. . . if I open my eyes, what do I see? The barren desert of conformity, sparsely relieved by a thorny bush of hope here and here? And for what do we hope? For what does humanity as a whole hope? That it all make sense somehow? That the blinding contractions really do not exist, and we are angels still, though cast out into this barren plain? That innocent garden, before we got tempted to taste those forbidden fruit, still exists somewhere? But though in the womb of purity and innocence, were we really consciousness?

The 'devil' promised, ''Eat of this tree, and you'll be as gods, knowing good and evil.'' So then, instead of innocent barely consciousness baby hood, we enter the cold, cruel world of contrasts and ill fortune and hard knocks, and EFFORT required and . . .

Well, there ain't no going back now. If anything is going to grow in this desert, we have to plant it and make sure it has deep roots and plenty of water. If someone wants to step on your delicate flowers, you have to build fences around the sad, little potential garden and guard it fiercely.

And along the way epiphets of 'good' and 'evil' are tossed about like so many grenades, and it all seems so senseless now. This is the 'war', but it seems another way is possible.

Can it be possible to protect one's delicate harvest, without entering the fray? Is it possible to stand guard over the nascent seedlings without a AK47 in one's holster?

Does one, like Neo in the Matrix, realize it is all 'a program', and the bullets only hurt if you believe they hurt? How does one say, ''HERE, NOW, I DECLARE PEACE?''

The mudslingers and worse are still ready. They fervently believe in the righteousness of their cause. They cling to it so mightily.

Horus yanks out a testicle of Set, Set grabs Horus' eye. Who started this battle? Does it matter? Who will be the wise Thoth, and return the tattered pieces and make the fighters whole?

Around and around, the duality cycles. Day, then night, Night, then day. As it was, so shall it be. I'm still wanting to grab eyes, and say, ''HERE, see things MY way, this eye of yours is defective!'' And dang, it probably ain't a wonder, but that isn't exactly popular.

Sigh! So I gather up my dark skirts and trudge to my dark, not so hidden corner to reflect. Penalty box, penalty box! This is the game of life, and I do want to make sure I win. But how do we define WINNING? And thus whole philosophies are born from this one question.

And another silent star is moving in the heavens, amongst all the other silent stars. And it probably only matters to an onlooker which one shines the brightest. You can only get there from here, wherever 'here' is. May the stars move, and the earth revolve and the sun shine, and the moon glow and all things be in order.

As it was, so shall it be.

I read this piece, once with the perspective of the 'obedient angel', and once with the perspective of the 'rebellious angel'. The 'obedient angel' is not satisfied, ''Look, you are still trying to declare you are right! You keep making that point several times and jabbing it in my eye!''

The 'rebellious angel' says, ''Why, why, why, you namby pamby? Why do you bother to make peace? Why not be proud of your sword, and poke out those eyes when they need it? You cannot please THEM! Why are you making such a sorry, pathetic attempt?''

And I answer them both, ''Because it's me, it's what I do. Maybe it's stupid, trying to seek the middle ground. Maybe it pleases absolutely no one at all. But that's not true. It pleases one person, just one person. ME! I smile at my own magnificient mix of contradictions, rather quite satisfied. I alone may wear the happy grin, but that will have to suffice. Everyone must take care of their own smiles.''

And then a Voice whispers, ''Who ya tryin' to please, THEM or YERSELF?'' I've heard that Voice before. I know that Voice. Seems I must think some more on this. Does another's recoiling in horror cause me to doubt myself? I don't think so. Is 'seeking peace' a worthy goal? Can peace BE sought? Or do we all end up eye-less and testicle-less (ovary-less for us females)? And toothless, too? Maybe the sensible approach is to battle for truth, but when it looks like a losing battle, we back out before we lose any more body parts.