I posted this one a few years ago. It interjected itself into my thoughts this week. Thought I’d put it out there again.
My father always railed against the Pursuit of the Almighty Dollar. As a child I never understood his furor and frustration. As a child you only dully grasp the source, and function of money. It’s there. You get stuff with it. It grows on trees. What happens along the way is that we forget money’s purpose. It becomes an end in itself.
And it’s indicative of and in direct proportion to our sadness as a species.
I think Douglas Adams nailed it when he said,
“This planet has – or rather had – a problem, which was this: most of the people living on it were unhappy for pretty much of the time. Many solutions were suggested for this problem, but most of these were largely concerned with the movements of small green pieces of paper, which is odd because on the whole it wasn’t the small green pieces of…
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