Bravery

What truly makes a person brave? Or a coward? Why do we classify people like this? Do we truly do it based on actions, or on appearance? And if we do classify based on actions, how can we be sure that we are judging the truth? The way actions look after the fact is entirely different than the way they look during the fact. And if all seems lost, do you save those with you and run? Is that really only cowardice if the people who stayed are triumphant? And is they die, if their lives are lost, is the runner the hero then? Is he the one who knew when to quit and save himself? Is that truly the way we work? Is it a flawed way of thinking, and a flawed way of life? Are we all truly cowards? Or are we all truly heroes?

Truth

What, pray tell, is the truth? And what is the lie? Is everything we are told just a shade of the truth or a shade of a lie to manipulate us? Because, really, that's all a lie does, really. It manipulates us into believing something else other than the truth. But really, truly, what is the truth? How would you know if your life is just an elaborate well fabricated lie? What if it is?

Magic

What is magic? Is it real? Is magic the whirlwinds of leaves that appear in the fall? Is magic the birth of a baby? Or is magic, really, a scientific feat? Is our world really just a scientific puzzle, waiting to be picked apart and pinned down and labeled? Are we really just, in the end, an experiment? A test, one of many proving something? Or is the world truly magical, somewhere we can be totally oblivious to the world outside our little planet, and yet be totally safe? Can science explain to me why my horse trusts me implicitly, though I have barely equaled what he has given me? Is it not magical when two become one and soar over a fence higher then most men stand? That gut feeling that tells you how and when you should do what? And it's always right. Is it not also magical when a dog knows exactly where to find his injured master? Is there no hope for the human race? Hope is defied by science. Science, by it's very nature, claims hope cannot exist. But we all hope for something. For a better tomorrow, for a wound to heal, for a friendship to be rekindled or forged. Our hopes, our dreams, are all that lives on past us into others. Because other people dream as we do, and other people hope as we do. So are we creatures of magic, born in a miracle, or are we creatures of science, born on a sterile steel table, predicted and proven?

Time

Time is a funny thing. Sometimes, seconds and minutes pass achingly slowly, and sometimes you blink and they're gone. Just like that, with no explanation. One wonders if clocks were merely invented so we could be surprised at the passing of time, and despair at the passing of it. And then there is the possibility that clocks were invented so we could know that we are late, that we must rush. If we lived in a world without clocks, would we feel less rushed? Or would we feel more rushed, not knowing how much time is left in the day, only to be finished early, with hours of sun still left to enjoy? Perhaps we cannot function without a device for measuring time. Maybe we always need to know that we can know how much time is left. Is it survival instinct that does this to us? Having to know how much time is left before our life runs out? Just maybe we can wean ourselves of the clock, that indescribable need to know what time it is. We are inextricably bound to time itself, counting out how many seconds we have to live. But do we need to know what time it is? Or is that, like the internet, something we can live without?