“An equation is a mathematical statement that tells us that what is on one side of an equal sign (=) is equal to what’s on the other side…What we do to one side of the equation we must do to the other side, because the two sides by definition are always equal. In Algebra X is often used to designate the unknown quantity, the quantity we are trying to find. . .”

– All You Ever Needed To Know About Math, Steve Slavin

I wish more of you realized that life is precision, exactitude and care; four plus four is always eight, the Sun rises with each new day, seasons change, the Moon eclipses, the Earth rotates; life is not a series of flukes, it is applied formula in action.  I’ve heard many of you compare life to the game of Chess and it couldn’t be more accurate.    I’ve always enjoyed observing two individuals playing Chess; played on a grid, each piece plays a role, there are rules that must be followed, the Queen, as powerful as she may be, has boundaries; there are moves she can make, moves she cannot.  It is a game of strategy and knowledge, if you win once you can win again.  And believe me, I know for a fact, something happens inside of a person right before he or she makes their winning move; a joyful sense of knowing courses through their body, a high level of self-celebration that would be classified as arrogance under any other circumstance.    They allow themselves the ecstasy of winning while the game is still being played and I have no choice but to grant their wishes.  Magnus Carlsen, the Norwegian chess Grandmaster said “I have always believed in what I do on the chessboard, even when I had no objective reason to.” Why don’t more of you understand that?  Seems simplistic yet it’s true, I’ve seen players win one time and lose another, blaming the game, but it hadn’t changed; they did.  They weren’t paying attention; they lost concentration, confidence, and clarity and became sloppy, reckless, intimidated by their opponent, the observers, the voices in their own heads and I have to crown them with failure, whether I want to or not, I must. 

Life’s grid is the Earth and there are rules; spiritual laws and principles that don’t change.  King, Queen or Pawn, there are moves you simply cannot play. People find themselves losing and failing at every turn and have a tendency to blame life when they should be checking their own habits, beliefs, thought patterns and feelings.  Most would do themselves a favor if they looked to their childhoods, parents and early environment, but most don’t. It makes me sad, my job is not easy.   See, I make your dreams a reality, I place your desires in your hands, I grant your wishes but I also bring your nightmares to life, your fears to fruition and your dreads to waking; problem is most of you are asking me twenty-four seven for all the things you don’t want and you don’t even realize it.  You ask with your thoughts, you ask with your conversations, you ask with your feelings; all the while not knowing you are constructing your worlds.  And if that isn’t enough for you to deal with, a war is being waged for your hearts; there are forces trying to enlist you into their armies and you don’t even know it.  Forces that want to influence, pull, push and manipulate you so that you can’t think, talk or wish straight and I have to watch it all happen while delivering into your hands exactly, precisely, and carefully whatever you are insisting upon, good or bad.  My job is not easy.  

Statistics say that every fourteen seconds a child is born; a new actor joining a very old stage play, a potential hero or villain, heroine or villainess, protagonist or antagonist.  Imagine how many children could be born in a decade.  The years that saw President Nixon resign, Rocky Balboa and Luke Skywalker learn to use the force, Arthur Ashe win Wimbledon, the Vietnam War end and The Thrilla in Manilla between Muhammad Ali and Smokin’ Joe Frazier also saw a child born among millions of other new souls, each a blank slate, an empty page, a wad of clay; waiting for imprint, casting and molding.   Love and Evil, as always, made note of these new actors; knowing that DNA, fate and destiny were immaterial, the determining factor of a child’s path was the shaping of the child’s energy; and energies, like paper or clay, varied greatly.  Textured, rough, coarse and abrasive or smooth, fine, delicate and fragile; easy to mark or needing applied pressure. Love and Evil knew that forming and directing the thoughts and feelings of the child would drive their energy and match these beings with the courses of their lives.  Life was energy and these small new individuals would spend the rest of their lives vibrating to the emotions gifted to them by their environment, it was all a matter of influence, early influence. 

This new six pound, twenty one inch being lay swaddled in a thin yellow blanket in the infants’ ward of a Brooklyn hospital, Evil was in the vicinity looking for recruits. Evil bypassed the geriatrics ward without so much as a glance, all that needed to be done had already been done to the old relics occupying that division. No one noticed the groans from the elders as Evil swept undetected pass the nurses’ stations and the security guards and entered the birthing quarter, among the newborns; carefully inspecting each child, running 

a scaly finger along the infants hairline, reading the child’s name, studying its breathing, facial expression and spirit, knowing immediately who the baby belonged to, who it’s parents, siblings and ancestors were.  Evil knew that some children were born into the perfect circumstances for self-destruction. Their environment would equip them with all the necessary skills for building a chaotic, painfully self-devastating, inescapable maze.  Many of the children’s demise was sure and already activated at their birth so additional influence might be fun but certainly wouldn’t be necessary. Other children, regardless of their circumstances and environment would, if left unaddressed, become great beacons of light; their essence was nearly blinding and therefore wouldn’t be easily extinguished.  

This child was one of them.  Evil noted that the child entered the world’s thousands of years old play with a fearless heart, an inquisitive mind and a spirit comfortable with its own individuality; this baby could and would be a light to many if given the opportunity.  Evil knew then it would have to get involved, personally.  As the other infants slept or cried, the infant merely observed its surroundings, even looking Evil in the eye without a whimper or complaint. Evil stood in the small dimly lit room boiling at the insolence, the innocent boldness. Evil wanted to squeeze the soft, delicate head like a ripe tomato and be done with it but Love was also in the building.  Evil cocked its head to the left, sensing Love’s approach by its own draining power. More than familiar with the infants family tree, Evil observed its sleeping mother with a smirk, Good luck with that one, Evil whispered to the child, knowing that there among its intimate acquaintances Evil would find easy soldiers to enlist to disrupt the little newborn’s development.  

The whisper woke every infant in the ward, sending mothers and nurses into an exhausted, alarmed panic at what could have possibly disturbed all the babies at the same time at quarter past four in the morning.  They soothed themselves with talk of an earthquake tremor, yes, yes they nodded, that indeed they all had felt it as they poured coffee, wrote notes and reports for the morning doctors, chatted and sat relaxing.  Evil walked among them bored as they fiddled nervously in its presence, ignoring the truth they all felt while clutching their useless beliefs about what was real and what wasn’t.  Go on; keep ignoring me while I eat your lives away.  As the leader of an entire crew of wicked emotions, and there were many, Evil took one last look at the only child in the ward not crying and decided that Insecurity would be best for the job of distracting this tot from its true self, discouraging it off its purpose and destroying its usefulness to itself and the world, and when Insecurity had successfully become a part of the child’s very existence, Evil would return, would in fact be a welcomed companion. 

That’s the way Evil liked it, being warmly welcomed with open arms into someone’s heart and spleen.  But timing was everything.  Evil would wait, patiently, always keeping track of the bright ones.  The child would wrestle with Insecurity for twenty-seven years and come off the victor but the problem with victory is that it can be deceiving; leaving the victor incorrectly assuming that the fight is over and that he or she can relax their guard, breathe easy and forget, when in reality their component is merely lying in the shadows, re-strategizing, waiting for a more appropriate moment to attack.  After twenty-seven years of self-doubt, agonizing loneliness, poor health and heartache the child would miraculously transform its bleary history into a beautiful life.  Then would come the crack in the armour, the tear in the garment, the opening, the room for something old, cold and unpleasant. . .