God Cries

I remember an ancient story from the time of the Babylonian Exile that ended with by noting:

God cries for whomever can learn God's ways but doesn't.

הקבייה בוכה על כל מי שאפשר לו לעסוק בתורה ואינו עוסק

Yesterday, I wrote about some unattractive ways of being in which humans partake (pathological narcissism, envy, lack of gratitude, misery, and a few others) ... ways, as I said, of being that potentiates changes to the beauty of the face and even the posture of each of us, when enacted. I went out on a political limb and praised my President for embodying those other characteristics that add to his attractiveness as a Creature of God, if you like, ... or, anyway, as a guy I can identify with without feeling dirtied or sullied. The way he gets on with his family and his engaging style with audiences plays an important part.

Yesterday, too, I got to watch clips of him eulogizing a person assassinated in his church by someone who had become posessed of a hatred for people unlike him. I watched these clips of Obama ... I guess pushing 60 when he'll be old enough to join my merry band of Last Quater folks who betimes read my ramblings ...

I watched him be Sad, 

I watched him fill with Glee, and

I watched him shamelessly Sing off Key.

The preacher in the casket who had been killed was still dead in the casket and people filled with hate
still and always will walk among us. The man still speaking was demonstrating a healing power in juggling Sadness and Glee and a heartily attractive ability to realize that, in the end, it matters less whether you can sing Amazing Grace like Paul Robeson or Taylor Swift than that you're willing to try to bring those who are substantially with you at that moment  to join together in sharing the same bit of space-time ... together watching how complex it is to be us ...

Let me bring the HAIR soliloquy from Hamlet ... it says a bit about the sadness we may feel in witnessing how sometimes folk fall into ugliness ... and not only beauty ....

What a piece of work is man
How noble in reason
How infinite in faculties
In form and moving how express and admirable

In action how like an angel
In apprehension how like a god
The beauty of the world
The paragon of animals

I have of late
But wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth
This goodly frame
The earth seems to me a sterile promontory

This most excellent canopy
The air look you
This brave o'erhanging firmament
This majestical roof

Fretted with golden fire
Why it appears no other thing to me
Than a foul and pestilent congregation
Of vapors

What a piece of work is man
How noble in reason.

In the end, I suppose, we do what we can.