All who wander…

Maybe not all who wander are lost,
but most of us are.
And most of us are willing to risk everything for a glimpse of a heaven
we don’t even believe in.
What could be more lost than that?
If you know the way home, I would be grateful to hear it.

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We never will be done…

Every leaf on every branch of every tree in the forest
dances to a different tune
Every star that twinkles with a million-year-old light
looks all the way into you
Every bit of foam on every wave in every sea
likes to know that you are here
And every moment of a lifetime in eternity
offers up its own opportunity

Every brick in every wall we build to keep us apart
cries to be taken down
every lie we ever told and all that we believed
hide from us now

we’re stalking something wild and empty
without a penny, or a gun
we’re following the trail of something free, and
we never will be done
we never will be done

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The time for us…

The time for us was never right
but even right goes dark at night
Even right goes wrong sometimes
and desperation blurs the lines

The time for us is always now
When it ends, we won’t know how
all the pieces fit in place
that scattered into empty space

The place for us is on a hill
that balances the wild and still,
that overflows its narrow banks,
and walks on weatherbeaten planks

The time for us will never end
The road is long and does not bend
With love, you cannot lose the fight
The time for us is always right

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The Richness We Gain…

I didn’t know I could be happier to be a Yankees fan until they unveiled this plaque tonight in Monument Park at Yankee Stadium:

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In commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the events at New York City’s Stonewall Inn, which sparked the modern LGBTQ movement.

This plaque serves to honor the struggle for equality and is a reminder of the richness we gain by nurturing inclusion and diversity.

Acceptance forms the bedrock of our community, let it be known that Yankee Stadium welcomes everyone as a gathering place for all.

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Victor Hugo and the French Aesthetic

I have long admired, even loved, the French but I don’t think I ever quite understood why until I read Victor Hugo. Their commitment to liberty inspired two revolutions – America’s and their own – that created the best of the world we live in today. They are more responsible than anyone for the evolution of government from hereditary monarchy to a system that exists to serve its people, not the other way around.

Their culture, their devotion to beauty, their appreciation of romance inspires artists and lovers everywhere. Their lust is not simple desire, but desires, eternally mingled with playful affection. In addition to their reverence for fine wine, cheese, and bread, they have an appreciation for the peculiar wonders of femininity and masculinity that aren’t chained to rigid concepts of gender. Makeup, wigs, and high heels were always for men as well as women.

Love is not a rigid concept either. It flows. It mutates. It entices. It satisfies a hunger that even the finest meals cannot. In this passage from Les Miserables, Victor Hugo produces a fine reduction of the love between an old blind bishop and his adoring sister that could easily translate into the love between parent and child, or between lovers:

To have continually at your side a woman, a girl, a sister, a charming being, who is there because you need her, and because she cannot do without you, to know you are indispensable to someone necessary to you, to be able at all times to measure her affection by the degree of her presence that she gives you, and to say to yourself: She dedicates all her time to me, because I possess her whole love; to see the thought if not the face; to be sure of the fidelity of one being in a total eclipse of the world; to imagine the rustling of her dress as the rustling of wings; to hear her moving to and fro, going out, coming in, talking, singing, and to think that you are the cause of those steps, those words, that song; to show your personal attraction at every moment; to feel even more powerful as your infirmity increases; to become in darkness, and by reason of darkness, the star around which this angel gravitates; few joys can equal that. The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves – say rather, loved in spite of ourselves; this conviction the blind have. Are they deprived of anything? No. Light is not lost where love enters. And what a love! A love wholly founded in purity. There is no blindness where there is certainty. The soul gropes in search of a soul, and finds it. And that soul, found and proven, is a woman. A hand sustains you, it is hers; lips lightly touch your forehead, they are her lips; you hear breathing near you, it is she. To have her wholly, from her devotion to her pity, never to be left alone, to have that sweet shyness as your aid, to lean on that unbending reed, to touch Providence with your hands and be able to grasp it in your arms; God made palpable, what transport!

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This party has got to end

This party has got to end
After I bandage up this kid
I think this party has got to end
Remember me?
I’ve got to bandage up this kid I think
This party has got to end
After I bandage up this kid
Remember me?
I think I remember
If I bandage up this kid I think
This party
I have got to end this party
After I think
Remember me?
I think I remember that
This party has got to end
After I bandage up this kid and
remember me
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