Tomorrow creeps in its petty pace. . .

We landed at the right time, and the place. . .

HONOLULU — The shuttle driver, all five feet of him, said “Welcome to Paradise” as we walked up to his bus.  Then he said something about retrieving our baggage.  Uh, no.  No baggage claim in Paradise.  This was just what passes for Paradise here on Urantia;  the big Kahuna’s Paradise lies off in the light years ahead of us.

I have forgotten the taste of fears. . .  Looking back East from the lanai.

The winds of change still blow steady. Every molecule of every organism gets a taste, one way or another. Nothing is untouched;  nothing stays the same. We all bow to the prevailing wind, or eventually we break.  These heady times bring increased contrast of the extremes, and anyone who cares can see the path swept clear before them.  Seize the time;  be the change you seek.

Today, I’m seeking sunlight, sand, and surf.  Tomorrow,  well, tomorrow will take care of itself.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28