happy continuity to our efforts.

Peace, plenty, and an indulgent God; sounds like a wonderful place.  But the first family man in antiquated Mythos wanted more, and so took a fruity bite; just a bit more than allowed.  Maybe he had aged into boredom and indulgent worry, greed seems to come out of worry.  Or maybe he was fast becoming an anarchist just to see things change.   Paradise begat boredom begat worry begat a progressive heritable misadventure. Terror, begatted, in a bomb no bigger than an apple.

In the original story a pure and frightening angel restricts any return with a sublime and awful flaming sword.  At the reunion of the anachronistic anarchiststic enfant terribles the hope is to reconstruct a facsimile of an Edenic prelapsarian wonder-place on the prairie.  A place set aside to ponder and share the triumphs of the human spirit over the tyranny of the past, even the personal, beneficent, and indulgent part of the past.

We have 21st century engineered emotions and the combined energy of enumerable bombs and flaming tempers, certainly we should be able to rebuild and cordon off our own Eden.  Peace, plenty and an indulgent tyrant of our own devising should bring a

Today’s angels, the sweet and neatly manufactured available in gift shops, can’t restrict us.  We can overrun their lack of experience. Some crotchety clowns with cane and flaming bombs, mimicking the superior position of angels, want to be guardians of our enclave; should it ever be inclosed.   We are hampered by the mundane, the never ending list of unaccomplished tasks.  A flaming awful sword would at least be interesting, and a good excuse for our failure.

At the border of Eden, on which side is the angel?