What is this dirt that covers my hands when I am working in the garden..?
Oh, dirt, wonderful are ye: the decaying remains of all that has blossomed and died over countless generations throughout the depths of time, with spirits rising and being crushed, again and again, apparently at rest, but unsettled, waiting, wanting.
What grows from dirt depends on the past, and probability, and on want, too. Past, Probability, and Want — the holy trinity. But what is “want”..? Is it a particle, or a force field..? Is it good, or evil..?
How many pounds of dirt will yield an ounce of “want”..?
Fame and fortune will befall the industrious soul who discovers the answer, to be sure.
Thwarticus 