One of the giants of our time (or any time) has joined his ancestors.
I don't really have any adequate words, so I'll just say rest in peace.
Nelson Mandela
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Voronwë the Faithful
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Nelson Mandela
"Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever to and from his halls; and their eyes could see to the depths of the seas, and pierce the hidden caverns beneath the world."
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Primula Baggins
- Living in hope
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His words and the inspiration they gave will live forever.
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
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Passdagas the Brown
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JewelSong
- Just Keep Singin'
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I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the Spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.
What is precious is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light
Nor its grave evening demand for love.
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit.
Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are feted by the waving grass
And by the streamers of white cloud
And whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun they travelled a short while towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honour.
-Stephen Spender
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the Spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.
What is precious is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light
Nor its grave evening demand for love.
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit.
Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are feted by the waving grass
And by the streamers of white cloud
And whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun they travelled a short while towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honour.
-Stephen Spender
"Live! Live! Live! Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!" - Auntie Mame
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WampusCat
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Imagine if all our politicians were like Mandela: dedicated to freedom, willing to fight for power but unwilling to cling to it, steadfastly opposing evil systems without demonizing his opponents, rejecting vengeance in favor of reconciliation, strong in compassion and compassionate in strength.
If only.
If only.
Take my hand, my friend. We are here to walk one another home.
Avatar from Fractal_OpenArtGroup
Avatar from Fractal_OpenArtGroup
Mandela's Chariot
In silence your chariot approaches. Bright light, a piece of heavens.
A man of destiny, a prince, grandfather of his nation, returns home
to the heavens that birthed him. A moral authority, of grace and peace
who helped lay aside the chains of oppression with a soft laugh and guiding hand.
Your ride home is here, not to the village where you took first breath,
but to the heavens where your soul was forged to change the course
of a people, a nation, a world and the history that is to follow. Relax,
enjoy the ride home, knowing that you have sown well the seeds of peace.
Madiba, you are a leader who did not need a gun or threats of terror,
but lead by simple moral authority, not so simple in this graceless age.
Twenty seven years in the stone belly of the apartheid beast, released
to forgive his jailors for the betterment of all, rising above fear and hate.
Once around the sun and then back into the heavens, Mandela rides proud
and the angels line his route home, his chariot carrying evidence
that we are better than our worse intentions, our worse inventions.
Enjoy the ride home, knowing that you have sown well the seeds of peace.
William F. DeVault, 2013 all rights reserved.
There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.
~Diana Cortes
~Diana Cortes
Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley
The Vinyamars on Stage! This time at Bag End
I missed the news stuck on a plane. Everyone in my generation has their own memories of Mandela, his struggles shaped, informed and tested our ethical heart.
I won't talk of his background there are many good books on the subject, but confine myself to saying his ability to forgive was christlike. He almost unique ability though was to blend that holiness with a talent for getting things done. One universal truth about politicians is that they psychologically are the least qualified of all people to govern. In Mandelas case this was not so.
Over the past few years I have been privileged to work with many ANC members, from the old Bushfighters with their memories of Times in Angola, to the current generation of technocrats, all of them held Mandelain the very highst regarded and always spoke glowingly of him without equivocation.
The world is a much lesser place today.
I won't talk of his background there are many good books on the subject, but confine myself to saying his ability to forgive was christlike. He almost unique ability though was to blend that holiness with a talent for getting things done. One universal truth about politicians is that they psychologically are the least qualified of all people to govern. In Mandelas case this was not so.
Over the past few years I have been privileged to work with many ANC members, from the old Bushfighters with their memories of Times in Angola, to the current generation of technocrats, all of them held Mandelain the very highst regarded and always spoke glowingly of him without equivocation.
The world is a much lesser place today.
Since 1410 most Welsh people most of the time have abandoned any idea of independence as unthinkable. But since 1410 most Welsh people, at some time or another, if only in some secret corner of the mind, have been "out with Owain and his barefoot scrubs." For the Welsh mind is still haunted by it's lightning-flash vision of a people that was free.
Gwyn A. Williams,
Gwyn A. Williams,
I missed the news stuck on a plane. Everyone in my generation has their own memories of Mandela, his struggles shaped, informed and tested our ethical heart.
I won't talk of his background there are many good books on the subject, but confine myself to saying his ability to forgive was christlike. He almost unique ability though was to blend that holiness with a talent for getting things done. One universal truth about politicians is that they psychologically are the least qualified of all people to govern. In Mandelas case this was not so.
Over the past few years I have been privileged to work with many ANC members, from the old Bushfighters with their memories of Times in Angola, to the current generation of technocrats, all of them held Mandelain the very highst regarded and always spoke glowingly of him without equivocation.
The world is a much lesser place today.
I won't talk of his background there are many good books on the subject, but confine myself to saying his ability to forgive was christlike. He almost unique ability though was to blend that holiness with a talent for getting things done. One universal truth about politicians is that they psychologically are the least qualified of all people to govern. In Mandelas case this was not so.
Over the past few years I have been privileged to work with many ANC members, from the old Bushfighters with their memories of Times in Angola, to the current generation of technocrats, all of them held Mandelain the very highst regarded and always spoke glowingly of him without equivocation.
The world is a much lesser place today.
Since 1410 most Welsh people most of the time have abandoned any idea of independence as unthinkable. But since 1410 most Welsh people, at some time or another, if only in some secret corner of the mind, have been "out with Owain and his barefoot scrubs." For the Welsh mind is still haunted by it's lightning-flash vision of a people that was free.
Gwyn A. Williams,
Gwyn A. Williams,
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Voronwë the Faithful
- At the intersection of here and now
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I remember seeing Nelson Mandela speak at the Oakland Coliseum back in 1990, soon after his release from prison. Despite the cavernous venue, you could feel the man's strength and positive energy. I am firmly convinced that while he is no longer among the living, that energy continues to beat strongly. The world continues to be a better place because of Nelson Mandela, and while we do and should grieve his death, we should also not forget to celebrate his life, and his enduring legacy.
"Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever to and from his halls; and their eyes could see to the depths of the seas, and pierce the hidden caverns beneath the world."
Very well said.WampusCat wrote:Imagine if all our politicians were like Mandela: dedicated to freedom, willing to fight for power but unwilling to cling to it, steadfastly opposing evil systems without demonizing his opponents, rejecting vengeance in favor of reconciliation, strong in compassion and compassionate in strength.
If only.
Voronwë the Faithful wrote:I remember seeing Nelson Mandela speak at the Oakland Coliseum back in 1990, soon after his release from prison. Despite the cavernous venue, you could feel the man's strength and positive energy. I am firmly convinced that while he is no longer among the living, that energy continues to beat strongly. The world continues to be a better place because of Nelson Mandela, and while we do and should grieve his death, we should also not forget to celebrate his life, and his enduring legacy.
Thats a terrific memory to have Voronwë and of course his legacy is to give hope to all the oppressed.
Since 1410 most Welsh people most of the time have abandoned any idea of independence as unthinkable. But since 1410 most Welsh people, at some time or another, if only in some secret corner of the mind, have been "out with Owain and his barefoot scrubs." For the Welsh mind is still haunted by it's lightning-flash vision of a people that was free.
Gwyn A. Williams,
Gwyn A. Williams,