Of all of prosperity's ingredients, two predominate: the individual's willingness to contribute to the collective, and the collective necessity for respect among individuals in spite of the innate urge among the diverse to diverge, which engenders conflict. All who strive to thrive as a cohesive mosaic, all who would see coexistence as prosaic, must daily renew their commitment to goodwill, to being bonhomous, open-minded, large-hearted, graciously offering doubt's benefits. Inculcate the inclination to serve; assume responsibility for preserving the common good; doing one's fair share is the work of a lifetime. We need not be equal to be equitable; we need not be identical to behold our reflection in our fellows. Let us prize value and reward merit, lauding the worthiness of those who rise above; let those who excel lend a helping hand and be adored instead of merely admired: only when a tower lies prostrate does it become a bridge. A community's quality is measured by its kindness quotient, by its share of sharing and its understanding that while we are all independent stakeholders, we are too mutual trustees, cooperative and duty-bound to ensure flourishing. The aggregate of altruism is bliss, and we would be remiss if we aimed for anything less idyllic; nor are we obsequious slaves to tendencies and trends, but masters empowered to contour the future and sow paradise today for tomorrow's reapers.
Those who geminate lonelinesses find them canceled, replaced by intimacy, a copula binding, intertwining spirit and flesh, the grasping limbs of beings rutting and craving warmth, touch, syncopated breaths, acts of feverish grappling and single-minded yearning, mutual burnishing, a choreography of senses, sinews, pendulous breasts, his phallus anxiously probing her thicket and invaginating in the ingle of her hearth so that for moments so intense they seem hours they throb, grope, jounce, and grunt in acrobatic coitus till erumpent fluxes of seed and soil blend beyond all distinction and they suspire in blissful antiphony, tenderly caressing contours, twitching amid paroxysms of pleasure, their every spasm rebuking the graveyard.
While sitting shivah it dawns on the daughter, lorn and reft of an existential pillar, scalded by misfortune, that the deceased was a fleeting blessing, a foretaste of eternal companionship, and that even the pain she inflicted was better than the pleasure derived from others. Strange how only in a period of darkness shades of difference come to light. Garbed in the customary dishabille, she slouches on a lowered chair as the community enters bearing hot platters of food, setting them down on trivets, proffering condolences and prayers lauding life. When the world finally leaves the home, she notes that the foods are the familiar foods and the aromas the very aromas reminiscent of the dearly departed, who even in death made certain to nourish the family.