On the Head of a Pin

I awake. . .

It is two o'clock in the afternoon of Tuesday, March the eighth of the year of Our Lord two thousand and twenty two.

Which may be, in the final analysis, a meaningless assignment of precise designation of specificity for the moment in an endless and infinite stream of moments.

As my emerging consciousness grasps the reality of my circumstance I find that the YouTube video that I was viewing when I fell asleep at dawn has yielded to a successor, in which learned scholars debate the relative worth of the prognostications of a long gone scientist named Darwin in comparison and contrast to a cultist belief that the current state of biological development is surely the result of the decisions and desires of an intellectual entity with absolute, infinite and purposeful intent.

After a lengthy and somewhat circular discussion around the search for a “Prime Mover” with a side topic regarding the incomprehensible nature of the force we call Gravity the speaker opened the floor to questions from the audience.

A gentleman whose faded hair proved his aged state rambled about philosophers named Aristotle and Socrates, then dismissed them as irrelevant. He then plucked a pin from his tunic —  and regarded it as significant to the discussion at hand. He wondered aloud whether it had been crafted by hand in the plodding efforts of an individual who made them one at a time, or if it was the product of a mechanized facility which produced them by the thousands — and then suspiciously speculated that the source might have been in a far off land, across the seas, where a strange language deified communications with present company … then held he it high and regarded its head.

“I wonder how many angels ...”

A minion of the presenters of the lecture snatched the microphone from the old man, and restored order to the proceedings.

Yet his point had been made . . .  for in the end, what was the benefit of the verbose investigation into the reality of being, when outside in the real world there were those lacking shelter, in need of medical care, and in some cases hungry for their daily bread?

There arises an awareness of priorities and importance.

Are we losing focus?