If success or failure of this planet and of human beings depended on how I am and what I do. . . How would I be? What would I do? We may now care for each Earthian individual at a sustainable billionaire's level of affluence while living exclusively on less than 1 percent of our planet's daily energy income from our cosmically designed nuclear reactor, the Sun, optimally located 92 million safe miles away from us.
Why does anybody tell a story? It does indeed have something to do with faith. Faith that the universe has meaning, that our little human lives are not irrelevant, that what we choose or say or do matters, matters cosmically.
War was the ultimate chaos, a pounding, soul-destroying snarl, ending in blown-apart men lying unburied on the cold earth. There was nothing more cosmically chaotic than war.
Nothing about my birth - or yours - was random or accidental. I was born for this time - and so were you. We were each chosen for a particular, cosmically important task that can be done by no one else.
Humility bids us to take ourselves as we are; we do not have to be cosmically significant to be genuinely significant.
