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 …
Stephen C. Rose (1936-) was born in New York City and raised there. He currently lives there. He was educated at Trinity, Exeter, Williams and Union Theological Seminary. He served in the Student Interracial Ministry in Nashville. He founded and edited the prize-winning Renewal Magazine in Chicago and studied with C. A. Doxiadis in Athens. His first books "The Grass Roots Church" and "Who's Killing The Church" established him as a prominent critic of American Protestantism and American religion. He was and remains a civil rights activist. He has interviewed and done in depth pieces on Saul Alinsky and Martin Luther King, Jr. He won awards for editorial courage and for two documentary films. He has written and published many songs and musical works including "We Are All Americans". During the late 90s and early 2000s he worked for UN agencies, most recently editing CHOICES Magazine at UNDP. Since 2000 he has written several books for distribution via K…