We are graven images. Sculpted from the dust in the image of our creator. Is it any wonder that we worship ourselves? Self is the idol enshrined in our very cores of being before which we prostrate ourselves in unholy obeisance. Before it we will sacrifice most anything -- squander anything for our pleasure. To please the god within, though it is nothing but a pathetic shadow, a thread from the divine fabric that has been torn from its intended place. An unraveled stitch from God's universal masterpiece.  ¶ 7:34 PM