jrearden

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About jrearden

  • Birthday 05/02/1973

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    http://johnrearden.com
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  • Location
    Central Florida
  • Interests
    Psychology; motion pictures; literature; philosophy; self-actualization.

Previous Fields

  • Full Name
    John Rearden
  1. There is left but this single path to tell thee of: namely, that being is. And on this path there are many proofs that being is without beginning and indestructible; it is universal, existing alone, immovable and without end; nor ever was it nor will it be, since it now is, all together, one, and continuous. For what generating of it wilt thou seek out? From what did it grow, and how? I will not permit thee to say or to think that it came from not-being; for it is impossible to think or to say that not-being is. What thine would then have stirred it into activity that it should arise from not-
  2. On a Better Departure One day a man said this to me, “O, but to sleep when my end comes!” But such an end I cannot see! Rather awake I wish to be! When that time comes, and I must leave This dear old friend, this earth I love I would that I might, with eyes clear Fondly farewell this glorious sphere! What man would instead leave his wife (if she beloved to him being) Not with a conscious, loving gaze, But rather with eyes closed, unseeing? O let me not in benumbed sleep Go to that void, that empty space! O let me drink Earth’s sight like wine! O let me leave seeing her face!
  3. Paradise, the Reward of Being Moral It is thought in some religions that when one dies, he or she is brought before God, and the nature of the life that he has led, examined. Following this, he is then sent to Heaven or to Hell in accordance with the evaluation of that life. For the man who believes in such, life on earth is a relatively brief "lobby" before the glory of a joyful Paradise or the hell of an everlasting damnation, and the purpose of this lobby is to determine to which of these one is sent. The key question for an individual on earth who wishes to achiev
  4. On Visiting a Cemetery I walked one day through iron gates Through which some came one way alone My eyes roamed o’er the spread of land The ordered names there set in stone. I walked the rows, and read the names My legs moved forth with even pace Beneath each stone, now still and gone What once had mind, and pulse, and face. I stopped at one, now deep in thought Another would have done as well The name not in my memory now But rather what the stone did tell. Beneath this plaque, now matter lay Once with lungs quick with breath, with eyes Perceiving all that ‘round him stood And at day's end, n