A committed life

If any of you are around when I have to meet my day, I don’t want a long funeral. And if you get somebody to deliver the eulogy, tell them not to talk too long. (Yes) And every now and then I wonder what I want them to say. Tell them not to mention that I have a Nobel Peace Prize—that isn’t important. Tell them not to mention that I have three or four hundred other awards—that’s not important. Tell them not to mention where I went to school.

I'd like somebody to mention that day that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others.

I'd like for somebody to say that day that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to love somebody.

I want you to say that day that I tried to be right on the war question.

I want you to be able to say that day that I did try to feed the hungry.

And I want you to be able to say that day that I did try in my life to clothe those who were naked.

I want you to say on that day that I did try in my life to visit those who were in prison.

I want you to say that I tried to love and serve humanity.

Yes, if you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice. Say that I was a drum major for peace. I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter. I won't have any money to leave behind. I won't have the fine and luxurious things of life to leave behind. But I just want to leave a committed life behind. And that's all I want to say.

                            Martin Luther King, Jr. The Drum Major Instinct Sermon
                            Ebenezer Baptist Church, Atlanta, Georgia, 4 February 1968

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A message from Spring

Spring is nature's way of saying, "Let's party!"

            Robin Williams, A Night at the Met

 

 

 

 

Poem: Different Ways to Pray

There was the method of kneeling,
a fine method, if you lived in a country
where stones were smooth.
The women dreamed wistfully of bleached courtyards,
hidden corners where knee fit rock.
Their prayers were weathered rib bones,
small calcium words uttered in sequence,
as if this shedding of syllables could somehow
fuse them to the sky.

There were the men who had been shepherds so long
they walked like sheep.
Under the olive trees, they raised their arms—
Hear us! We have pain on earth!
We have so much pain there is no place to store it!
But the olives bobbed peacefully
in fragrant buckets of vinegar and thyme.
At night the men ate heartily, flat bread and white cheese,
and were happy in spite of the pain,
because there was also happiness.

Some prized the pilgrimage,
wrapping themselves in new white linen
to ride buses across miles of vacant sand.
When they arrived at Mecca
they would circle the holy places,
on foot, many times,
they would bend to kiss the earth
and return, their lean faces housing mystery.

While for certain cousins and grandmothers
the pilgrimage occurred daily,
lugging water from the spring
or balancing the baskets of grapes.
These were the ones present at births,
humming quietly to perspiring mothers.
The ones stitching intricate needlework into children’s dresses,
forgetting how easily children soil clothes.

There were those who didn’t care about praying.
The young ones. The ones who had been to America.
They told the old ones, you are wasting your time.
    Time?—The old ones prayed for the young ones.
They prayed for Allah to mend their brains,
for the twig, the round moon,
to speak suddenly in a commanding tone.

And occasionally there would be one
who did none of this,
the old man Fowzi, for example, Fowzi the fool,
who beat everyone at dominoes,
insisted he spoke with God as he spoke with goats,
and was famous for his laugh.

                                    Naomi Shihab Nye 

The ultimate April fool joke

Everybody wants to have a goal—
    I gotta get to that goal,
        I gotta get to that goal,
            I gotta get to that goal.
                I can finally get to that goal.
Then you get to that goal,
    and then you gotta get to another goal.

But in between goals is a thing called life,
    that has to be lived and enjoyed—
        and if you don't, you're a fool.

                    Sid Caesar, New York Times interview

Poem: Recipe for Happiness in Khabarovsk or Anyplace

One grand boulevard with trees
with one grand café in sun
with strong black coffee in very small cups

One not necessarily very beautiful
man or woman who loves you

One fine day

                        Lawrence Ferlinghetti        

 

 

 

 

 

A fundamental impulse

We are a music-making species —
    always have been, always will be —
and music’s capacity to explore, express and address
    what it is to be human remains one of our greatest communal gifts…
We evolved by coming together around the fire every night,
    singing songs and telling stories —
        invariably, telling stories through singing songs.

That’s what our ancestors did;
    that’s how they made sense of the world and each other;
        that’s how they learned how to be.

It is an impulse that is still fundamental to who we are. 

   
    Clemency Burton-Hill
    Year of Wonder: Classical Music to Enjoy Day by Day

 

 

 

 

 

Do unto others

Spread love and understanding, Reacher said.

            Use force if necessary.

                        Lee Child, The Essential Jack Reacher