Saturday, May 15, 2010


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 PACHEBEL;    I’ve always been mesmerized by that piece of music.  It has been accomplished in so many ways and all are beautiful to the ear.  The notes move over my mind softly and elegantly leaving me in a melancholy stupor each and every time I hear it.  The melody is sweet;  sweeter than the nectar of the most beautiful flower imaginable.  My eyes close and my mind becomes uncluttered.  I can dwell deeply into all that is of value and importance to me.  The violin speaks with clarity that helps simplify the tumultuous occurrences of daily life.  The instrument’s perfect creation of music demands total concentration from the listener; it beckons one to focus totally on the sounds emitted.

Tonight,  as I sit here in this room surrounded by my animal friends, I envision myself in my beloved canoe, my escape machine, quietly floating on calm water under the great tree of the eagle.   I think of all the times I have wandered under and past that great tree to gaze upon what few have had the opportunity to see.  The bold, proud Bald Eagles sitting proudly atop the highest branch on their tree keeping watch over their offspring below in the enormous nest designed especially for them.  I can see their children looking over the top edge of the great wooden bowl; staring down at me, so insignificant, as I look up at them in awe.  So small they are and so vulnerable!   They are fresh and new;  They appear insignificant and tiny, yet so valuable and important.  They are the next generation of hope.  I lay back on my tiny, floating stick and memorize their every move, their texture and separate them as individuals.   I blink my eyes and they are larger.  The babies materialize into near adult stature.  They have the look of dignity and grace;  pride and fortitude; power and might; truth and justice; and all that is good in man.  I watch as they climb and flutter from nest to the tallest limb.  They stretch out their powerful wings and hold them extended from their sides for but a moment.  The extension indicates an all encompassing protective shield, a barrier, which will protect mankind from the evils that lurk in the dark.  Their eyes are sharp and all seeing.  Nothing can pass by that keen sight without their seeing.   Talons, sharp as needles, ready to defend and turn back any threatening foe powered by muscular legs and thighs.  A sharp sword is presented in the form of a razor sharp beak in any direction the eagle turns it’s head.  The young eagles will carry on their proud linage and prove all this eventually true.  They will grow in strength and their vigor will increase.  Each will become a master of the sky.  They will own the wind.  Their grandeur will inspire every American who is fortunate enough to gaze upon them, to feel the surge of blood rush hot, associated with the vision of their might, their freedom, and their power to inspire the importance of freedom in every American heart.

And so, I float beneath the tree that once held the seeds of freedom and the tune of Pachebel resounds softly across my mind.  I gaze up into the top of the now empty vastness of the tree, the emptiness and the absence of the greatest hopes of mankind, gone.  I am saddened by their leaving but, comforted at the renewed hope they will bestow upon Americans as the young eagles mature and gain the unequaled strength to own the sky above our blessed country, and as the symbol of freedom, stimulate hope in the hearts of all citizens that freedom will continue;  and above all, that it is  as valuable if not more, than the blood that courses through each American’s veins.  Farewell my eagles.  Soar high and proud.  Let your shrieks sound in conjunction with the tone of the bell that sounds liberties cry.   We will hearken to your call when freedom requires defending.

I placed the blade of the paddle into the mirror surface of the water and slowly pulled the canoe quietly to it.  My small floating boat moved away from the big tree.  I watched it disappear into the night.  A bright moon reflected its light off the ripples the paddle blade created at it’s entrance into the water.  I turned to gaze one more time at the great tree.  The inhabitants gone but, their aura remains.  To me;  it is a sacred tree.  And Pachebel once again calms my soul as I paddle into the darkness of the night..