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Politics : Evolution -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Brumar89 who wrote (62564)	11/12/2014 1:17:10 PM
From: 2MAR$	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 69300

No interest at all in habiru ultra nationalist tribal folklore with its self glorified 'god inserts'. Anyone can run off a few phrases & then shout 'god" and they did for 1000s of years from every corner.... this god, that god & every other god, you could be worshippin "Baal" today just as easily. "Silence is the great revelation" LaoTzu (500-600BC) (And you the fool pointing at the moon but still looking at his finger, anyone can make stuff up centuries after the fact, especially when they have to learn how to write first ! <bg )

To: Brumar89 who wrote (62564)	11/12/2014 1:26:54 PM
From: 2MAR$	1 Recommendation Recommended By Solon Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 69300

You really think that Egyptians did not stress the "silence is golden" rule idea themselves? At least 2000yrs before Hebrews were a gleam in anyone's eye? And Btw, the Egyptians really did have written language which really helps narrow things down. (what language did moses write in??) You sure are on the wrong thread, this thread deals with reality, you should go back to talk about the weather thread, the disconnected fog your living in.

To: Brumar89 who wrote (62564)	11/13/2014 7:53:15 PM
From: Solon	Respond to of 69300

Psalm 46 is Pagan. It uses “elohim”—the plural form meaning gods (remember Genesis??). It really doesn’t matter whether a Jew “composed” it. Somebody had to cobble the ideas together and make a prose poem. Why does it excite you so much?? Does "god write as well as Robert Frost? Not even close. An idiot next to a cultivated man! Reluctance By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Robert Frost Out through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended; I have come by the highway home, And lo, it is ended. The leaves are all dead on the ground, Save those that the oak is keeping To ravel them one by one And let them go scraping and creeping Out over the crusted snow, When others are sleeping. And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, No longer blown hither and thither; The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question ‘Whither?’ Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?