Are we all block layers, leaving the prints of our lives on the human existence. Solomon was listening to the voices, those around him, and the changes going on. There was time and space to do a little thinking, the usual chaos, the news offerings, not so important anymore, life more pointed, introverted, as if to say, what are we doing ourselves. We make it happen, we have to clean up.
Recriminations and arguments, you did this, we did that, the protagonists trying to sway the opinion of the voters, each sure of themselves. The irony Solomon felt, was those who spent their life gathering immense riches, then spending their end days, giving it all away. Surely that wasn’t the purpose.
He recalls the story of Oscar Schindler, who has a turn of conscience, and wants to right the wrongs he can see around him, knowing the danger he faces…
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