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There is a Jesuit Pope. The world truly has gone mad. I still live in the large old farmhouse in Pennsylvania. Surely I have gone mad as well. I have lived longer in one place, but never where so many knew the truths I hold so close.

Three Thousand Five hundred and Thirty Nine years. There are nights the weight of them press upon me such that I cannot bear the thought of another, yet every morning I wake and face the sunrise for I have little choice. The sun rises whether I wish it or not, and there is always the miniscule chance something will actually change.

After all, the Pope is a Jesuit. Happy Birthday to me.

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