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Monthly Archives: June 2012

On the first day of the week, in the early morning, the park keeper opened the gate to the park.  Then entered a man carrying an empty crate in one hand and a loudspeaker in the other. The man chose a grassy spot in the middle of the park, and placed the crate bottom side up.  He stood on the crate and put the loudspeaker to his lips.  Then he spoke – loudly.  While the park keeper cut the grass.  Until end of day.  The man left with his crate and loudspeaker.  Then the park keeper left and closed the gate.

On the second day of the week, early morning, the park keeper opened the gate.  And the man with the crate and loudspeaker entered after him.  The man went to his chosen spot in the park, stood on his crate and spoke into his loudspeaker.  While the park keeper trimmed the bushes.  Until it was time to close the park.  The man took his crate and loudspeaker and left.  And the park keeper followed behind, closing the gate behind him.

On the third day of the week the park keeper opened the gate to the park.  Following him, came the man with the crate and loudspeaker.  The man spoke while the park keeper watered the soil beneath the flowers.  Until it was time to close.  The man packed and left.  And the park keeper followed closing the gate behind him.

On the fourth day of the week the park keeper opened the gate to the park.  Then entered the man with the crate and loudspeaker.  The man stood and spoke while the gate keeper pulled the weeds.  Then they left.

On the fifth day.  The man stood and spoke.  The park keeper wiped the swings.  Until the end of day.

On the weekend, in the morning.  The park keeper opened the gate to the park.  He had brought his wife and two children with him – a boy and a girl.  Then came the man.  He had left his crate and loudspeaker at home and had brought his wife and three children – two girls and a boy.  The children played on the shiny swings and chased each other on the cut grass.  The women admired the blooming flowers and walked between the neat bushes.  The men lazed on picnic mats.  Until end of day.  They all left.  And the gates closed.

On the day after the weekend.  The park keeper opened the gate.  The man with the crate and loudspeaker followed.

One spoke, while one worked.

 

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Had a mother that loved him.  Had a father that was proud of him.  Had a teacher that cared for him.  Had a friend that played with him.

The little boy that once was.  Had food when hungry.  Had a bed when tired.  Had toys when bored.  Had his mother’s embrace when hurt.   And all was fine.

Until all was lost.  Then all was replaced.

With evil voices whispering in his ears.  Evil thoughts embedding in his soul.  Evil deeds placed in his hands.

And the young man was no longer the little boy that once was.

But what if the young man still had good food, a warm bed, some soul-nourishing entertainment and a loving embrace.

What if he still had his mother’s love, his father’s pride, his teacher’s support, and his friend’s company?

Would he still listen to the evil voices whispering in his ears?  Would he still welcome the evil thoughts into his soul?  Would he still grasp the evil deeds in hands?

Or, would all have remained fine.  For him and for us.

Go back to where you played.  Back to where your laughs still echo against the walls.  Go back to where you fell.   Back to where your tears still stain the floor.

Go back to where you read.  Back to where your childhood books are still cherished on the shelves.  Go back to where you collected treasures.  Back to where your childhood memories are still kept in boxes.

And if the ones that played with you to make you laugh.  Picked you up to wipe your tears.  Brought you books to read to you.  And created fond memories for you to go back to – year after year after year.

If they are still there.  Linger a while, and have a good visit, a good talk, and a good laugh.

For life always allows us time to love, so long as life is still around.

Be pretentious and write of what is untrue to yourself.  Be arrogant and write with words unfamiliar to yourself.  Be selfish and write in a language confined to yourself.

or

Be true and write of what is close to your heart.  Be humble and write with the simple words you speak.  And be generous and write with the openness that invites all to love, laugh and learn with you.

 

P.S. Writing that is pretentious, arrogant and selfish is best kept under one’s pillow.

To the rhythmic pattering of raindrops on your rooftop.  To the melodic chirping of birds outside your window. To the soothing brushing of the breeze against your garden trees.

To the soothing music that rises when we subside our maddening clattering.

Have a relaxing weekend.

What if the train had said, ‘I think I can’t’?  We would have nothing.

No hero.  No triumph.  No story.

But the train had said, ‘I think I can’.  And for that we have everything.

The hero that we reincarnate.  The triumph that we realize.  And the story that we relate.

Of great people.  Of great deeds.

And for that we have our little train hero to salute, ‘Choo choo’.