I believe in the madness of suffering shared. All flowers cry as their petals drop to the ground. As flower petals drop to the crying ground the crazy day in the desert misses the point. The point of the desert is to be crazy. Even ruins dominate the horizon. The dominant horizon ruins even the simplest of holy gestures made by hands. Holy, holding hands is a simple gesture. There is no room for the adversary there. The adversary is there in the room forcing a look at the way the world is. The way the world is forces a look at my belief in the shared madness of suffering.