A Sackful of Sayings No. 6

• A certain kind of person says, there is no difference to me between ants and Nazis.  They are all the same.  I treat everything with objectivity.  Such a person, alas, does not deserve to live in this world among human beings.

• The new generations—there are already several—have lost touch with their own rich heritage, the roots of civilization, and no longer know enough to care.  If I have any say, this will no longer continue.

• Too many young people suffer disease, accidents and grief.  You would think the weathers of the world were all wrong and the heaviest mists prevented the joy of life from shining through.  We who are old have eyes better able to pierce the darkness because of our experience, or if we don’t, it just doesn’t matter any more.  Let the winter rains fall.

• Asked to pull up weeds, I make the mistake of assuming that whatever comes up easily is unwanted in the garden.  I have to be told that it is the tenacious roots that mark the intruders, while the delicate and feeble plants need our protection and nurturing.  And yet reality is neither the one nor the other.  What are unwanted are weeds, what desired are flowers, tenacity and precariousness are of little account.

• The moon exploded into a myriad of light crystals and rough morsels of sand.  They scattered through the universe, as one would expect.  What surprised us, however, were the lost dreams, cheesy ideals and other detritus of fame that slowly fell over the earth in the next several years.  And I swear there was an old bearded man, holding a lantern, walking his dog across the empty space where the satellite used to be

• One by one, on different days, these few young students who listen and long to learn and understand, sat intently; then their eyes glazed over and closed; they sat frighteningly still, as though they were slipping away.  It took a gentle nudge to bring them back from the darkness to a full awakening.  It was as though the presence of ideas was overwhelming.  Each whispered, sadly and hesitantly, I have to think about this.  But somehow I feel an opening has been made.  There can be hope in the future.

• The evening of life: do we turn on a few small lamps and sit quietly and read all the books we have been putting off for more than fifty years, now that our tastes have changed, or do we flip on the television and watch current shows, trying to keep up with the young and their interests?  Is this really a question for someone like me?

• She tells me what is happening at home is too painful and, if she listens to Johnny Cash sing on U-tube “Hurt,” she weeps.  I say, when you have such problems, it is better not to listen to Johnny Cash, not even Timmy Cheque.  She laughs.