Perhaps this item belongs in the test conference.  It is certainly in
the nature of a test.  Life is but a series of tests; we all know that.
Some of us know it better than others.  Some of us don't know it as well
as others.  Indeed, the aggragate of those people who know it better
than others is complementary to those who do not, save for the people
who know it equally with others.

In writing this, I am testing myself.  In reading what I have written,
each and every one of you is testing himself or herself, in like
measure.  Without testing, there can be no progress.  And in the same
manner, without leaving there can be no egress.

Let me speak of values.  On the one hand there are societal values.  On
the other hand, there are spiritual values.  On the third hand, there
are personal values.  In the best-adjusted among us, these values are
congruent.  When there is conflict among them, we become distraught. 
This too is a test.  We test each of our values by confronting it with
our other values.  A struggle ensues.  Our ego withdraws to a safe
distance, to observe.  When the struggle is over, a victor known, we
return to our values, the conflict resolved.

Our tests form a progression.  The progression is the road called Who
We Are.  No two people travel the same road, for no two people are the
same person.  This is obvious, yet its implications are not.  Those who
understand its implications are enlightened.  We can look back on the
part of the road that we have already traveled; who can say that the
looking back does not influence our choice of future direction?  This
is a comfort; and yet it is a prison.  Is not habit a weakness, and its
renunciation a source of strength?  I would say so.  Not all would say
so.

The little bird settled upon the fragile branch.  Two small muskrats
circled below.  The gibbon screamed.

13 responses total.

Wait a minute, Mr. Remmers; you can't step down from the podium before
you introduce our salutatorian.

I used to love reading philosophy in college, too bad I could never
remember any of it.
    Even though, as you say, two people travel different roads, because
of our many means of communication, is it not also true that we can look
back over part of the road traveled by others?  This also can influence
our choice of future direction.

(When the gibbon screamed, did the branch break, causing the bird
to fall among, and possibly into, the muskrats?)  Another example of
inference based on the histories of others.

test sets
test sets
tEst sEts
TesT SetS
teSt seTs
test sets
test sets

yes, test sets, those wonderfully interlocking words.  Life is test sets,
only, what you forgot, is that eventually everybody flunks out.  So relax.
The test is rigged.  

No blue books will be required, you will not be graded on a curve, open books,
open notes, but close the door behind the horse.  And remember use two number
two pencils, a nasal inflator, and five sticks of chewing gum.

You may begin.

Ah, but if life is a test is it open book?
<ponders>

Just as is the valedictorian, the salutatorian shall be self-selected.

Alrighty then, here we go:
<amy tosses her ridiculous, if not yellowed, mortarboard aside; it's only
in the way here>

Life is, indeed, a series of open book tests.  It is up to each individual 
to select and hone his or her reading list to perfection, that each of us may 
have, at our disposal, the quintessential reference material at our 
proverbial fingertips when the vicissitudes of life beseech us to rise to the 
occasion.   Each of us must, in these troubled times, call upon the wisdom 
of the ages to guide us in our own quest and steer us through the troubled
waters of what  we call our lives.  For we have not the vast experience of the
thousands that have gone before us, and their expertise is invaluable.

But it is not enough to merely regurgitate that which we have absorbed 
through scholarly study.  No matter how sacred the words of a favorite 
sage, no matter how wise the musings of an ancient oracle, there is no 
substitute for the original prose of our own lives.  Just as the lauded
authors of yesteryear inscribed their thoughts for all eternity, so
must we value our own acts enough to skillfully record them, therein 
passing the wisdom we glean through the passage of time on to a future
generation.  Perhaps in some era, in another millenium, the sum of 
the world's accumulated knowledge will lead someone to the ultimate
truth.

Truly salutatorious.  But what of the weasel?

The weasel is now wearing the salutatorian's mortarboard, having neatly
caught it on his head.  The little bird is plucking at the tassels,
wondering if they would be suitable for feathering her nest.

if the weasel is the salutatorian, who is the valedvictorian?

The veiled Victorian is Lee Harvey Oswald's great-grandmother.  That funny
little hole in the veil lets her stick her tongue out at people and smoke
cheap cigars.

Ah. How clever of her.

somehow i don't think veil tastes good

No, but my hos do.  So will you.

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