When Adam was 21 he knew he was a nomad of the universe. He knew that everything was connected and that love, beyond what could easily be known, was available to all who could perceive what he perceived.
A unity beyond all words.
A peace beyond all peace.
A life beyond all life.
He even knew that any science that violated mystery was whistling in the dark, tossing finite theories back and forth in the room and deeming them eternal axioms.
The universe was like his body. Teeming with things that cannot be thought down. Reductionism is the hobgoblin and so forth.
Adam would later find words to express what he knew. He would give praise and thanks in profusion to the minds that resonated with what he had seen. Of such resonance were life's great moments made.
"Walk out with me," Ellie said.
Adam got up and walked over to the couch and retrieved his pants. "Let's go to the truck stop," he said.
"Just come on," she said.
They walked, a few feet apart, down the road outside.
"I said you were strange. You are. Tell me what it is."
Adam looked at her. She was a picture of moving beauty. He could see what had drawn Terwilliger. He could see whatever worked in her to kill her boss.
"I live now," Adam said. "I always have. I don't judge. I can't. I'm free. It has its points."
"You are rich," Ellie said. Matter of fact.
"No," Adam said. "Thrifty. I live on what I have. My friend Denny said I was the youngest retired theologian in America."
"What's your thing?"
"I told you."
I saw Ellie a month later on the Main Street. Mildred had died in the interim. I spoke at her memorial. Her care givers all came. There were not as many as came for her husband.
Ellie and I walked to the Inn and sat on the porch. The couch was large. We sat apart.
Terwilliger walked onto the porch, glanced our way and continued down the stairs to the street.
"I wrote a poem," Ellie said.
"So did I," I responded.
"What about?" Ellie looked straight ahead.
"Time and space," I said. "Space, we control. Time, we don't."
"Is that it?" Ellie turned to me with a half smile.
"No. I am more verbose than that, I'm afraid."
"I wrote about you," Ellie said. "You sitting there doing whatever you do."
"Yes, well. I do that all the time."
She reached out and took my hand. She let go. She stood up and walked away toward the stairs. Beautiful as ever.
Frangoulis and Theodorakis are joined by musicians, including two bouzouki players, and a very large audience that is completely familiar with the words. The audience joins in at Frangoulis' prompt.
This is my very favorite Theodorakis melody. Those who know Theodorakis only for his "Zorba" music are in for a treat. When I was in Athens in 1966, for a short period of study with Constantinos Doxiadis, I knew nothing of Theodorakis. But about five years later, my friend Irene Vassos sang "Sto perigiali" to us. I have never gotten the tune out of my mind.
Later, when Irene joined our group to form a travelling company performing "New Rain", I learned to pick out a …
To counter the invidious efforts of Karl Rove and the Brothers Koch, simple videos of everyday people expressing gratitude for specific results from specific things that the President has achieved will create a signature response that will turn the tables on the Super PACs.
There could be an intro that flags lies distortions and anonymous attacks as unreal and even criminal and a cut to what is real, recognizable and not anonymous I am (name). I have lived here in (name) for (time). Thanks to (President Obama's (name) Act ... and so forth for ten seconds. Close with a continuation of the story narrated over evocative images and simple acoustic music.
This would be a fantastic way to counter the attacks on the President. For every specific attack, a video that shows the truth. And grass roots people who intend to vote for the President.