Begin to realize your correspondent is a long way from achieving the goal of Pink Flamingo-hood. There might be some who wonder at the set of flowing emotions that came to such a confluence. Has it something to do with Afon-Bedd, where our hero is still struggling with lunch. Is it Sainthood related? All good questions, and I guess the answer has more to do with strands of thinking that first emerged in written form in the hymns of Zoroaster that can wander the veins during a moment or two of the Morning Dance, or physical exercise as some might prefer to call it. A time of day when there's always a possibility someone is watching. Morning Dances can be different, very different, even a little sinister and can always be misinterpreted by those of us who define ourselves by what we believe. It's tribal.
A more recent understanding of the mind suggests that of the parts of the brain,
the "who we are" part is pretty much set, aside from the rare anomaly we're all
very much alike. What varies between people is "what we believe." "What we
believe" is an edifice, primarily devoted to the social, the importance of
cohesion when faced by something like a Saber Toothed Tiger, or who cocks for
who, and all the way down to getting out of bed in the morning. And the thing
about "what we believe" is that what they call "facts" have less effect upon
"what we believe." At the same time "what we believe" is not "who we are." This
means that to define yourself by what you believe, while it may have its uses
around things like which way to hang the toilet paper, it can also make you kind
of stupid when it comes to taking a peep at the real. Easier to cuddle with the
edifice, belong to the tribe, make stuff up, put a value on tiaras. Yes indeed,
sadly I'm a long way from Pink Flamingo-hood.