In The Pit Of Red

Nobody Knew The Iron Man Had Fallen. Night Passed.

And The Elephant Sings Deep In The Forest-maze About A Star Of Deathless And Painless Peace But No Astronomer Can Find Where It Is.

The Brassy Wood-pigeons Bubble Their Colourful Voices, And The Sun Rises Upon A World Well-tried And Old.

The Only Calibration That Counts Is How Much Heart People Invest, How Much They Ignore Their Fears Of Being Hurt Or Caught Out Or Humiliated. And The Only Thing People Regret Is That They Didn't Live Boldly Enough, That They Didn't Invest Enough Heart, Didn't Love Enough. Nothing Else Really Counts At All.

And That's How We Measure Out Our Real Respect For People—by The Degree Of Feeling They Can Register, The Voltage Of Life They Can Carry And Tolerate—and Enjoy. End Of Sermon. As Buddha Says: Live Like A Mighty River. And As The Old Greeks Said: Live As Though All Your Ancestors Were Living Again Through You.