No Longer Perfect

I am a man, a man with a blog. A man with a blog that pretended to be a man writing a blog. What I didn't know was that the blog was writing me. I pretended that I knew a lot, and that I understood even more, but I am nothing but a man. I cannot jump into the sky and reach escape velocity -- 17,500 mph. Even if I did so I would died almost immediately from my blood boiling without the 15 pounds per square inch of barometric pressure which holds me together.

I cannot reach the horizon even with outstretched arms and if I were to walk sideways forever-- like the end of a rainbow, the horizon would just continue to evade me

I cannot sink down into the earth past its thin crust and into the magma or the yoke of the earth, the sphere of iron and nickel which is at the center. I would be crushed by the pressure and cooked by the temperature.

So I am a man. I -- man; you -- man; womb -- man; human -- -- 1 level. Not two levels, not three or four, but one level. I learned this in Africa. I was there in South Africa very few days ago, and where the anthropologists and the archaeologists and all the other "gists" have said that Africa is the birthplace of man and the cradle of civilization, it has been hearsay for me until now.

When I stepped off the plane and onto African soil I knew, and I know.

One man -- human -- 1 level.