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Well, yeah, Fred. But there you are, I get it, I think, but still listen to Beethoven or whatever, gaze at Spring & art, still take beauty, but not for granted, & yet admit all this, & take it too. Dont we all? Sharp, pointed, as usual, but this narrator is getting in deeper & deeper.... Doug Quoting "Frederick Pollack" <[log in to unmask]>: > No Deposit, No Return > > > Someone has mocked reincarnation, > which that culture takes very seriously; > the idea of recompense, in some form, at some time, > is like a better Lottery. > So a mob, with the warmth and closeness > of mobs, chases him through the city. > But this occurs in colonial times, > and the stranger takes refuge > at regimental headquarters. > "Youīve caused a spot of bother," > says the colonel, who had expected > a grim, aging missionary > of his own monotheism > with its unrepeated soul. > But this is a lad, a smiling scapegrace > who says, insincerely, "Iīm sorry, sir." > "I presume you told them about Grace, > Salvation, and the Moral Law," > intones the colonel. > "How everything is rewarded in the next life > and balances in this." > "Actually no," says the youth. > "I donīt think one has the right > to speak for the dead or suffering, > to excuse their pain." "Then," says the colonel > briskly, "I suppose you said > there are only atoms; that death is a sleep > like the one that preceded us." > "Iīm afraid not. Given endless > time and recombination, that > conclusion too seems unwarranted." > "Well then, my God, man, what did you say > to upset them so?" cries the colonel. > "I agreed with them, sir. With a cavil: > something essentially ourselves > is born again and again > in other parts of the universe, and in other > universes. And in none of them > do we look like this, > or breathe this air, or feel anything > that we feel, or share > any of these concerns." > > > > > Been There Done That > > > That bird flying northwest isnīt > one of the geese who, returning, > used to live at the reservoir > and delight people when, > past the fence, lines of goslings > followed their mothers, or upset people > when goslings strayed > under the fence, or disgust people > with their poop. Either they wanted > a change, or the new radar > and missiles beyond the reservoir > bothered them. Now they stay > along the canal or Potomac, > where herons pose on one leg > and turtles on logs for as long, > apparently, as it took them > to evolve, or until the Greenland > ice sheet slips off > and drowns them. That bird > is a heron, elegant and silent, > its head and neck the shape of the failed Concorde. > > In fall I gain IQ points. > In spring I lose them, but used to regain > and now at least remember > as much of the body > as I used. And partial, sketchy > images, not of the past > but what things in the past > represented. Itīs a distinction > I must insist on. Otherwise > I risk accepting > spring, and that spring isnīt mine, > and death, the soft focus > and general second-rateness > of things. Rather the way Lenin > said he couldnīt listen > (couldnīt "afford," actually, to listen) > to Beethoven, for it made him want > to say nice things to people, > make them smile, pat their shoulders > with awkward, accommodating gestures. Douglas Barbour 11655 - 72 Avenue NW Edmonton Alberta T6G 0B9 Thats not a cross look its a sign of life Frank OHara