"All the lonely people; where do they all come from?"  So asked the Beatles many years ago.  Indeed.  Where do all these people come from?  About a decade ago, I stood in a line at the international airport in Denver, Colorado, waiting to board an airplane.  As I stood, I looked at the other people standing in line, the many, many people waiting to go, waiting to go somewhere.  And I thought, why are we all here?  Why us and no one else?  So many people, so many lives, so many hopes and dreams.  Why?
     Within ourselves, we have no answer, really.  We just "are."  Perhaps.  But if I just "am," I have no idea why I live and why I die.  Everything just happens.
     Is this a rational way to live?
     All the lonely people.