing from the tropics into the waystation of the southeast of the states, itself a clearinghouse of all kinds of contractions and predelictions of servicing its own past, and laying at the feet of its own proud statues, with more clenched buttcheeks, and a thickness of saliva from too many sugary soft drinks, that last only to be washed away in beer as the weather slowdanced to the north.