Rabbi Akiba walked down the road towards his home late one evening. Instead of taking the road that lead him closer to his home, he took another road that lead him towards Rome because he could not see where the fork in the road. After several minutes of walking down the road he came across a gated wall that he had not expected to find. From the darkness a Roman Centurion shouted, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
     Rabbi Akiba replied, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
A bit taken aback, the man replied, "I am a soldier of Rome. It is my job to watch these gates."
     "How much do they pay you to do this?"
"3 denari a week."
     "I'll pay you twice that much if you will stand outside of my house and ask me those same questions every day."

Who are you?
What are you doing here?

"shut up Bobby Lee"

daily greetings. . .
. . . at times can be pleasant, unexpected, enjoyable.
. . . can be a brightness that shines into the darkest part of the soul.
. . . can sometimes make it impossible to bear any ill-will or remember
      why you were upset in the first place.
. . . are the gentle caress that causes the shoulders of Atlas to
      forget the burden for the world he carries.
. . . can be inspiration for "the thinker."
. . . can be what you've waited a lifetime to hear.
. . . gracefully spoken, stifle cries of oppression and injustice.


. . . can be unpleasant, detestable, odious.
. . . they can be the utensil that stokes the bile from the liver,
      bypassing the gallbladder until it spills forth and tears away
      the duodenum and seeks to lay claim to fat that is not there.
. . . can be the ire that defines a day as paltry when others
      glory and revel in its beauty.
. . . offend the eyes that have seen the black forest lying
      upon the edge of what many fear to dream.
. . . become a requiem.




that which is inscribed is true.