A road runs out of my mind into the world.  Along it certain thoughts travel.  Some return;  some turn and are seen no more.  All fade like years I have lived, like certain dusty chandeliers stored in old attics of blessed memory.

The idea of an old man disguised as an old man walks gingerly down the path, shrouded in dark thoughts.  Whether this old man will arrive is open to question.   It is not certain that he has left.   His direction is doubtful, but whether it is the old man who feels this doubt or myself only or perhaps all of us here is not given in the text.

I have seen this old man before, shrouded in doubt, whether walking open to question or just sitting and counting his toes (as numberless as the stars; as numberless as the grains of sand on a beach).

Certainly, toes has he on each foot.  Feet has he on each leg and it is certain then that on each leg he has toes.  And these shall grow to dust and stars shall inherit him.

This has been promised by legal contract.  Another old man has said so.  And it was good so.  So they signed and were fruitful.  Two doubtful old men in their darksome ways laying the foundations of the world and future misunderstandings as well as (let it be said) future accords, agreements, treaties and pacts herewith whatsoever.

One old man to rule them all and one old man to wander; one to bind and free us all and one to be bound by the law.  Numberless are the days that this has been so and uncounted the eons that this has been good.  It is open to question that the time has come for a change of days and a change of numbers.

Is 400 years long enough?  Is 400 miles far enough?  The numbered numberless days go on, the miles pass beneath our feet.  Have we reached the end of our trail with the first old man, the end of our bondage to the second?  These aged relics have been seen passing on the horizon to greener pastures where graveyards grow.

Doubtless such things have been seen but not by me.  To the contrary I feel with dark certainty that only the disguises have faded and that the idea of these old men lives on… secretly…in me, dying as is their wont, as is their entropy.

I know Faust made a pact with the devil and died.  Jesus did not make a pact with the devil and died.  Both went to heaven.  So what’s the diff?  Jesus died young.  Faust died old after living through the ecstasies and pains of life.   Doubtless, suffering paid for all sins.

I must tell you now to be careful.   A dark and doubtful way lies before you and perhaps even behind you.  For if pacts have ended, then beware!  Suffering will no longer save you.  Imagine a world where refugees have no rights.  You are living in it.  Imagine a world where the sick have no special claim on the healthy.  Look around you and throw off your blinders and your shackles - you are free.   Unless, of course, you are sick.

In which case, be of good cheer: the meek shall inherit the earth  But do not be of too good cheer: the meek shall inherit the earth.   From the two old men who have dropped it out of  crumbling fingers into your decaying hands the world shall pass - later.   Now it moves slowly thru the hands of the rich and powerful.

And this is true beyond doubt or question: it will pass.

As other worlds have passed out of time with toothless cries to heaven.   As certain old men have faded out there into me, doubtless.   And I too shall certainly end one day (blessed be my name).   And certain old men and certain old chandeliers shall perish utterly from the face of the earth.