I never much liked Valentine's Day. The nuns at Sacred Heart of Mary insisted on us dispensing cards to every one of our classmates. I think that fired the psychotic in some of the odder examples of humanity in our class. People always acted funny on that day, particularly in the eighth year, when the hormones were just beginning to stir. For some reason, though, it was one of my Dad's favorites and he never forgot to grace my sister and me with a small, heart-shaped box of chocolates. It was nice, and I like nice memories.
I always made it a point to avoid the practice myself. It's nothing to do with the saint himself. Or both of them, depending on which history of the church you read. I suppose it's got value, in that it does remind people of the concept of love, something that gets lost in the myriad of forensic scientists and murderers, soccer players, politicians, and the rest that are paraded through their minds by the media.
I am, myself, a great fan of love, but not of romance. I would die for love, which is to say, I would risk my life to save another sentient being. Compassion. Everyone should try a taste of it. Love is a good thing. Don't you forget it. It may actually be love that makes the world go round. The science of mind is beginning to understand itself, the zeitgeist is turning mystical. I'm going to sit quietly for the next twenty minutes or so, and do my part to hold the universe in balance. Peace and love to all of you!! Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day.
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