classes ::: Integral Yoga, thing, noun,
children :::
branches ::: the Call

bookmarks: Instances - Definitions - Quotes - Chapters - Wordnet - Webgen


object:the Call
subject class:Integral Yoga
subject:Integral Yoga
class:thing
word class:noun

--- NOTES
  The call of man to the Divine for aid
  the call of the Divine to Man for realization and progress?
  the call implies the one who calls? and to one whom one calls?

--- QUOTES
  The goal of yoga is always hard to reach, but this one is more difficult than any other, and it is only for those who have the call, the capacity, the willingness to face everything and every risk, even the risk of failure, and the will to progress towards an entire selflessness, desirelessness and surrender. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II

  9. Gods three thousand and three hundred and thirty and nine waited upon the Fire. They anointed him with streams of the clarity, they spread for him the seat of sacrifice, and seated him within as priest of the call.

  The boy with the flute is Sri Krishna, the Lord descended into the world-play from the divine Ananda; his flute is the music of the call which seeks to transform the lower ignorant play of mortal life and bring into it and establish in its place the lila of his divine Ananda. It was the psychic being in you that heard the call and followed after it.

  The call and the aspiration are only first conditions ; there must be along with them and brought by their effective intensity an opening of all the being to the Divine and a total surrender.

  All Yoga is in its nature a new birth; it is a birth out of the ordinary, the mentalised material life of man into a higher spiritual consciousness and a greater and diviner being. No Yoga can be successfully undertaken and followed unless there is a strong awakening to the necessity of that larger spiritual existence. The soul that is called to this deep and vast inward change, may arrive in different ways to the initial departure. It may come to it by its own natural development which has been leading it unconsciously towards the awakening; it may reach it through the influence of a religion or the attraction of a philosophy; it may approach it by a slow illumination or leap to it by a sudden touch or shock; it may be pushed or led to it by the pressure of outward circumstances or by an inward necessity, by a single word that breaks the seals of the mind or by long reflection, by the distant example of one who has trod the path or by contact and daily influence. According to the nature and the circumstances the call will come. ~ The Synthesis of Yoga

Aspiration is a turning upward of the inner being with a call, yearning, prayer for the Divine, for the Truth, for the Consciousness, Peace, Ananda, Knowledge, descent of Divine Force or whatever else is the aim of one's endeavour. ~ The Mother

When something goes wrong, one must always find the reason in oneself, not superficially but deep inside oneself, and not in order to uselessly bewail the fault, but to cure it by calling one's aid the all-powerful force of the Divine. ~ The Mother Some Answers From The Mother

There are two powers that alone can effect in their conjunction the great and difficult thing which is the aim of our endeavour, a fixed and unfailing aspiration that calls from below and a supreme Grace from above that answers.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Mother With Letters On The Mother

--- Part 1 - Departure
  1. The Call to Adventure ::: ...(the call of adventure is to) a forest, a kingdom underground, beneath the waves, or above the sky, a secret island, lofty mountaintop, or profound dream state; but it is always a place of strangely fluid and polymorphous beings, unimaginable torments, super human deeds, and impossible delight. The hero can go forth of his own volition to accomplish the adventure, as did Theseus when he arrived in his father's city, Athens, and heard the horrible history of the Minotaur; or he may be carried or sent abroad by some benign or malignant agent as was Odysseus, driven about the Mediterranean by the winds of the angered god, Poseidon. The adventure may begin as a mere blunder... or still again, one may be only casually strolling when some passing phenomenon catches the wandering eye and lures one away from the frequented paths of man. Examples might be multiplied, ad infinitum, from every corner of the world. ~ Joseph Campbell

  2. Refusal of the Call ::: Refusal of the summons converts the adventure into its negative. Walled in boredom, hard work, or 'culture,' the subject loses the power of significant affirmative action and becomes a victim to be saved. His flowering world becomes a wastel and of dry stones and his life feels meaningless-even though, like King Minos, he may through titanic effort succeed in building an empire or renown. Whatever house he builds, it will be a house of death: a labyrinth of cyclopean walls to hide from him his minotaur. All he can do is create new problems for himself and await the gradual approach of his disintegration. ~ Joseph Campbell

see also ::: Aspiration, the Path, the Soul, the Fire






see also ::: Aspiration, the_Fire, the_Path, the_Soul

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now begins generated list of local instances, definitions, quotes, instances in chapters, wordnet info if available and instances among weblinks


OBJECT INSTANCES [0] - TOPICS - AUTHORS - BOOKS - CHAPTERS - CLASSES - SEE ALSO - SIMILAR TITLES

TOPICS
SEE ALSO

Aspiration
the_Fire
the_Path
the_Soul

AUTH

BOOKS
Letters_On_Yoga
Letters_On_Yoga_II
Savitri
the_Book
The_Book_of_Light
The_Divine_Companion
The_Divine_Milieu
The_Heros_Journey
The_Hero_with_a_Thousand_Faces
The_Integral_Yoga
The_Seals_of_Wisdom
Toward_the_Future

IN CHAPTERS TITLE
04.03_-_The_Call_to_the_Quest
1.01_-_the_Call_to_Adventure
1.02_-_The_Refusal_of_the_Call
1.2.01_-_The_Call_and_the_Capacity
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Call_of_Cthulhu
1.rt_-_The_Call_Of_The_Far

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
0.09_-_Letters_to_a_Young_Teacher
01.01_-_The_Symbol_Dawn
01.03_-_Sri_Aurobindo_and_his_School
01.03_-_The_Yoga_of_the_King_-_The_Yoga_of_the_Souls_Release
01.04_-_Motives_for_Seeking_the_Divine
01.04_-_The_Intuition_of_the_Age
01.06_-_Vivekananda
01.14_-_Nicholas_Roerich
0.11_-_Letters_to_a_Sadhak
0_1958-11-22
0_1960-06-04
0_1960-10-11
0_1962-01-09
0_1962-05-29
0_1966-08-15
0_1966-09-28
0_1966-10-19
0_1967-04-27
0_1967-06-03
0_1967-09-13
0_1967-12-20
0_1969-09-17
0_1971-11-24
02.01_-_A_Vedic_Story
02.03_-_The_Glory_and_the_Fall_of_Life
02.05_-_The_Godheads_of_the_Little_Life
03.02_-_Yogic_Initiation_and_Aptitude
03.03_-_Arjuna_or_the_Ideal_Disciple
03.08_-_The_Standpoint_of_Indian_Art
03.09_-_Sectarianism_or_Loyalty
03.10_-_Sincerity
03.14_-_From_the_Known_to_the_Unknown?
04.03_-_The_Call_to_the_Quest
04.04_-_Evolution_of_the_Spiritual_Consciousness
04.06_-_Evolution_of_the_Spiritual_Consciousness
04.09_-_Values_Higher_and_Lower
05.02_-_Satyavan
05.10_-_Children_and_Child_Mentality
05.29_-_Vengeance_is_Mine
06.02_-_The_Way_of_Fate_and_the_Problem_of_Pain
06.22_-_I_Have_Nothing,_I_Am_Nothing
07.02_-_The_Parable_of_the_Search_for_the_Soul
07.37_-_The_Psychic_Being,_Some_Mysteries
09.05_-_The_Story_of_Love
1.00_-_Main
1.00_-_The_way_of_what_is_to_come
1.01_-_Meeting_the_Master_-_Authors_first_meeting,_December_1918
1.01_-_the_Call_to_Adventure
1.01_-_To_Watanabe_Sukefusa
10.23_-_Prayers_and_Meditations_of_the_Mother
1.02_-_Self-Consecration
1.02_-_The_Refusal_of_the_Call
1.03_-_Hymns_of_Gritsamada
1.03_-_Supernatural_Aid
1.03_-_THE_GRAND_OPTION
1.03_-_The_House_Of_The_Lord
1.03_-_The_Two_Negations_2_-_The_Refusal_of_the_Ascetic
1.04_-_Hymns_of_Bharadwaja
1.04_-_SOME_REFLECTIONS_ON_PROGRESS
1.04_-_The_Core_of_the_Teaching
1.04_-_The_Divine_Mother_-_This_Is_She
1.04_-_The_Gods_of_the_Veda
1.05_-_Hymns_of_Bharadwaja
1.05_-_The_Ascent_of_the_Sacrifice_-_The_Psychic_Being
1.05_-_THE_HOSTILE_BROTHERS_-_ARCHETYPES_OF_RESPONSE_TO_THE_UNKNOWN
1.06_-_BOOK_THE_SIXTH
1.06_-_Gestalt_and_Universals
1.06_-_Hymns_of_Parashara
1.06_-_The_Ascent_of_the_Sacrifice_2_The_Works_of_Love_-_The_Works_of_Life
1.06_-_The_Four_Powers_of_the_Mother
1.06_-_THE_MASTER_WITH_THE_BRAHMO_DEVOTEES
1.075_-_Self-Control,_Study_and_Devotion_to_God
1.07_-_Cybernetics_and_Psychopathology
1.07_-_Hymn_of_Paruchchhepa
1.08_-_Attendants
1.08_-_The_Depths_of_the_Divine
1.08_-_The_Splitting_of_the_Human_Personality_during_Spiritual_Training
1.09_-_The_Secret_Chiefs
1.1.01_-_Seeking_the_Divine
11.06_-_The_Mounting_Fire
1.10_-_BOOK_THE_TENTH
1.10_-_Theodicy_-_Nature_Makes_No_Mistakes
1.1.1.07_-_Aspiration,_Opening,_Recognition
1.11_-_BOOK_THE_ELEVENTH
1.11_-_Oneness
1.11_-_The_Kalki_Avatar
1.11_-_The_Master_of_the_Work
1.1.2_-_Commentary
1.1.4_-_The_Physical_Mind_and_Sadhana
1.14_-_The_Principle_of_Divine_Works
1.16_-_The_Suprarational_Ultimate_of_Life
1.17_-_Religion_as_the_Law_of_Life
1.18_-_Evocation
1.18_-_M._AT_DAKSHINESWAR
1.18_-_The_Divine_Worker
1.19_-_Equality
1.2.01_-_The_Call_and_the_Capacity
1.2.03_-_Purity
1.2.05_-_Aspiration
1.2.07_-_Surrender
1.2.08_-_Faith
1.22_-_The_Necessity_of_the_Spiritual_Transformation
1.24_-_PUNDIT_SHASHADHAR
1.24_-_The_Advent_and_Progress_of_the_Spiritual_Age
1.26_-_FESTIVAL_AT_ADHARS_HOUSE
1.3.4.02_-_The_Hour_of_God
1.3.5.01_-_The_Law_of_the_Way
1.3.5.05_-_The_Path
1.4.01_-_The_Divine_Grace_and_Guidance
1.439
1.47_-_Lityerses
15.03_-_A_Canadian_Question
18.05_-_Ashram_Poets
1914_07_05p
1931_11_24p
1953-11-18
1955-03-02_-_Right_spirit,_aspiration_and_desire_-_Sleep_and_yogic_repose,_how_to_sleep_-_Remembering_dreams_-_Concentration_and_outer_activity_-_Mother_opens_the_door_inside_everyone_-_Sleep,_a_school_for_inner_knowledge_-_Source_of_energy
1956-06-06_-_Sign_or_indication_from_books_of_revelation_-_Spiritualised_mind_-_Stages_of_sadhana_-_Reversal_of_consciousness_-_Organisation_around_central_Presence_-_Boredom,_most_common_human_malady
1956-07-18_-_Unlived_dreams_-_Radha-consciousness_-_Separation_and_identification_-_Ananda_of_identity_and_Ananda_of_union_-_Sincerity,_meditation_and_prayer_-_Enemies_of_the_Divine_-_The_universe_is_progressive
1956-08-15_-_Protection,_purification,_fear_-_Atmosphere_at_the_Ashram_on_Darshan_days_-_Darshan_messages_-_Significance_of_15-08_-_State_of_surrender_-_Divine_Grace_always_all-powerful_-_Assumption_of_Virgin_Mary_-_SA_message_of_1947-08-15
1.ac_-_Power
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Call_of_Cthulhu
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Case_of_Charles_Dexter_Ward
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dream-Quest_of_Unknown_Kadath
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dunwich_Horror
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Horror_in_the_Museum
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Strange_High_House_in_the_Mist
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Thing_on_the_Doorstep
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Tomb
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Trap
1f.lovecraft_-_The_White_Ship
1.fs_-_The_Philosophical_Egotist
1.hs_-_The_Beloved
1.rb_-_Sordello_-_Book_the_Second
1.rb_-_The_Flight_Of_The_Duchess
1.rmr_-_Woman_in_Love
1.rt_-_The_Call_Of_The_Far
1.rt_-_We_Are_To_Play_The_Game_Of_Death
1.rwe_-_Boston
1.wby_-_He_Mourns_For_The_Change_That_Has_Come_Upon_Him_And_His_Beloved,_And_Longs_For_The_End_Of_The_World
1.wby_-_Hound_Voice
1.wby_-_Love_Song
1.wby_-_The_Players_Ask_For_A_Blessing_On_The_Psalteries_And_On_Themselves
1.whitman_-_Camps_Of_Green
1.whitman_-_Despairing_Cries
1.whitman_-_Song_Of_The_Open_Road
1.whitman_-_The_Sleepers
1.whitman_-_Yet,_Yet,_Ye_Downcast_Hours
1.ww_-_2-_The_White_Doe_Of_Rylstone,_Or,_The_Fate_Of_The_Nortons
1.ww_-_Ode_on_Intimations_of_Immortality
1.ww_-_Stanzas
1.ww_-_The_Recluse_-_Book_First
20.04_-_Act_II:_The_Play_on_Earth
2.01_-_Mandala_One
2.01_-_The_Mother
2.01_-_The_Yoga_and_Its_Objects
2.03_-_Karmayogin__A_Commentary_on_the_Isha_Upanishad
2.05_-_Apotheosis
2.05_-_Aspects_of_Sadhana
2.06_-_Reality_and_the_Cosmic_Illusion
2.09_-_On_Sadhana
2.09_-_The_Release_from_the_Ego
2.1.03_-_Man_and_Superman
2.11_-_WITH_THE_DEVOTEES_IN_CALCUTTA
2.12_-_On_Miracles
2.13_-_On_Psychology
2.13_-_The_Book
2.1.3_-_Wrong_Movements_of_the_Vital
2.1.4.2_-_Teaching
2.1.4_-_The_Lower_Vital_Being
2.14_-_The_Origin_and_Remedy_of_Falsehood,_Error,_Wrong_and_Evil
2.15_-_CAR_FESTIVAL_AT_BALARMS_HOUSE
2.18_-_The_Soul_and_Its_Liberation
2.2.02_-_Consciousness_and_the_Inconscient
2.2.3_-_Depression_and_Despondency
2.26_-_Samadhi
2.28_-_The_Divine_Life
2.3.02_-_Mantra_and_Japa
2.3.02_-_Opening,_Sincerity_and_the_Mother's_Grace
2.3.02_-_The_Supermind_or_Supramental
2.3.03_-_Integral_Yoga
2.3.05_-_Sadhana_through_Work_for_the_Mother
2.3.08_-_The_Mother's_Help_in_Difficulties
2.3.08_-_The_Physical_Consciousness
2.4.01_-_Divine_Love,_Psychic_Love_and_Human_Love
2.4.1_-_Human_Relations_and_the_Spiritual_Life
2_-_Other_Hymns_to_Agni
30.18_-_Boris_Pasternak
3.05_-_SAL
3.07_-_The_Ananda_Brahman
3.1.01_-_The_Problem_of_Suffering_and_Evil
31.03_-_The_Trinity_of_Bengal
31.05_-_Vivekananda
31_Hymns_to_the_Star_Goddess
3.2.06_-_The_Adwaita_of_Shankaracharya
3.2.07_-_Tantra
3.2.08_-_Bhakti_Yoga_and_Vaishnavism
3.2.4_-_Sex
33.15_-_My_Athletics
34.01_-_Hymn_To_Indra
3.4.2_-_The_Inconscient_and_the_Integral_Yoga
3-5_Full_Circle
37.03_-_Satyakama_And_Upakoshala
37.04_-_The_Story_Of_Rishi_Yajnavalkya
3_-_Commentaries_and_Annotated_Translations
4.09_-_The_Liberation_of_the_Nature
4.0_-_The_Path_of_Knowledge
4.1.1_-_The_Difficulties_of_Yoga
4.1.3_-_Imperfections_and_Periods_of_Arrest
4.1.4_-_Resistances,_Sufferings_and_Falls
4.18_-_Faith_and_shakti
4.2.3_-_Vigilance,_Resolution,_Will_and_the_Divine_Help
4.2.5.04_-_The_Psychic_Consciousness_and_the_Descent_from_Above
4.3.3_-_Dealing_with_Hostile_Attacks
4.4.1.05_-_Ascent_and_Descent_of_the_Kundalini_Shakti
5.02_-_Perfection_of_the_Body
5.03_-_The_Divine_Body
5.07_-_Beginnings_Of_Civilization
5.08_-_ADAM_AS_TOTALITY
5.1.01.1_-_The_Book_of_the_Herald
5.1.01.2_-_The_Book_of_the_Statesman
5.1.01.3_-_The_Book_of_the_Assembly
5.1.01.4_-_The_Book_of_Partings
5.1.01.8_-_The_Book_of_the_Gods
7.13_-_The_Conquest_of_Knowledge
7_-_Yoga_of_Sri_Aurobindo
Aeneid
Appendix_4_-_Priest_Spells
Blazing_P3_-_Explore_the_Stages_of_Postconventional_Consciousness
BOOK_XVIII._-_A_parallel_history_of_the_earthly_and_heavenly_cities_from_the_time_of_Abraham_to_the_end_of_the_world
BOOK_XVI._-_The_history_of_the_city_of_God_from_Noah_to_the_time_of_the_kings_of_Israel
Conversations_with_Sri_Aurobindo
COSA_-_BOOK_IX
Epistle_to_the_Romans
Guru_Granth_Sahib_first_part
Liber_111_-_The_Book_of_Wisdom_-_LIBER_ALEPH_VEL_CXI
Prayers_and_Meditations_by_Baha_u_llah_text
r1912_12_21
r1914_11_20
r1914_11_25
r1918_02_15
Sayings_of_Sri_Ramakrishna_(text)
Tablets_of_Baha_u_llah_text
Talks_600-652
Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_1
The_Act_of_Creation_text
The_Book_of_Certitude_-_P1
The_Book_of_Certitude_-_P2
The_Book_of_the_Prophet_Isaiah
The_Coming_Race_Contents
The_Dream_of_a_Ridiculous_Man
The_First_Epistle_of_Paul_to_the_Corinthians
The_Gospel_According_to_Luke
The_Gospel_According_to_Mark
The_Gospel_According_to_Matthew
The_Riddle_of_this_World

PRIMARY CLASS

thing
SIMILAR TITLES
the Call

DEFINITIONS


TERMS STARTING WITH

The call and the aspiration are only first conditions ; there must be along with them and brought by their effective intensity an opening of all the being to the Divine and a total surrender.


TERMS ANYWHERE

According to the nature and ihc circumstances the call will come.

:::   "According to the nature and the circumstances the call will come.” *The Synthesis of Yoga

“According to the nature and the circumstances the call will come.” The Synthesis of Yoga

ALGOL W ::: (language) A derivative of ALGOL 60. It introduced double precision, complex numbers, bit strings and dynamic data structures. It is parsed entirely by operator precedence and used the call-by-value-result calling convention.[A Contribution to the Development of Algol, N. Wirth, CACM 9(6):413-431, June 1966].[ALGOL W Implementation, H. Bauer et al, TR CS98, Stanford U, 1968]. (1994-11-24)

Amal: “the sirens are those beings whose songs used to lure away mariners. And when they answered the call, they were killed. There was a foreknowledge of what was to happen to Savitri so there was discouragement to venture out. . . so there is a plea to spare this being from suffering the same fate.”

AMD 29000 "processor" A {RISC} {microprocessor} descended from the {Berkley RISC} design. Like the {SPARC} design that was introduced shortly afterward, the 29000 has a large {register set} split into local and global sets. But though it was introduced before the SPARC, it has a more elegant method of register management. The 29000 has 64 global registers, in comparison to the SPARC's eight. In addition, the 29000 allows variable sized windows allocated from the 128 register stack {cache}. The current window or stack frame is indicated by a stack pointer, a pointer to the caller's frame is stored in the current frame, like in an ordinary stack (directly supporting stack languages like {C}, a {CISC}-like philosophy). Spills and fills occur only at the ends of the cache, and registers are saved/loaded from the memory stack. This allows variable window sizes, from 1 to 128 registers. This flexibility, plus the large set of global registers, makes {register allocation} easier than in SPARC. There is no special {condition code register} - any general register is used instead, allowing several condition codes to be retained, though this sometimes makes code more complex. An {instruction prefetch} buffer (using {burst mode}) ensures a steady instruction stream. To reduce delays caused by a branch to another stream, the first four new instructions are cached and next time a cached branch (up to sixteen) is taken, the cache supplies instructions during the initial memory access delay. Registers aren't saved during interrupts, allowing the interrupt routine to determine whether the overhead is worthwhile. In addition, a form of register access control is provided. All registers can be protected, in blocks of 4, from access. These features make the 29000 useful for embedded applications, which is where most of these processors are used, allowing it the claim to be "the most popular RISC processor". The 29000 also includes an {MMU} and support for the {AMD 29027} {FPU}. (1995-06-19)

anterior commissure ::: A small midline fiber tract that lies at the anterior end of the corpus callosum; like the callosum, it serves to connect the two hemispheres.

argument "programming" (Or "arg") A value or reference passed to a {function}, {procedure}, {subroutine}, command or program, by the caller. For example, in the function definition square(x) = x * x x is the {formal argument} or "parameter", and in the call y = square(3+4) 3+4 is the {actual argument}. This will execute the function square with x having the value 7 and return the result 49. There are many different conventions for passing arguments to functions and procedures including {call-by-value}, {call-by-name}, {call-by-reference}, {call-by-need}. These affect whether the value of the argument is computed by the caller or the callee (the function) and whether the callee can modify the value of the argument as seen by the caller (if it is a variable). Arguments to functions are usually, following mathematical notation, written in parentheses after the function name, separated by commas (but see {curried function}). Arguments to a program are usually given after the command name, separated by spaces, e.g.: cat myfile yourfile hisfile Here "cat" is the command and "myfile", "yourfile", and "hisfile" are the arguments. (2006-05-27)

argument ::: (programming) (Or arg) A value or reference passed to a function, procedure, subroutine, command or program, by the caller. For example, in the function definition square(x) = x * x x is the formal argument or parameter, and in the call y = square(3+4) 3+4 is the actual argument. This will execute the function square with x having the value 7 and return the result 49.There are many different conventions for passing arguments to functions and procedures including call-by-value, call-by-name, call-by-reference, caller or the callee (the function) and whether the callee can modify the value of the argument as seen by the caller (if it is a variable).Arguments to functions are usually, following mathematical notation, written in parentheses after the function name, separated by commas (but see curried function). Arguments to a program are usually given after the command name, separated by spaces, e.g.: cat myfile yourfile hisfile Here cat is the command and myfile, yourfile, and hisfile are the arguments.(2006-05-27)

ASPIRATION. ::: The call in the being for the Divine or for the higher things that belong to the Divine Consciousness.
A call to the Divine; aspiration for the discovery and embodiment of the Divine Truth and to nothing else whatever.
An aspiration vigilant, constant, unceasing- the mind’s will, the heart’s seeking, the assent of the vital being, the will to open and make plastic the physical consciousness and nature.
There is no need of words in aspiration. It can be expressed or unexpressed in words.
Aspiration need not be in the form of thought; it can be a feeling within that remains even when the mind is attending to the work.
Aspiration is to call the forces. When the forces have answered, there is a natural state of quiet receptivity concentrated but spontaneous.
In aspiration there is a self-giving for the higher consciousness to descend and take possession ; the more intense the call, the greater the self-giving.
Aspiration keeps the consciousness open, prevents an inert state of acquiescence in all that comes and exercises a sort of pull on the sources of the higher consciousness.
The intensity of aspiration brings the intensity of the experience and by repeated intensity of the experience, the change. It is the psychic that gives the true aspiration; if the vital is purified and subjected to the psychic, then the vital gives intensity.
Aspiration in the physical consciousness ::: the physical consciousness is always in everybody in its own nature a little inert and in it a constant strong aspiration is not natural, it has to be created. But first there must be the opening, a purification, a fixed quietude, otherwise the physical vital will turn the strong aspiration into over-eagerness and impatience or rather it will try to give it that turn.


aspiration ::: the call of the being for higher things, for the Divine, for all that belongs to the higher or divine consciousness.

Automatic Number Identification "communications" (ANI) A service that tells the recipient of a telephone call the telephone number of the person making the call. This number can be passed to computer equipment to automatically retrieve associated information about the caller, i.e. account status, billing records, etc. See {CTI}. (1996-12-08)

Automatic Number Identification ::: (communications) (ANI) A service that tells the recipient of a telephone call the telephone number of the person making the call. This number can be passed to computer equipment to automatically retrieve associated information about the caller, i.e. account status, billing records, etc.See CTI. (1996-12-08)

bokuseki. (墨蹟). In Japanese, "ink traces"; generally referring to any sort of calligraphy executed by an ink brush on paper or silk. The Japanese monk Murata Juko (1422-1502) is said to have hung in his tea room the calligraphy of the Song-dynasty CHAN master YUANWU KEQIN, which he had received from his teacher IKKYu SoJUN, a practice that seems to have had no precedent in Japan. Following his lead, monks largely from the GOZAN lineage began to collect the calligraphy of eminent Song-dynasty Chan masters such as DAHUI ZONGGAO and XUTANG ZHIYU to display in their private quarters and tea rooms. From the time of the Zen and tea master Sen no Rikyu (Soeki Rikyu; 1521-1591), the calligraphy of Japanese Zen monks such as MYoAN EISAI, DoGEN KIGEN, and MUSo SoSEKI began to be seen as valuable commodities. The calligraphy of Zen masters belonging to the DAITOKUJI lineage such as SoHo MYoCHo, Ikkyu Sojun, and TAKUAN SoHo also came to be highly prized. Beginning with Sen no Rikyu, the practice of collecting relatively simple calligraphy, comprised largely of a single, horizontally executed line, came to be favored over those containing longer poems or sermons written in vertical lines.

call ::: “All Yoga is in its nature a new birth; it is a birth out of the ordinary, the mentalised material life of man into a higher spiritual consciousness and a greater and diviner being. No Yoga can be successfully undertaken and followed unless there is a strong awakening to the necessity of that larger spiritual existence. The soul that is called to this deep and vast inward change, may arrive in different ways to the initial departure. It may come to it by its own natural development which has been leading it unconsciously towards the awakening; it may reach it through the influence of a religion or the attraction of a philosophy; it may approach it by a slow illumination or leap to it by a sudden touch or shock; it may be pushed or led to it by the pressure of outward circumstances or by an inward necessity, by a single word that breaks the seals of the mind or by long reflection, by the distant example of one who has trod the path or by contact and daily influence. According to the nature and the circumstances the call will come.” The Synthesis of Yoga

callback 1. "programming" A scheme used in {event-driven} programs where the program registers a {subroutine} (a "callback handler") to handle a certain {event}. The program does not call the handler directly but when the event occurs, the {run-time system} calls the handler, usually passing it arguments to describe the event. 2. "communications, security" A {user authentication} scheme used by some computers running {dial-up} services. The user dials in to the computer and gives his {user name} and {password}. The computer then hangs up the connection and uses an {auto-dial} {modem} to call back to the user's registered telephone number. Thus, if an unauthorised person discovers a user's password, the callback will go, not to him, but to the owner of that login who will then know that his account is under attack. However, some {PABXs} can be fooled into thinking that the caller has hung up by sending them a dial tone. When the computer tries to call out on the same line it is not actually dialing through to the authorised user but is still connected to the original caller. 3. "communications" {cost control callback}. (2003-07-13)

callback ::: 1. (programming) A scheme used in event-driven programs where the program registers a subroutine (a callback handler) to handle a certain event. The run-time system calls the handler, usually passing it arguments to describe the event.2. (communications, security) A user authentication scheme used by some computers running dial-up services. The user dials in to the computer and gives to him, but to the owner of that login who will then know that his account is under attack.However, some PABXs can be fooled into thinking that the caller has hung up by sending them a dial tone. When the computer tries to call out on the same line it is not actually dialing through to the authorised user but is still connected to the original caller.3. (communications) cost control callback.(2003-07-13)

call-by-reference "programming" An {argument} passing convention where the address of an argument {variable} is passed to a {function} or {procedure}, as opposed to passing the value of the argument expression. Execution of the function or procedure may have {side-effects} on the actual argument as seen by the caller. The {C} language's "&" (address of) and "*" (dereference) operators allow the programmer to code explicit call-by-reference. Other languages provide special syntax to declare reference arguments (e.g. {ALGOL 60}). See also {call-by-name}, {call-by-value}, {call-by-value-result}. (2006-05-27)

call-by-value ::: (CBV) An evaluation strategy where arguments are evaluated before the function or procedure is entered. Only the values of the arguments are passed and changes arguments as seen by the caller. See applicative order reduction, call-by-value-result, strict evaluation, call-by-name, lazy evaluation.

call-by-value (CBV) An {evaluation strategy} where arguments are evaluated before the function or procedure is entered. Only the values of the arguments are passed and changes to the arguments within the called procedure have no effect on the actual arguments as seen by the caller. See {applicative order reduction}, {call-by-value-result}, {strict evaluation}, {call-by-name}, {lazy evaluation}.

call-by-value-result An argument passing convention where the {actual argument} is a variable V whose value is copied to a local variable L inside the called function or procedure. If the procedure modifies L, these changes will not affect V, which may also be in scope inside the procedure, until the procedure returns when the final value of L is copied to V. Under {call-by-reference} changes to L would affect V immediately. Used, for example, by {BBC BASIC V} on the {Acorn} {Archimedes}.

call-by-value-result ::: An argument passing convention where the actual argument is a variable V whose value is copied to a local variable L inside the called function or procedure. of L is copied to V. Under call-by-reference changes to L would affect V immediately. Used, for example, by BBC BASIC V on the Acorn Archimedes.

Call Data Record "telecommunications" (CDR) A data record that contains information related to a telephone call, including the origination and destination addresses of the call, the time the call started and ended, the duration of the call, the time of day the call was made, toll charges that were added through the network, or charges for operator services. [Context?] (2010-03-21)

callee ::: (programming) The function or subroutine being called by the caller.(2001-05-09)

Caller ID "communications" (CID) A short piece of text transmitted by some telephone systems describing the origin of a call, e.g. the name of the caller. Some telephone handsets can display this. A {computer telephony integration} system might use it to trigger actions on the callee's computer such as looking up the caller in a database and displaying their details on screen. There may also be a separate "caller id number" giving the telephone number of the originator of the call. (2008-04-30)

caller ::: n. --> One who calls. ::: a. --> Cool; refreshing; fresh; as, a caller day; the caller air.
Fresh; in good condition; as, caller berrings.


calling convention "programming" The arrangement of {arguments} for a procedure or function call. Different programming languages may require arguments to be pushed onto a {stack} or entered in {registers} in left-to-right or right-to left order, and either the caller or the callee can be responsible for removing the arguments. The calling convention also determines if a variable number of arguments is allowed. (1995-11-11)

calling convention ::: (programming) The arrangement of arguments for a procedure or function call. Different programming languages may require arguments to be pushed onto a The calling convention also determines if a variable number of arguments is allowed. (1995-11-11)

callosan ::: a. --> Of the callosum.

Call premium - Amount in excess of par value that a company must pay when it calls a security. It is the difference between the call price and the maturity value. The issuer pays the premium to the security holder in order to acquire the outstanding security before the specified maturity date. The call premium is generally equal to one year's interest if the bond is called in the first year, and it declines at a constant rate each year thereafter.

call ::: Sri Aurobindo: "All Yoga is in its nature a new birth; it is a birth out of the ordinary, the mentalised material life of man into a higher spiritual consciousness and a greater and diviner being. No Yoga can be successfully undertaken and followed unless there is a strong awakening to the necessity of that larger spiritual existence. The soul that is called to this deep and vast inward change, may arrive in different ways to the initial departure. It may come to it by its own natural development which has been leading it unconsciously towards the awakening; it may reach it through the influence of a religion or the attraction of a philosophy; it may approach it by a slow illumination or leap to it by a sudden touch or shock; it may be pushed or led to it by the pressure of outward circumstances or by an inward necessity, by a single word that breaks the seals of the mind or by long reflection, by the distant example of one who has trod the path or by contact and daily influence. According to the nature and the circumstances the call will come.” *The Synthesis of Yoga

camel ::: n. --> A large ruminant used in Asia and Africa for carrying burdens and for riding. The camel is remarkable for its ability to go a long time without drinking. Its hoofs are small, and situated at the extremities of the toes, and the weight of the animal rests on the callous. The dromedary (Camelus dromedarius) has one bunch on the back, while the Bactrian camel (C. Bactrianus) has two. The llama, alpaca, and vicua, of South America, belong to a related genus (Auchenia).
A water-tight structure (as a large box or boxes) used to


cluck ::: v. i. --> To make the noise, or utter the call, of a brooding hen. ::: v. t. --> To call together, or call to follow, as a hen does her chickens. ::: n.

Co7 ::: Shorthand for the preliminary rite, "The Calling of the Sevenths to Induce Equilibrium". This is a rite initially found in the P.G.M. that balances the planetary energies within the psyche, centers the mind, and establishes the beginning of the authority to start on a more intricate ritual or working (e.g. a planetary invocation).

Computer Telephone Integration "communications" (CTI or "- Telephony -") Enabling computers to know about and control telephony functions such as making and receiving voice, {fax} and data calls, telephone directory services and {caller identification}. CTI is used in call centres to link incoming calls to computer software functions such as database look-up of the caller's number, supported by services such as {Automatic Number Identification} and {Dialled Number Identification Service}. Application software ({middleware}) can link {personal computers} and servers with telephones and/or a {PBX}. Telephony and {software} vendors such as {AT&T}, {British Telecom}, {IBM}, {Novell}, {Microsoft} and {Intel} have developed CTI services. The main {CTI} functions are integrating {messaging} with {databases}, {word processors} etc.; controlling voice, {fax}, and {e-mail} messaging systems from a single {application program}; graphical call control - using a {graphical user interface} to perform functions such as making and receiving calls, forwarding and conferencing; call and {data} association - provision of information about the caller from databases or other applications automatically before the call is answered or transferred; {speech synthesis} and {speech recognition}; automatic logging of call related information for invoicing purposes or callback. CTI can improve customer service, increase productivity, reduce costs and enhance workflow automation. IBM were one of the first with workable CTI, now sold as "CallPath". {Callware}'s {Phonetastic} is another {middleware} product. CTI came out of the 1980s call centre boom, where it linked central servers and {IVRs} with {PBX}es to provide call transfer and {screen popping}. In the 1990s, efforts were made by several vendors, such as IBM, Novell {TSAPI} and Microsoft {TAPI}, to provide a version for {desktop computers} that would allow control of a desktop telephone and assist in {hot desking}. See also {Telephony Application Programming Interface}. (2012-11-18)

Computer Telephone Integration ::: (communications) (CTI or - Telephony -) Enabling computers to know about and control telephony functions such as making and receiving voice, fax, integration of telephone and computer systems and is a major development in the evolution of the automated office.CTI is not a new concept - such links have been used in the past in large telephone networks - but only dedicated call centres could justify the costs of Novell, Microsoft and Intel are developing better telephony services and capabilities which should eventually enable low cost CTI.The main CTI functions are integrating messaging with databases, word processors etc.; controlling voice, fax, and e-mail messaging systems from a single answered or transferred; speech synthesis and speech recognition; automatic logging of call related information for invoicing purposes or callback.Typical productivity benefits are improved customer service; increased productivity; reduced costs; enhanced workflow automation; protected investment in computers and telephony; computerised telephony intelligence.IBM were one of the first with workable CTI, now sold as CallPath. Callware's Phonetastic is typical of the new breed of middleware.CTI came out of the 1980s call centre boom, where it linked central servers and IVRs with PBXes to provide call transfer and screen popping. In the 1990s, TAPI, to provide a desktop version that would allow control of a desktop telephone and assist in hot desking.Desktop CTI was made obsolete by the mobile phone revolution, e-mail and, above all, VoIP, and CTI has never advanced outside the call centre.See also Telephony Application Programming Interface.(2003-12-04)

Conch is the call to realisation ; perhaps the proclamation of victory.

cost control callback "communications" A system where a computer automatically rejects incoming {dial-up} calls from certain telephone numbers and calls them back, with the result that the caller pays nothing for the connection. This differs from security {callback} in that it applies to certain phone numbers instead of to certain user names. (2003-07-13)

Dialled Number Identification Service "communications" (DNIS) A service that tells the recipient of a telephone call the telephone number dialled by the person making the call. It is used by call centres hosting multiple numbers, voicemail systems and ISPs offering shared dial-in services. Compare {ANI}, {Caller ID}. (2005-02-09)

Dialled Number Identification Service ::: (communications) (DNIS) A service that tells the recipient of a telephone call the telephone number dialled by the person making the call. It is used by call centres hosting multiple numbers, voicemail systems and ISPs offering shared dial-in services.Compare ANI, Caller ID.(2005-02-09)

Direct Inward Dialing "communications" (DID) A service offered by telephone companies which allows the last 3 or 4 digits of a phone number to be transmitted to the destination {exchange}. For example, a company could have 10 incoming lines, all with the number 234 000. If a caller dials 234 697, the call is sent to 234 000 (the company's exchange), and the digits 697 are transmitted. The company's exchange then routes the call to extension 697. This gives the impression of 1000 direct dial lines, whereas in fact there are only 10. Obviously, only 10 at a time can be used. This system is also used by {fax servers}. Instead of an exchange at the end of the 234 000 line, a computer running fax server software and {fax modem} cards uses the last three digits to identify the recipient of the fax. This allows 1000 people to have their own individual fax numbers, even though there is only one 'fax machine'. {Dictionary of PC Hardware and Data Communications Terms (http://ora.com/reference/dictionary/terms/D/Direct_Inward_Dialing.htm)}. (1997-06-29)

Direct Inward Dialing ::: (communications) (DID) A service offered by telephone companies which allows the last 3 or 4 digits of a phone number to be transmitted to the destination exchange.For example, a company could have 10 incoming lines, all with the number 234 000. If a caller dials 234 697, the call is sent to 234 000 (the company's lines, whereas in fact there are only 10. Obviously, only 10 at a time can be used.This system is also used by fax servers. Instead of an exchange at the end of the 234 000 line, a computer running fax server software and fax modem cards 1000 people to have their own individual fax numbers, even though there is only one 'fax machine'. . (1997-06-29)

dynamic scope "language" In a dynamically scoped language, e.g. most versions of {Lisp}, an {identifier} can be referred to, not only in the block where it is declared, but also in any function or procedure called from within that block, even if the called procedure is declared outside the block. This can be implemented as a simple stack of (identifier, value) pairs, accessed by searching down from the top of stack for the most recent instance of a given identifier. The opposite is {lexical scope}. A common implementation of dynamic scope is {shallow binding}. (1996-07-11)

dynamic scope ::: (language) In a dynamically scoped language, e.g. most versions of Lisp, an identifier can be referred to, not only in the block where it is declared, but also in any function or procedure called from within that block, even if the called procedure is declared outside the block.This can be implemented as a simple stack of (identifier, value) pairs, accessed by searching down from the top of stack for the most recent instance of a given identifier.The opposite is lexical scope. A common implementation of dynamic scope is shallow binding. (1996-07-11)

eager evaluation ::: Any evaluation strategy where evaluation of some or all function arguments is started before their value is required. A typical example is call-by-value, call-by-need where evaluation of an argument is only started when it is required.The term speculative evaluation is very close in meaning to eager evaluation but is applied mostly to parallel architectures whereas eager evaluation is used of both sequential and parallel evaluators.Eager evaluation does not specify exactly when argument evaluation takes place - it might be done fully speculatively (all redexes in the program reduced in parallel) or may be done by the caller just before the function is entered.The term eager evaluation was invented by Carl Hewitt and Henry Baker and used in their paper [The Incremental Garbage ]. It was named after their eager beaver evaluator.See also conservative evaluation, lenient evaluation, strict evaluation. (1994-12-22)

eager evaluation Any {evaluation strategy} where evaluation of some or all function arguments is started before their value is required. A typical example is {call-by-value}, where all arguments are passed evaluated. The opposite of eager evaluation is {call-by-need} where evaluation of an argument is only started when it is required. The term "{speculative evaluation}" is very close in meaning to eager evaluation but is applied mostly to parallel architectures whereas eager evaluation is used of both sequential and parallel evaluators. Eager evaluation does not specify exactly when argument evaluation takes place - it might be done fully speculatively (all {redex}es in the program reduced in parallel) or may be done by the caller just before the function is entered. The term "eager evaluation" was invented by Carl Hewitt and Henry Baker "hbaker@netcom.com" and used in their paper ["The Incremental Garbage Collection of Processes", Sigplan Notices, Aug 1977. {(ftp://ftp.netcom.com/pub/hb/hbaker/Futures.html)}]. It was named after their "eager beaver" evaluator. See also {conservative evaluation}, {lenient evaluation}, {strict evaluation}. (1994-12-22)

Energy-Raising Rite ::: A type of rite, usually done as part of or after a preliminary rite, designed to move awareness throughout the body and attune to certain archetypes or currents and possibly even load them within the body or sphere of awareness in preparation for more involved ritualistic or meditative undertakings. The Middle Pillar is an example of this kind of rite as is the portion of "The Calling of the Sevenths to Induce Equilibirum" that taps into and loads the body with the seven planetary currents.

enochianmagick ::: Enochian Magick This is magick used for the evocation and commanding of various spirits. It is a system of Ceremonial Magick based on the writings of Dr John Dee and Edward Kelley (also spelt as Kelly) in the 16th century. According to Dee and Kelley their information was delivered to them directly by an angel (the Great Angel Ave), after which they created the Enochian script. They claim it embraces secrets contained within the Book of Enoch (a title given to several attributed to Enoch, the great-grandfather of Noah. Enochian script is often referred to as the 'Angelic Script', and is used in Ceremonial Magick when working with angelic beings, particularly so in the Calls or Keys used to summon them.

Evocation [from Latin evocare to call forth] The calling forth of simulacra of the departed by magical processes; or the calling forth of the daemons or nature spirits of various classes by will directed by knowledge. The spiritual aspects of human beings cannot, however, be called forth, except in rare instances immediately after death, which in this case means black magic; and even so, these disimbodied spirits do not actually come, but cause their simulacrum to be formed, or send a messenger. The attempt thus to evoke the departed is a wrongful interference with the courses of nature and detrimental to the welfare of the departing egos. It is much easier and more common to evoke spooks from kama-loka, or denizens of the lower astral light; and the appearances thus created are often of a composite nature, to which the medium and sitters, whether knowingly or not, contribute. This must necessarily be the case where there is actual materialization. Such practices come under the general heading of necromancy.

Evocation ::: The calling forth of an entity to a more perceptible and cohesive appearance before the evoker. Usually invocation is viewed as a calling within one's self of a power or entity whereas an evocation is a calling forth outside of oneself, like in a temple or at an altar. But an evocation can also be thought of as a calling forth of a sub-lunar spirit while an invocation can be a calling forth of a more cosmic deity or power such as an archangel, regardless of whether it actually inhabits the body of the summoner. It's a matter of context and the system used.

exit 1. "programming" A {library function} in the {C} and {Unix} {run-time library} that causes the program to terminate and return control to the {shell}. The alternative to calling "exit" is simply to "fall off the end" of the program or its top-level, {main}, routine. Equivalent functions, possibly with different names, exist in pretty much every programming language, e.g. "exit" in {Microsoft DOS} or "END" in {BASIC}. On exit, the {run-time system} closes open files and releases other resources. An {exit status} code (a small integer, with zero meaning OK and other values typically indicating some kind of error) can be passed as the only argument to "exit"; this will be made available to the shell. Some languages allow the programmer to set up exit handler code which will be called before the standard system clean-up actions. 2. Any point in a piece of code where control is returned to the caller, possibly activating one or more user-provided exit handlers. This might be a {return} statement, exit call (in sense 1 above) or code that raises an error condition (either intentionally or unintentionally). If the exit is from the top-level routine then such a point would typically terminate the whole program, as in sense 1. (2008-05-15)

Faithfulness to the Light and the Call — to refuse to listen to any suggestions, impulses, lures and to oppose to them all the call of the Truth, the imperative beckoning of the Light. In all doubt and depression, to say, “ I belong to the Divine, I cannot fail ” ; to all suggestions of impurity and unfitness, to reply, “ I am a child of Immortality chosen by the Divine ; I have but to be true to myself and to Him — the victory is sure ; even if I fell, I would rise again " ; to all impulses to depart and serve some smaller ideal, to reply, "This is the greatest, this is the Truth that alone can satisfy the soul within me ;

FAMILY DUTIES. ::: They exist so long os one is in the ordi- nary consciousness of (he sfbasiha ;* if the call to a spiritual life comes, whether one keeps to them or not depends partly upon the way of yoga one follows, partly on one’s own spiritual necessity. There are many who pursue inwardly the spiritual life and keep the family duties, not as social duties but as a field for the practice of karmayoga, others abandon everything to follow the spiritual call or line and they are justified if that is necessary for the yoga they practise or If that is the impera- tive demand of the sou! within (hem.

genu ::: n. --> The knee.
The kneelike bend, in the anterior part of the callosum of the brain.


hidden flag ::: (scientific computation) An extra option added to a routine without changing the calling sequence. For example, instead of adding an explicit input variable to debug and understand, but is all too common wherever programs are hacked in a hurry.[Jargon File] (1994-11-24)

hidden flag (scientific computation) An extra option added to a routine without changing the calling sequence. For example, instead of adding an explicit input variable to instruct a routine to give extra diagnostic output, the programmer might just add a test for some otherwise meaningless feature of the existing inputs, such as a negative mass. The use of hidden flags can make a program very hard to debug and understand, but is all too common wherever programs are hacked in a hurry. [{Jargon File}] (1994-11-24)

higher-order macro "functional programming" A means of expressing certain {higher-order functions} in a {first-order language}, proposed by {Phil Wadler}. Higher-order macros cannot be {recursive} at the top level but they may contain recursive definitions. For example, the normal, definition of the {map} function, map f []   = [] map f (x:xs) = f x : map f xs is higher-order because its argument, f, is a function. The alternative formulation map f l = map_f l where map_f []   = [] map_f (x:xs) = f x : m xs defines a first-order function, map_f, that is a specialisation of map in its first argument. This can be considered a {macro} because it works purely by textual substitution, requiring no knowledge about f for its validity. This is an example of {partial evaluation} - the call, map f l, has been partially evaluated to yeild an intermediate result. This may be useful in optimising compilation or execution, e.g. if the call to f can be subject to {in-lining} or when executing map_f on a long list. (2018-05-25)

in 1. "networking" The {country code} for India. (1999-01-27) 2. The typical type or "mode" of {function} {parameter} that passes information in one direction - from the caller to the function. Other modes are {out} and {inout}. (2010-01-19)

inout "programming" A type or "mode" of {function} {parameter} that passes information in both directions - from the caller to the function and back to the caller, combining the {in} and {out} modes. An "inout" parameter might be used where the function needs to read and update some data belonging to the caller as a side effect of its main purpose. (2010-01-19)

installable file system "operating system" (IFS or "File System Driver", "FSD") An {API} that allows you to extend {OS/2} to access files stored on disk in formats other than {FAT} and {HPFS}, and access files that are stored on a {network file server}. For example an IFS could provide programs running under OS/2 (including DOS and Windows programs) with access to files stored under {Unix} using the {Berkeley fast file system}. The other variety of IFS (a "remote file system" or "redirector") allows file sharing over a {LAN}, e.g. using Unix's {Network File System} {protocol}. In this case, the IFS passes a program's file access requests to a remote file server, possibly also translating between different file attributes used by OS/2 and the remote system. Documentation on the IFS API has been available only by special request from IBM. An IFS is structured as an ordinary 16-bit {DLL} with entry points for opening, closing, reading, and writing files, the swapper, file locking, and {Universal Naming Convention}. The main part of an IFS that runs in {ring} 0 is called by the OS/2 {kernel} in the context of the caller's process and {thread}. The other part that runs in ring 3 is a utility library with entry points for FORMAT, RECOVER, SYS, and CHKDSK. {EDM/2 article (http://edm2.com/0103/)}. (1999-04-07)

INTEGRAL YOGA ::: This yoga accepts the value of cosmic existence and holds it to be a reality; its object is to enter into a higher Truth-Consciousness or Divine Supramental Consciousness in which action and creation are the expression not of ignorance and imperfection, but of the Truth, the Light, the Divine Ānanda. But for that, the surrender of the mortal mind, life and body to the Higher Consciousnessis indispensable, since it is too difficult for the mortal human being to pass by its own effort beyond mind to a Supramental Consciousness in which the dynamism is no longer mental but of quite another power. Only those who can accept the call to such a change should enter into this yoga.

Aim of the Integral Yoga ::: It is not merely to rise out of the ordinary ignorant world-consciousness into the divine consciousness, but to bring the supramental power of that divine consciousness down into the ignorance of mind, life and body, to transform them, to manifest the Divine here and create a divine life in Matter.

Conditions of the Integral Yoga ::: This yoga can only be done to the end by those who are in total earnest about it and ready to abolish their little human ego and its demands in order to find themselves in the Divine. It cannot be done in a spirit of levity or laxity; the work is too high and difficult, the adverse powers in the lower Nature too ready to take advantage of the least sanction or the smallest opening, the aspiration and tapasyā needed too constant and intense.

Method in the Integral Yoga ::: To concentrate, preferably in the heart and call the presence and power of the Mother to take up the being and by the workings of her force transform the consciousness. One can concentrate also in the head or between the eye-brows, but for many this is a too difficult opening. When the mind falls quiet and the concentration becomes strong and the aspiration intense, then there is the beginning of experience. The more the faith, the more rapid the result is likely to be. For the rest one must not depend on one’s own efforts only, but succeed in establishing a contact with the Divine and a receptivity to the Mother’s Power and Presence.

Integral method ::: The method we have to pursue is to put our whole conscious being into relation and contact with the Divine and to call Him in to transform Our entire being into His, so that in a sense God Himself, the real Person in us, becomes the sādhaka of the sādhana* as well as the Master of the Yoga by whom the lower personality is used as the centre of a divine transfiguration and the instrument of its own perfection. In effect, the pressure of the Tapas, the force of consciousness in us dwelling in the Idea of the divine Nature upon that which we are in our entirety, produces its own realisation. The divine and all-knowing and all-effecting descends upon the limited and obscure, progressively illumines and energises the whole lower nature and substitutes its own action for all the terms of the inferior human light and mortal activity.

In psychological fact this method translates itself into the progressive surrender of the ego with its whole field and all its apparatus to the Beyond-ego with its vast and incalculable but always inevitable workings. Certainly, this is no short cut or easy sādhana. It requires a colossal faith, an absolute courage and above all an unflinching patience. For it implies three stages of which only the last can be wholly blissful or rapid, - the attempt of the ego to enter into contact with the Divine, the wide, full and therefore laborious preparation of the whole lower Nature by the divine working to receive and become the higher Nature, and the eventual transformation. In fact, however, the divine strength, often unobserved and behind the veil, substitutes itself for the weakness and supports us through all our failings of faith, courage and patience. It” makes the blind to see and the lame to stride over the hills.” The intellect becomes aware of a Law that beneficently insists and a Succour that upholds; the heart speaks of a Master of all things and Friend of man or a universal Mother who upholds through all stumblings. Therefore this path is at once the most difficult imaginable and yet in comparison with the magnitude of its effort and object, the most easy and sure of all.

There are three outstanding features of this action of the higher when it works integrally on the lower nature. In the first place, it does not act according to a fixed system and succession as in the specialised methods of Yoga, but with a sort of free, scattered and yet gradually intensive and purposeful working determined by the temperament of the individual in whom it operates, the helpful materials which his nature offers and the obstacles which it presents to purification and perfection. In a sense, therefore, each man in this path has his own method of Yoga. Yet are there certain broad lines of working common to all which enable us to construct not indeed a routine system, but yet some kind of Shastra or scientific method of the synthetic Yoga.

Secondly, the process, being integral, accepts our nature such as it stands organised by our past evolution and without rejecting anything essential compels all to undergo a divine change. Everything in us is seized by the hands of a mighty Artificer and transformed into a clear image of that which it now seeks confusedly to present. In that ever-progressive experience we begin to perceive how this lower manifestation is constituted and that everything in it, however seemingly deformed or petty or vile, is the more or less distorted or imperfect figure of some elements or action in the harmony of the divine Nature. We begin to understand what the Vedic Rishis meant when they spoke of the human forefathers fashioning the gods as a smith forges the crude material in his smithy.

Thirdly, the divine Power in us uses all life as the means of this integral Yoga. Every experience and outer contact with our world-environment, however trifling or however disastrous, is used for the work, and every inner experience, even to the most repellent suffering or the most humiliating fall, becomes a step on the path to perfection. And we recognise in ourselves with opened eyes the method of God in the world, His purpose of light in the obscure, of might in the weak and fallen, of delight in what is grievous and miserable. We see the divine method to be the same in the lower and in the higher working; only in the one it is pursued tardily and obscurely through the subconscious in Nature, in the other it becomes swift and selfconscious and the instrument confesses the hand of the Master. All life is a Yoga of Nature seeking to manifest God within itself. Yoga marks the stage at which this effort becomes capable of self-awareness and therefore of right completion in the individual. It is a gathering up and concentration of the movements dispersed and loosely combined in the lower evolution.

Key-methods ::: The way to devotion and surrender. It is the psychic movement that brings the constant and pure devotion and the removal of the ego that makes it possible to surrender.

The way to knowledge. Meditation in the head by which there comes the opening above, the quietude or silence of the mind and the descent of peace etc. of the higher consciousness generally till it envelops the being and fills the body and begins to take up all the movements.
Yoga by works ::: Separation of the Purusha from the Prakriti, the inner silent being from the outer active one, so that one has two consciousnesses or a double consciousness, one behind watching and observing and finally controlling and changing the other which is active in front. The other way of beginning the yoga of works is by doing them for the Divine, for the Mother, and not for oneself, consecrating and dedicating them till one concretely feels the Divine Force taking up the activities and doing them for one.

Object of the Integral Yoga is to enter into and be possessed by the Divine Presence and Consciousness, to love the Divine for the Divine’s sake alone, to be tuned in our nature into the nature of the Divine, and in our will and works and life to be the instrument of the Divine.

Principle of the Integral Yoga ::: The whole principle of Integral Yoga is to give oneself entirely to the Divine alone and to nobody else, and to bring down into ourselves by union with the Divine Mother all the transcendent light, power, wideness, peace, purity, truth-consciousness and Ānanda of the Supramental Divine.

Central purpose of the Integral Yoga ::: Transformation of our superficial, narrow and fragmentary human way of thinking, seeing, feeling and being into a deep and wide spiritual consciousness and an integrated inner and outer existence and of our ordinary human living into the divine way of life.

Fundamental realisations of the Integral Yoga ::: The psychic change so that a complete devotion can be the main motive of the heart and the ruler of thought, life and action in constant union with the Mother and in her Presence. The descent of the Peace, Power, Light etc. of the Higher Consciousness through the head and heart into the whole being, occupying the very cells of the body. The perception of the One and Divine infinitely everywhere, the Mother everywhere and living in that infinite consciousness.

Results ::: First, an integral realisation of Divine Being; not only a realisation of the One in its indistinguishable unity, but also in its multitude of aspects which are also necessary to the complete knowledge of it by the relative consciousness; not only realisation of unity in the Self, but of unity in the infinite diversity of activities, worlds and creatures.

Therefore, also, an integral liberation. Not only the freedom born of unbroken contact of the individual being in all its parts with the Divine, sāyujya mukti, by which it becomes free even in its separation, even in the duality; not only the sālokya mukti by which the whole conscious existence dwells in the same status of being as the Divine, in the state of Sachchidananda ; but also the acquisition of the divine nature by the transformation of this lower being into the human image of the divine, sādharmya mukti, and the complete and final release of all, the liberation of the consciousness from the transitory mould of the ego and its unification with the One Being, universal both in the world and the individual and transcendentally one both in the world and beyond all universe.

By this integral realisation and liberation, the perfect harmony of the results of Knowledge, Love and Works. For there is attained the complete release from ego and identification in being with the One in all and beyond all. But since the attaining consciousness is not limited by its attainment, we win also the unity in Beatitude and the harmonised diversity in Love, so that all relations of the play remain possible to us even while we retain on the heights of our being the eternal oneness with the Beloved. And by a similar wideness, being capable of a freedom in spirit that embraces life and does not depend upon withdrawal from life, we are able to become without egoism, bondage or reaction the channel in our mind and body for a divine action poured out freely upon the world.

The divine existence is of the nature not only of freedom, but of purity, beatitude and perfection. In integral purity which shall enable on the one hand the perfect reflection of the divine Being in ourselves and on the other the perfect outpouring of its Truth and Law in us in the terms of life and through the right functioning of the complex instrument we are in our outer parts, is the condition of an integral liberty. Its result is an integral beatitude, in which there becomes possible at once the Ānanda of all that is in the world seen as symbols of the Divine and the Ānanda of that which is not-world. And it prepares the integral perfection of our humanity as a type of the Divine in the conditions of the human manifestation, a perfection founded on a certain free universality of being, of love and joy, of play of knowledge and of play of will in power and will in unegoistic action. This integrality also can be attained by the integral Yoga.

Sādhanā of the Integral Yoga does not proceed through any set mental teaching or prescribed forms of meditation, mantras or others, but by aspiration, by a self-concentration inwards or upwards, by a self-opening to an Influence, to the Divine Power above us and its workings, to the Divine Presence in the heart and by the rejection of all that is foreign to these things. It is only by faith, aspiration and surrender that this self-opening can come.

The yoga does not proceed by upadeśa but by inner influence.

Integral Yoga and Gita ::: The Gita’s Yoga consists in the offering of one’s work as a sacrifice to the Divine, the conquest of desire, egoless and desireless action, bhakti for the Divine, an entering into the cosmic consciousness, the sense of unity with all creatures, oneness with the Divine. This yoga adds the bringing down of the supramental Light and Force (its ultimate aim) and the transformation of the nature.

Our yoga is not identical with the yoga of the Gita although it contains all that is essential in the Gita’s yoga. In our yoga we begin with the idea, the will, the aspiration of the complete surrender; but at the same time we have to reject the lower nature, deliver our consciousness from it, deliver the self involved in the lower nature by the self rising to freedom in the higher nature. If we do not do this double movement, we are in danger of making a tamasic and therefore unreal surrender, making no effort, no tapas and therefore no progress ; or else we make a rajasic surrender not to the Divine but to some self-made false idea or image of the Divine which masks our rajasic ego or something still worse.

Integral Yoga, Gita and Tantra ::: The Gita follows the Vedantic tradition which leans entirely on the Ishvara aspect of the Divine and speaks little of the Divine Mother because its object is to draw back from world-nature and arrive at the supreme realisation beyond it.

The Tantric tradition leans on the Shakti or Ishvari aspect and makes all depend on the Divine Mother because its object is to possess and dominate the world-nature and arrive at the supreme realisation through it.

This yoga insists on both the aspects; the surrender to the Divine Mother is essential, for without it there is no fulfilment of the object of the yoga.

Integral Yoga and Hatha-Raja Yogas ::: For an integral yoga the special methods of Rajayoga and Hathayoga may be useful at times in certain stages of the progress, but are not indispensable. Their principal aims must be included in the integrality of the yoga; but they can be brought about by other means. For the methods of the integral yoga must be mainly spiritual, and dependence on physical methods or fixed psychic or psychophysical processes on a large scale would be the substitution of a lower for a higher action. Integral Yoga and Kundalini Yoga: There is a feeling of waves surging up, mounting to the head, which brings an outer unconsciousness and an inner waking. It is the ascending of the lower consciousness in the ādhāra to meet the greater consciousness above. It is a movement analogous to that on which so much stress is laid in the Tantric process, the awakening of the Kundalini, the Energy coiled up and latent in the body and its mounting through the spinal cord and the centres (cakras) and the Brahmarandhra to meet the Divine above. In our yoga it is not a specialised process, but a spontaneous upnish of the whole lower consciousness sometimes in currents or waves, sometimes in a less concrete motion, and on the other side a descent of the Divine Consciousness and its Force into the body.

Integral Yoga and other Yogas ::: The old yogas reach Sachchidananda through the spiritualised mind and depart into the eternally static oneness of Sachchidananda or rather pure Sat (Existence), absolute and eternal or else a pure Non-exist- ence, absolute and eternal. Ours having realised Sachchidananda in the spiritualised mind plane proceeds to realise it in the Supramcntal plane.

The suprcfhe supra-cosmic Sachchidananda is above all. Supermind may be described as its power of self-awareness and W’orld- awareness, the world being known as within itself and not out- side. So to live consciously in the supreme Sachchidananda one must pass through the Supermind.

Distinction ::: The realisation of Self and of the Cosmic being (without which the realisation of the Self is incomplete) are essential steps in our yoga ; it is the end of other yogas, but it is, as it were, the beginning of outs, that is to say, the point where its own characteristic realisation can commence.

It is new as compared with the old yogas (1) Because it aims not at a departure out of world and life into Heaven and Nir- vana, but at a change of life and existence, not as something subordinate or incidental, but as a distinct and central object.

If there is a descent in other yogas, yet it is only an incident on the way or resulting from the ascent — the ascent is the real thing. Here the ascent is the first step, but it is a means for the descent. It is the descent of the new coosdousness attain- ed by the ascent that is the stamp and seal of the sadhana. Even the Tantra and Vaishnavism end in the release from life ; here the object is the divine fulfilment of life.

(2) Because the object sought after is not an individual achievement of divine realisation for the sake of the individual, but something to be gained for the earth-consciousness here, a cosmic, not solely a supra-cosmic acbievement. The thing to be gained also is the bringing of a Power of consciousness (the Supramental) not yet organised or active directly in earth-nature, even in the spiritual life, but yet to be organised and made directly active.

(3) Because a method has been preconized for achieving this purpose which is as total and integral as the aim set before it, viz., the total and integral change of the consciousness and nature, taking up old methods, but only as a part action and present aid to others that are distinctive.

Integral Yoga and Patanjali Yoga ::: Cilia is the stuff of mixed mental-vital-physical consciousness out of which arise the movements of thought, emotion, sensation, impulse etc.

It is these that in the Patanjali system have to be stilled altogether so that the consciousness may be immobile and go into Samadhi.

Our yoga has a different function. The movements of the ordinary consciousness have to be quieted and into the quietude there has to be brought down a higher consciousness and its powers which will transform the nature.


Integrated Services Digital Network "communications" (ISDN) A set of communications {standards} allowing a single wire or {optical fibre} to carry voice, digital network services and video. ISDN is intended to eventually replace the {plain old telephone system}. ISDN was first published as one of the 1984 {ITU-T} {Red Book} recommendations. The 1988 {Blue Book} recommendations added many new features. ISDN uses mostly existing {Public Switched Telephone Network} (PSTN) switches and wiring, upgraded so that the basic "call" is a 64 kilobits per second, all-digital end-to-end channel. {Packet} and {frame} modes are also provided in some places. There are different kinds of ISDN connection of varying bandwidth (see {DS level}): DS0 =  1 channel PCM at   64 kbps T1 or DS1 = 24 channels PCM at 1.54 Mbps T1C or DS1C = 48 channels PCM at 3.15 Mbps T2 or DS2 = 96 channels PCM at 6.31 Mbps T3 or DS3 = 672 channels PCM at 44.736 Mbps T4 or DS4 = 4032 channels PCM at 274.1 Mbps Each channel here is equivalent to one voice channel. DS0 is the lowest level of the circuit. T1C, T2 and T4 are rarely used, except maybe for T2 over microwave links. For some reason 64 kbps is never called "T0". A {Basic Rate Interface} (BRI) is two 64K "bearer" channels and a single "delta" channel ("2B+D"). A {Primary Rate Interface} (PRI) in North America and Japan consists of 24 channels, usually 23 B + 1 D channel with the same physical interface as T1. Elsewhere the PRI usually has 30 B + 1 D channel and an {E1} interface. A {Terminal Adaptor} (TA) can be used to connect ISDN channels to existing interfaces such as {EIA-232} and {V.35}. Different services may be requested by specifying different values in the "Bearer Capability" field in the call setup message. One ISDN service is "telephony" (i.e. voice), which can be provided using less than the full 64 kbps bandwidth (64 kbps would provide for 8192 eight-bit samples per second) but will require the same special processing or {bit diddling} as ordinary PSTN calls. Data calls have a Bearer Capability of "64 kbps unrestricted". ISDN is offered by local telephone companies, but most readily in Australia, France, Japan and Singapore, with the UK somewhat behind and availability in the USA rather spotty. (In March 1994) ISDN deployment in Germany is quite impressive, although (or perhaps, because) they use a specifically German signalling specification, called {1.TR.6}. The French {Numeris} also uses a non-standard protocol (called {VN4}; the 4th version), but the popularity of ISDN in France is probably lower than in Germany, given the ludicrous pricing. There is also a specifically-Belgian V1 experimental system. The whole of Europe is now phasing in {Euro-ISDN}. See also {Frame Relay}, {Network Termination}, {SAPI}. {FAQ (ftp://src.doc.ic.ac.uk/usenet/news-info/comp.dcom.isdn/)}. {Usenet} newsgroup: {news:comp.dcom.isdn}. (1998-03-29)

Integrated Services Digital Network ::: (communications) (ISDN) A set of communications standards allowing a single wire or optical fibre to carry voice, digital network services and video. ISDN is intended to eventually replace the plain old telephone system.ISDN was first published as one of the 1984 ITU-T Red Book recommendations. The 1988 Blue Book recommendations added many new features. ISDN uses mostly so that the basic call is a 64 kilobits per second, all-digital end-to-end channel. Packet and frame modes are also provided in some places.There are different kinds of ISDN connection of varying bandwidth (see DS level): DS0 = 1 channel PCM at 64 kbpsT1 or DS1 = 24 channels PCM at 1.54 Mbps used, except maybe for T2 over microwave links. For some reason 64 kbps is never called T0.A Basic Rate Interface (BRI) is two 64K bearer channels and a single delta channel (2B+D). A Primary Rate Interface (PRI) in North America and Japan interface as T1. Elsewhere the PRI usually has 30 B + 1 D channel and an E1 interface.A Terminal Adaptor (TA) can be used to connect ISDN channels to existing interfaces such as EIA-232 and V.35.Different services may be requested by specifying different values in the Bearer Capability field in the call setup message. One ISDN service is require the same special processing or bit diddling as ordinary PSTN calls. Data calls have a Bearer Capability of 64 kbps unrestricted.ISDN is offered by local telephone companies, but most readily in Australia, France, Japan and Singapore, with the UK somewhat behind and availability in the USA rather spotty.(In March 1994) ISDN deployment in Germany is quite impressive, although (or perhaps, because) they use a specifically German signalling specification, Germany, given the ludicrous pricing. There is also a specifically-Belgian V1 experimental system. The whole of Europe is now phasing in Euro-ISDN.See also Frame Relay, Network Termination, SAPI. .Usenet newsgroup: comp.dcom.isdn. (1998-03-29)

  "In the spiritual sense, however, sacrifice has a different meaning — it does not so much indicate giving up what is held dear as an offering of oneself, one"s being, one"s mind, heart, will, body, life, actions to the Divine. It has the original sense of ‘making sacred" and is used as an equivalent of the word yajna. When the Gita speaks of the ‘sacrifice of knowledge", it does not mean a giving up of anything, but a turning of the mind towards the Divine in the search for knowledge and an offering of oneself through it. It is in this sense, too, that one speaks of the offering or sacrifice of works. The Mother has written somewhere that the spiritual sacrifice is joyful and not painful in its nature. On the spiritual path, very commonly, if a seeker still feels the old ties and responsibilities strongly he is not asked to sever or leave them, but to let the call in him grow till all within is ready. Many, indeed, come away earlier because they feel that to cut loose is their only chance, and these have to go sometimes through a struggle. But the pain, the struggle, is not the essential character of this spiritual self-offering.” Letters on Yoga

“In the spiritual sense, however, sacrifice has a different meaning—it does not so much indicate giving up what is held dear as an offering of oneself, one’s being, one’s mind, heart, will, body, life, actions to the Divine. It has the original sense of ‘making sacred’ and is used as an equivalent of the word yajna. When the Gita speaks of the ‘sacrifice of knowledge’, it does not mean a giving up of anything, but a turning of the mind towards the Divine in the search for knowledge and an offering of oneself through it. It is in this sense, too, that one speaks of the offering or sacrifice of works. The Mother has written somewhere that the spiritual sacrifice is joyful and not painful in its nature. On the spiritual path, very commonly, if a seeker still feels the old ties and responsibilities strongly he is not asked to sever or leave them, but to let the call in him grow till all within is ready. Many, indeed, come away earlier because they feel that to cut loose is their only chance, and these have to go sometimes through a struggle. But the pain, the struggle, is not the essential character of this spiritual self-offering.” Letters on Yoga

Invocation ::: The calling forth of an entity, current, or archetype within oneself. Usually contrasted with evocation which is viewed as a calling forth outside of oneself ike in a temple or at an altar. But an invocation can also be thought of as a calling forth of a more cosmic deity or power such as an archangel regardless of whether it actually inhabits the body of the summoner. It's a matter of context and the system used.

KA9Q ::: (networking) A popular implementation of TCP/IP and associated protocols for amateur packet radio systems and personal computers connected via serial lines. It was named after the call-sign of Phil Karn - the radio ham who first wrote it for MS-DOS on the IBM PC.KA9Q is currently maintained by Anthony Frost . It has been ported to the Archimedes by Jonathan Naylor (G4KLX).[FTP?] (1994-11-08)

KA9Q "networking" A popular implementation of {TCP/IP} and associated {protocols} for amateur {packet radio} systems and {personal computers} connected via {serial lines}. It was named after the call-sign of Phil Karn - the radio ham who first wrote it for {MS-DOS} on the {IBM PC}. KA9Q is currently maintained by Anthony Frost "vulch@kernow.demon.co.uk" (call-sign G8UDV) and Adam Goodfellow "tcpip2@comptech.demon.co.uk". It has been ported to the {Archimedes} by Jonathan Naylor (G4KLX). [FTP?] (1994-11-08)

last call optimisation ::: Normally when procedure A calls procedures B, C, .., Z, the environment of procedure A is only discarded when procedure Z returns and procedure A itself called. This allows arbitrarily deep nesting of procedure calls without consuming memory to store useless environments.A special case of this is tail recursion optimisation where the last procedure called is the calling procedure itself.

last call optimisation "programming" (Or "tail call optimisation") Discarding the immediate calling context ({call stack} {frame}) when the last action of a function or procedure, A, is to call another function or procedure, B. B will then return directly to A's caller, or possibly further up the call stack if the optimisation has been applied to several consecutive calls. Last call optimisation allows arbitrarily deep nesting of procedure calls without consuming memory to store useless environments. This is particularly useful in the special case of {tail recursion optimisation}, where a procedure's last action is to call itself (possibly indirectly). (2007-03-16)

lowing ::: p. pr. & vb. n. --> of Low ::: n. --> The calling sound made by cows and other bovine animals.

low ::: --> strong imp. of Laugh. ::: v. i. --> To make the calling sound of cows and other bovine animals; to moo.
To burn; to blaze.


Magoksa. (麻谷寺). In Korean, "Hemp Valley Monastery"; the sixth district monastery (PONSA) of the contemporary CHOGYE CHONG of Korean Buddhism, located on T'aehwasan (Exalted Splendor Mountain) outside the city of Kongju in South Ch'ungch'ong province. The origins of the monastery and its name are obscure. One record claims that Magoksa was established by the Silla VINAYA master CHAJANG (fl. c. 590-658) in 643; because so many people attended Chajang's dharma lecture at the monastery's founding, the audience was said to have been "as dense as hemp stalks," so the Sinograph for "hemp" (ma) was given to the name of the monastery. This claim is, however, suspect since the monastery is located in what was then the territory of Silla's rival Paekche. A second theory is that the monastery was founded in 845 by Muju Muyom (799-888), founder of the Songjusan school of the Nine Mountains school of Son (KUSAN SoNMUN). When Muyom returned to Silla in 845 from his training in China, he is said to have named the monastery after his Chinese CHAN teacher Magu Baoche (K. Magok Poch'ol; b. 720?). Finally, it is also said that the monastery's name simply derives from the fact that hemp was grown in the valley before the monastery's establishment. In 1172, during the Koryo dynasty, Magoksa was significantly expanded in scope by POJO CHINUL (1158-1210) and his disciple Suu (d.u.), who turned it into a major monastery in the region. Following the Japanese Hideyoshi invasions of 1592-1598, the monastery sat destroyed for some sixty years until several of its shrine halls were reconstructed by Kakch'ong (d.u.) in 1651 and the monastery returned to prominence. The Taegwang pojon (Basilica of Great Brightness) is Magoksa's central sanctuary and enshrines an image of the buddha VAIROCANA; the building was reconstructed in 1172 by Pojo Chinul and again in 1651. In front of the basilica is a juniper tree planted by the independence fighter Kim Ku (1876-1949), who later lived at the monastery as a monk. Magoksa's main buddha hall (taeung pojon; see TAEUNG CHoN) enshrines a sĀKYAMUNI Buddha statue that is flanked by AMITĀBHA and BHAIsAJYAGURU, and the calligraphy hanging outside this hall is reported to be that of Kim Saeng (711-790/791), one of Silla's most famous calligraphers. One of Magoksa's unique structures is its five-story, Koryo-era stone pagoda, which is built upon a two-story-high stone base; its bronze cap suggests Tibetan influences that may have entered Korea via the Mongol Yuan dynasty. It is one of only three STuPAs of similar style known to exist worldwide. The Yongsan chon (Vulture Peak Hall) is decorated with paintings of the eight stereotypical episodes in the life of the Buddha (p'alsang; see C. BAXIANG); it is also called the Ch'onbul chon, or Thousand Buddhas Hall, for the many buddha statues enshrined around the inside perimeter of the hall. The building, which was reconstructed by Kakch'ong in 1651, is today's Magoksa's oldest extant building, with a plaque that may display the calligraphy of King Sejo (r. 1455-1468).

Mental call (in difficulty): there is only one way if you cannot. exert your will: it is lo call the Force; csen the call

Object Request Broker "programming" (ORB) Part of the {OMG} {CORBA} specification, an ORB's basic function is to pass {method} invocation requests to the correct {objects} and return the results to the caller. To achieve this the ORB must be able must be able to identify and locate objects, handle connections from invoker and the data returned from methods. Communication between the ORB and applications are achieved through {IDL} stubs and skeletons whilst the OMG has specified {IIOP} as the protocol through which ORBs may communicate with each other. Using IIOP, an ORB may request method invocations from a remote object. (2003-11-21)

Object Request Broker ::: (programming) (ORB) Part of the OMG CORBA specification, an ORB's basic function is to pass method invocation requests to the correct objects and return the results to the caller.To achieve this the ORB must be able must be able to identify and locate objects, handle connections from invoker and the data returned from methods. ORBs may communicate with each other. Using IIOP, an ORB may request method invocations from a remote object.(2003-11-21)

Orpheus may be regarded both as an ideal or as a man and teacher. In either case, whether cosmic or terrestrial, Orpheus corresponds to the unceasing attempts of the higher or spiritual ego to raise the lower ego out of the toils of matter, much as in the Gnostic story the Christos attempts to raises the Sophia, his own lower self or vehicle, out of the mire and toils of the inferior worlds. If the call of impersonal compassion be so strong that it become personal, in other words if Orpheus looks back to see and becomes attracted to the lower planes, he loses his Eurydice. Eurydice means “wide judgment,” the function of reason in the human constitution. Orpheus here would represent intuition, and Eurydice the reason: manas sunk in the earthly nature is raised to wisdom through buddhi.

out "programming" A type or "mode" of {function} {parameter} that passes information in one direction - from the function to the caller. An "out" parameter thus provides an additional {return value}, typically for languages that don't have good support for returning {data structures} like {lists}. Other modes are {in} and {inout}. (2010-01-19)

overhead ::: 1. Resources (in computing usually processing time or storage space) consumed for purposes which are incidental to, but necessary to, the main one. Overheads are usually quantifiable costs of some kind.Examples: The overheads in running a business include the cost of heating the building. Keeping a program running all the time eliminates the overhead of inline code eliminates the call and return time overhead for each execution but introduces space overheads.2. (communications) information, such as control, routing, and error checking characters, that is transmitted along with the user data. It also includes information such as network status or operational instructions, network routing information, and retransmissions of user data received in error.3. Overhead transparencies or slides (usually 8-1/2 x 11) that are projected to an audience via an overhead (flatbed) projector. (1997-09-01)

overhead 1. Resources (in computing usually processing time or storage space) consumed for purposes which are incidental to, but necessary to, the main one. Overheads are usually quantifiable "costs" of some kind. Examples: The overheads in running a business include the cost of heating the building. Keeping a program running all the time eliminates the overhead of loading and initialising it for each transaction. Turning a {subroutine} into {inline} code eliminates the call and return time overhead for each execution but introduces space overheads. 2. "communications" information, such as control, routing, and error checking characters, that is transmitted along with the user data. It also includes information such as network status or operational instructions, network routing information, and retransmissions of user data received in error. 3. Overhead transparencies or "slides" (usually 8-1/2" x 11") that are projected to an audience via an overhead (flatbed) projector. (1997-09-01)

Phonetastic "communications" A {CTI} product from {Callware}. Phonetastic employs if-then rules and customer records to tell those receiving calls who is calling (based on {ANI} and {DNIS}) and to determine how the call should be routed, e.g. to a certain sales representative or to the general sales department; receive high-priority treatment; receive a fax-back, etc. (1996-12-08)

Pongwonsa. (奉元寺). In Korean, "Respecting Primacy Monastery"; the head monastery of the T'AEGO CHONG of Korean Buddhism. Pongwonsa was founded in 889 by state preceptor (K. kuksa; C. GUOSHI) TOSoN (827-898) on the grounds of what is currently the campus of Yonsei University in Seoul. It was moved by the great masters (TAESA) Ch'anjŭp and Chŭngam up the hill overlooking the present-day sites of Yonsei and Ewha universities in 1748, during the reign of king Yongjo (r. 1724-1776). During the reign of the next king, Chongjo (r. 1776-1800), an institute to reform and police Buddhism was established at Pongwonsa. A signboard for the monastery shows the calligraphy of the noted Confucian scholar Chong Tojon (1337-1398). The monastery is arguably the most beautiful in Seoul, partially due to the now well-weathered reconstruction carried out in 1911 by abbot Yi Podam (1859-?). The present main shrine hall (TAEUNG CHoN) was built in 1966. Today the monastery is well known for its association with Korean Buddhist art and culture. Not only is it the current home of the troupe of monks who perform and preserve the Buddhist rite YoNGSANJAE, including the dances NABICH'UM, PARACH'UM, and PoPKO CH'UM, and the chanting of pomp'ae (C. FANBAI), but it has also been home to the premier master of TANCH'oNG and other types of Buddhist painting. The monastery also houses the Okchon Buddhist Music College, which trains laity as well as monks and nuns from other sects of Buddhism in traditional Korean music.

Pratyeka Buddha(Sanskrit) ::: Pratyeka is a compound of two words: prati, prepositional prefix meaning "towards" or "for";eka, the numeral "one"; thus we can translate the compound by the paraphrase "each one for himself."The Pratyeka Buddha, he who achieves buddhahood for himself, instead of feeling the call of almightylove to return and help those who have gone less far, goes ahead into the supernal light -- passes onwardsand enters the unspeakable bliss of nirvana -- and leaves mankind behind. Though exalted, neverthelesshe does not rank with the unutterable sublimity of the Buddha of Compassion.The Pratyeka Buddha concentrates his energies on the one objective -- spiritual self-advancement: heraises himself to the spiritual realm of his own inner being, enwraps himself therein and, so to speak,goes to sleep. The Buddha of Compassion raises himself, as does the Pratyeka Buddha, to the spiritualrealms of his own inner being, but does not stop there, because he expands continuously, becomes onewith All, or tries to, and in fact does so in time. When the Pratyeka Buddha in due course emerges fromthe nirvanic state in order to take up his evolutionary journey again, he will find himself far in the rear ofthe Buddha of Compassion.

Preliminary Rite ::: A rite that precedes a greater and more elaborate ritual or undertaking. Usually these are rites designed to center awareness, purify thought, and/or attune to a particular current or paradigm. "The Calling of the Sevenths to Induce Equilibrium" and LBRP are examples of preliminary rites with the LBRP also being a zone rite.

"Pulling comes usually from a desire to get things for oneself — in aspiration there is a self-giving for the higher consciousness to descend and take possession — the more intense the call the greater the self-giving.” Letters on Yoga

“Pulling comes usually from a desire to get things for oneself—in aspiration there is a self-giving for the higher consciousness to descend and take possession—the more intense the call the greater the self-giving.” Letters on Yoga

RADHA-KRISHNA. ::: The true symbol for it would not be the human sex-attraction, but the soul, the psychic, hearing the call of the Divine and flowering into the complete love and sur- render that brings the supreme Ananda.

real-time ::: 1. Describes an application which requires a program to respond to stimuli within some small upper limit of response time (typically milli- or applications often require special operating systems (because everything else must take a back seat to response time) and speed-tuned hardware.2. In jargon, refers to doing something while people are watching or waiting. I asked her how to find the calling procedure's program counter on the stack and she came up with an algorithm in real time.Used to describe a system that must guarantee a response to an external event within a given time. (1997-11-23)

real-time 1. Describes an application which requires a program to respond to stimuli within some small upper limit of response time (typically milli- or microseconds). Process control at a chemical plant is the classic example. Such applications often require special operating systems (because everything else must take a back seat to response time) and speed-tuned hardware. 2. In jargon, refers to doing something while people are watching or waiting. "I asked her how to find the calling procedure's program counter on the stack and she came up with an algorithm in real time." Used to describe a system that must guarantee a response to an external event within a given time. (1997-11-23)

recursion ::: (mathematics, programming) When a function (or procedure) calls itself. Such a function is called recursive. If the call is via one or more other functions then this group of functions are called mutually recursive.If a function will always call itself, however it is called, then it will never terminate. Usually however, it first performs some test on its arguments to check for a base case - a condition under which it can return a value without calling itself.The canonical example of a recursive function is factorial: factorial 0 = 1 factorial n = n * factorial (n-1) Functional programming languages rely heavily on recursion, using it where a procedural language would use iteration.See also recursion, recursive definition, tail recursion.[Jargon File] (1996-05-11)

recursion "mathematics, programming" When a {function} (or {procedure}) calls itself. Such a function is called "recursive". If the call is via one or more other functions then this group of functions are called "mutually recursive". If a function will always call itself, however it is called, then it will never terminate. Usually however, it first performs some test on its arguments to check for a "base case" - a condition under which it can return a value without calling itself. The {canonical} example of a recursive function is {factorial}: factorial 0 = 1 factorial n = n * factorial (n-1) {Functional programming languages} rely heavily on recursion, using it where a {procedural language} would use {iteration}. See also {recursion}, {recursive definition}, {tail recursion}. [{Jargon File}] (1996-05-11)

recursion ::: (mathematics, programming) When a function (or procedure) calls itself. Such a function is called recursive. If the call is via one or more other functions then this group of functions are called mutually recursive.If a function will always call itself, however it is called, then it will never terminate. Usually however, it first performs some test on its arguments to check for a base case - a condition under which it can return a value without calling itself.The canonical example of a recursive function is factorial: factorial 0 = 1factorial n = n * factorial (n-1) Functional programming languages rely heavily on recursion, using it where a procedural language would use iteration.See also recursion, recursive definition, tail recursion.[Jargon File] (1996-05-11)

re-entrant "programming" Used to describe code which can have multiple simultaneous, interleaved, or nested invocations which will not interfere with each other. This is important for {parallel processing}, {recursive} functions or subroutines, and {interrupt handling}. It is usually easy to arrange for multiple invocations (e.g. calls to a subroutine) to share one copy of the code and any read-only data but, for the code to be re-entrant, each invocation must use its own copy of any modifiable data (or synchronised access to shared data). This is most often achieved using a {stack} and allocating local variables in a new {stack frame} for each invocation. Alternatively, the caller may pass in a pointer to a block of memory which that invocation can use (usually for outputting the result) or the code may allocate some memory on a {heap}, especially if the data must survive after the routine returns. Re-entrant code is often found in system software, such as {operating systems} and {teleprocessing monitors}. It is also a crucial component of {multithreaded} programs where the term "thread-safe" is often used instead of "re-entrant". (1996-12-21)

Remote Procedure Call "networking, programming" (RPC) A {protocol} which allows a program running on one {host} to cause code to be executed on another host without the programmer needing to explicitly code for this. RPC is an easy and popular paradigm for implementing the {client-server} model of {distributed computing}. An RPC is initiated by the caller (client) sending request message to a remote system (the server) to execute a certain procedure using arguments supplied. A result message is returned to the caller. There are many variations and subtleties in various implementations, resulting in a variety of different (incompatible) RPC {protocols}. {Sun} RPC is defined in {RFC 1057} and {ONC} RPC in {RFC 1831}. (2003-06-04)

service provider "communications" An organisation that provides a service by telephone, such as an 0800 (toll free) number. The service provider buys the services of a telecom supplier (e.g. BT) but advertises the service and deals with the calls itself. Increasingly, service providers are now also managing their advanced {call-routing}. (1996-08-27)

snap 1. "programming" To remove indirection, e.g. by replacing a {pointer} to a pointer with a pointer to the final target (see {chase pointers}). The underlying metaphor may be a rubber band stretched through a number of points; if you release it from the intermediate points, it snaps to a straight line from first to last. Often a {trampoline} performs an error check once and then snaps the pointer that invoked it so subsequent calls will bypass the trampoline (and its one-shot error check). In this context one also speaks of "snapping links". For example, in a {Lisp} implementation, a function interface trampoline might check to make sure that the caller is passing the correct number of arguments; if it is, and if the caller and the callee are both compiled, then snapping the link allows that particular path to use a direct procedure-call instruction with no further overhead. [{Jargon File}] (2006-05-27) 2. "operating system" {snap dump}. (2006-05-27)

*Sri Aurobindo: "The flute is the call of the Divine Love;” Letters on Yoga ::: "The flute is the symbol of a call — usually the spiritual call.” Letters on Yoga

Standard ML ::: (language) (SML) Originally an attempt by Robin Milner ca. 1984 to unify the dialects of ML, SML has at AT&T, and A. W. Appel .SML is functional, with imperative features. It is environment based and strict. It adds to ML the call-by-pattern of Hope, recursive data types, reference types, typed exceptions, and modules. (The core language excludes the modules).Standard ML is polymorphically typed and its module system supports flexible yet secure large-scale programming. Standard ML of New Jersey is an optimising documentation; Concurrent ML (CML); eXene - an elegant interface to X11 (based on CML); SourceGroup - a separate compilation and make facility.Implementations: SML/NJ, POPLOG ML, Poly/ML, Edinburgh SML, ANU ML, Micro ML, lazy sml2c.sml2c compiles to C. See also ML Kit.Version 0.93 runs on 68000, SPARC, MIPS, HPPA, RS/6000, Intel 386, Intel 486 and Macintosh. . . .Mailing list: [A Proposal for Standard ML, R. Milner, ACM Symp on LISP and Functional Prog 1984, pp. 184-197]. (1995-12-24)

sticky analysis "theory" A kind of program analysis that uses information from all the call sites of a function or procedure. (1999-06-15)

sticky analysis ::: (theory) A kind of program analysis that uses information from all the call sites of a function or procedure. (1999-06-15)

stub ::: 1. (programming) A dummy procedure used when linking a program with a run-time library. The stub routine need not contain any code and is only present to prevent undefined label errors at link time.2. (programming, networking) A local procedure in a remote procedure call. The client calls the stub to perform some task and need not necessarily be aware that RPC is involved. The stub transmits parameters over the network to the server and returns the results to the caller. (1995-11-09)

stub 1. "programming" A dummy procedure used when linking a program with a {run-time library}. The stub routine need not contain any code and is only present to prevent "undefined label" errors at link time. 2. "programming, networking" A local procedure in a {remote procedure call}. The {client} calls the stub to perform some task and need not necessarily be aware that RPC is involved. The stub transmits parameters over the network to the {server} and returns the results to the caller. (1995-11-09)

subroutine "programming" (Or "procedure") A sequence of {instructions} for performing a particular task. Most programming languages, including most {machine languages}, allow the programmer to define subroutines. This allows the subroutine code to be called from multiple places, even from within itself (in which case it is called {recursive}). The programming language implementation takes care of returning control to (just after) the calling location, usually with the support of call and return instructions at {machine language} level. Most languages also allow {arguments} to be passed to the subroutine, and one, or occasionally more, {return values} to be passed back. A {function} is often very similar to a subroutine, the main difference being that it is called chiefly for its return value, rather than for any {side effects}. (1996-10-01)

subroutine ::: (programming) (Or procedure) A sequence of instructions for performing a particular task. Most programming languages, including most machine languages, returning control to (just after) the calling location, usually with the support of call and return instructions at machine language level.Most languages also allow arguments to be passed to the subroutine, and one, or occasionally more, return values to be passed back.A function is often very similar to a subroutine, the main difference being that it is called chiefly for its return value, rather than for any side effects. (1996-10-01)

tail recursion optimisation "programming" (TRO) Discarding the calling environment ({call stack} {frame}) when the last thing a function or procedure does is to call itself. This is important when a procedure calls itself {recursive}ly many times since, without tail recursion optimisation, the environments of earlier invocations would fill up the memory only to be discarded when (if) the last call terminated. Tail recursion optimisation is a special case of {last call optimisation} but it allows the further optimisation that some arguments may be passed in situ, possibly in {registers}. It allows recursive functions to be compiled into {iterative} loops. See also {conversion to iteration}, {tail recursion modulo cons}. (2006-04-16)

tail recursion optimisation ::: (programming) (TRO) When the last thing a function or procedure does is to call itself, it is not necessary to retain the calling environment. This is tail recursion optimisation, the environments of earlier invocations would fill up the memory only to be discarded when (if) the last call terminated.Tail recursion optimisation is a special case of last call optimisation but it allows the further optimisation that some arguments may be passed in situ, possibly in registers. It allows recursive functions to be compiled into iterative loops.See also conversion to iteration, tail recursion modulo cons.(2006-04-16)

tail recursion "programming" When the last thing a function (or procedure) does is to call itself. Such a function is called tail recursive. A function may make several {recursive} calls but a call is only tail-recursive if the caller returns immediately after it. E.g. f n = if n " 2 then 1 else f (f (n-2) + 1) In this example both calls to f are recursive but only the outer one is tail recursive. Tail recursion is a useful property because it enables {tail recursion optimisation}. If you aren't sick of them already, see {recursion} and {tail recursion}. [{Jargon File}] (2006-04-16)

tail recursion ::: (programming) When the last thing a function (or procedure) does is to call itself. Such a function is called tail recursive. A function may make several recursive calls but a call is only tail-recursive if the caller returns immediately after it. E.g. f n = if n 2 then 1 else f (f (n-2) + 1) In this example both calls to f are recursive but only the outer one is tail recursive.Tail recursion is a useful property because it enables tail recursion optimisation.If you aren't sick of them already, see recursion and tail recursion.[Jargon File](2006-04-16)

The call and the aspiration are only first conditions ; there must be along with them and brought by their effective intensity an opening of all the being to the Divine and a total surrender.

"The call of God is imperative and cannot be weighed against any other considerations.” Essays on the Gita*

“The call of God is imperative and cannot be weighed against any other considerations.” Essays on the Gita

"The call, once decisive, stands; the thing that has been born cannot eventually be stifled. Even if the force of circumstances prevents a regular pursuit or a full practical self-consecration from the first, still the mind has taken its bent and persists and returns with an ever-increasing effect upon its leading preoccupation. There is an ineluctable persistence of the inner being, and against it circumstances are in the end powerless, and no weakness in the nature can for long be an obstacle.” The Synthesis of Yoga

“The call, once decisive, stands; the thing that has been born cannot eventually be stifled. Even if the force of circumstances prevents a regular pursuit or a full practical self-consecration from the first, still the mind has taken its bent and persists and returns with an ever-increasing effect upon its leading preoccupation. There is an ineluctable persistence of the inner being, and against it circumstances are in the end powerless, and no weakness in the nature can for long be an obstacle.” The Synthesis of Yoga

"The flute is the call of the Divine.” Letters on Yoga*

::: "The human vital and physical external nature resist to the very end, but if the soul has once heard the call, it arrives, sooner or later.” Letters on Yoga

“The human vital and physical external nature resist to the very end, but if the soul has once heard the call, it arrives, sooner or later.” Letters on Yoga

To arrive at full possession of the powers of the dream-state, it is necessary first to exclude the attack of the sights, sounds etc. of the outer world upon the physical organs. It is quite possible indeed to be aware in the dream-trance of the outer physical world through the subtle senses which belong to the subtle body ; one may be aware of them just so far as one chooses and on a much wider scale than In the waking condition ; for the subtle senses have a far more powerful range than the gross physical organs, a range which may be made practically unlimited. But this awareness of the phj-sical world through the subtle senses is something quite different from our normal awareness of it through the physical organs ; the latter is incompatible with the settled state of trance, for the pressure of the physical senses breaks the Samadhi and calls back the mind to live in their normal field where alone they have power. But the subtle senses have power both upon their own planes and upon the physical world, though this is to them more remote than their own world of being. In Yoga various devices are used to seal up the doors of the physical sense, some of them physical devices ; but the one all-sufficient means is a force of concentration by which the mind is drawn inward to depths where the call of physical things can no longer easily attain to it. A second necessity is to get rid of the intervention of physical sleep. The ordinary habit of the mind when it goes in away from contact with physical things is to fall into the torpor of sleep or its dreams, and therefore when called in for the purposes of Samadhi, it gives or lends to give, at the first chance, by sheer force of habit, not the response demanded, but its usual response of ph)sical slumber. This habit of the mind has to be got rid of ; the mind has to Icam to be awake in the dream-stale, in possession of itself, not with the outgoing, but with an ingathered wakefulness in which, though immersed in itself, it exercises all its powers.

transfer full "programming" An {introspection annotation} saying that the {memory} pointed to by a {function} {argument} now belongs to the called function, meaning that that function is now responsible for freeing it. Similarly, if a function's return value is annotated as "transfer full" then the caller becomes responsibile for freeing the memory pointed to by the returned value. The opposite is {transfer none}. (2018-08-26)

virtual point of presence (virtual PoP) A point, via which users can connect to an {Internet access provider}, which is not operated by the provider. The user is charged by the telephone company for the call to the virtual point of presence which relays his call via some third party circuit to the Internet provider's central location. This is in contrast to a physical {point of presence} (PoP) which is operated by the Internet provider themselves. The advantage of a virtual PoP is that the provider can keep all their {modems} in one location, thus improving availability and maintenance, but users do not have to pay long-distance call charges to that point. (1994-12-13)

voice mail "messaging, business" Any system for sending, storing and retrieving {audio} messages, like a telephone answering machine. A voice mailbox is typically associated with a telephone number or extension. When the number is called and the line is busy or not answered, the caller hears a message left by the owner and is given instructions for leaving a message or other available options, such as paging the individual or being transferred to an operator. The owner of a mailbox can change the outgoing message or listen to incoming messages after entering a {PIN}. Members of a voice mail system can generally forward or {broadcast} messages to other members' boxes. The experience of two people trying to reach other by telephone but always reaching each other's voice mail is referred to as "(tele)phone tag". (1996-11-03)

voice mail ::: (messaging, business) Any system for sending, storing and retrieving audio messages, like a telephone answering machine.A voice mailbox is typically associated with a telephone number or extension. When the number is called and the line is busy or not answered, the caller hears incoming messages after entering a PIN. Members of a voice mail system can generally forward or broadcast messages to other members' boxes.The experience of two people trying to reach other by telephone but always reaching each other's voice mail is referred to as (tele)phone tag. (1996-11-03)

Will power is a mighty, colorless force or energy which can be set in motion by one who has the power and knowledge to do so. In India, in combination with abstract desire, it is mentioned as one of six primary powers (ichchhasakti) by which the adept accomplishes many of his wonders. “The ancients held that any idea will manifest itself externally, if one’s attention (and Will) is deeply concentrated upon it; similarly, an intense volition will be followed by the desired result . . . For creation is but the result of will acting on phenomenal matter, the calling forth out of the primordial divine Light and eternal Life “(SD 2:173). The occult power of will explains many scientific problems of animate and inanimate matter. In human beings, it may consciously and unconsciously act upon other human wills and upon that of beasts; likewise, it may act upon physical and astral substance to produce various phenomena such as levitation, fire-walking, birthmarks, etc. “Paracelsus teaches that ‘determined will is the beginning of all magical operations. It is because men do not perfectly imagine and believe the result, that the (occult) arts are so uncertain, while they might be perfectly certain’ ” (TG 370).

wrapper "programming" Code which is combined with another piece of {code} to determine how that code is executed. The wrapper acts as an interface between its caller and the wrapped code. This may be done for compatibility, e.g. if the wrapped code is in a different programming language or uses different calling conventions, or for security, e.g. to prevent the calling program from executing certain functions. The implication is that the wrapped code can only be accessed via the wrapper. (1998-12-15)

X.21 "communications, standard" A digital signaling interface recommended by {ITU-T} that includes specifications for {DTE}/{DCE} physical interface elements, alignment of {call control} characters and error checking, elements of the call control phase for {circuit switched} services, data transfer at up to 2 {Mbps}, and {test loops}. 64 {kbps} is the most commonly used transfer rate. (2000-02-28)



QUOTES [54 / 54 - 1027 / 1027]


KEYS (10k)

   39 Sri Aurobindo
   3 Joseph Campbell
   2 Ken Wilber
   2 Sri Ramakrishna
   1 Rainer Maria Rilke
   1 H P Lovecraft
   1 Hermann Hesse
   1 Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche
   1 Bulleh Shah
   1 Alice Bailey
   1 The Mother
   1 Jalaluddin Rumi

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   36 Sri Aurobindo
   25 Anonymous
   16 Dietrich Bonhoeffer
   11 Rick Riordan
   10 Oswald Chambers
   9 Rumi
   8 Joseph Campbell
   7 Paul Kalanithi
   7 Jack London
   6 Rudyard Kipling
   6 George W Bush
   6 Agni Yoga
   5 Rick Yancey
   5 Ralph Waldo Emerson
   5 Martin Luther King Jr
   5 Madeleine L Engle
   5 Colson Whitehead
   4 Viktor E Frankl
   4 Thomas Hardy
   4 Steven Pressfield

1:The past cannot bind the future. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
2:It is the essentials alone that matter. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
3:The palace woke to its own emptiness;
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
4:Almighty powers are shut in Nature's cells. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
5:Eternity speaks, none understands its word; ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
6:A casual passing phrase can change our life. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
7:The Wise who know see but one half of Truth, ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
8:The moon floated, a luminous waif through heaven ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
9:To each his own difficulties seem enormous and radical. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
10:The earth you tread is a border screened from heaven ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
11:We are the heirs of infinite widenesses. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems, The Call of the Impossible,
12:Remember God so much that you are forgotten. Let the caller and the called disappear; be lost in the Call. ~ Jalaluddin Rumi, [T5],
13:One who has the call in him cannot fail to arrive, if he follows patiently the way towards the Divine. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, Purity,
14:The true call upon us is the call of the Infinite and the Supreme. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Life Divine, The Origin and Remedy of Falsehood, Error, Wrong and Evil,
15:Not for a changeless littleness were you meant,
Not for vain repetition were you built ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
16:Authors of earth's high change, to you it is given
To cross the dangerous spaces of the soul ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
17:But like a shining answer from the gods
   Approached through sun-bright spaces Savitri.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest, [T5],
18:One ought not to settle down into a fixed idea of one's own incapacity or allow it to become an obsession. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
19:In moments of trial faith in the Divine protection and the call for that protection; at all times the faith that what the Divine wills is the best. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, Faith,
20:The morn went up into a smiling sky;
Cast from its sapphire pinnacle of trance
Day sank into the burning gold of eve. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
21:There is only one logic in spiritual things: when a demand is there for the Divine, a sincere call, it is bound one day to have its fulfilment. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
22:Where there is a soul that has once become awake, there is surely a capacity within that can outweigh all surface defects and can in the end conquer. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
23:It is by the Grace of the Divine and the aid of a Force greater than your own, not by personal capacity and worth that you can attain the goal of the sadhana. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
24:It is not one's personal fitness and worthiness that makes one succeed, but the Mother's grace and power and the consent of the soul to her grace and the workings of her Force. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
25:He who now stares at the world with ignorant eyes
Hardly from the Inconscient's night aroused,
That look at images and not at Truth,
Can fill those orbs with an immortal's sight. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
26:9. Gods three thousand and three hundred and thirty and nine waited upon the Fire. They anointed him with streams of the clarity, they spread for him the seat of sacrifice, and seated him within as priest of the call.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Hymns To The Mystic Fire,
27:Knowledge of the way is not enough - one must tread it, or if one cannot do that, allow oneself to be carried along it. The human vital and physical external nature resist to the very end, but if the soul has once heard the call, it arrives, sooner or later. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,
28:As when the mantra sinks in Yoga's ear,
Its message enters stirring the blind brain
And keeps in the dim ignorant cells its sound;
The hearer understands a form of words
And, musing on the index thought it holds,
He strives to read it with the l ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
29:The goal of yoga is always hard to reach, but this one is more difficult than any other, and it is only for those who have the call, the capacity, the willingness to face everything and every risk, even the risk of failure, and the will to progress towards an entire selflessness, desirelessness and surrender. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,
30:The life you lead conceals the light you are.
Immortal Powers sweep flaming past your doors;
Far-off upon your tops the god-chant sounds
While to exceed yourselves thought's trumpets call,
Heard by a few, but fewer dare aspire,
The nympholepts of the ecstasy and the blaze.
~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
31:Have I the capacity and are there potentialities in me to follow this path?

   This is not the question, the question is whether you have the necessary aspiration, determination and perseverance and whether you can by the intensity and persistence of your aspiration make all the parts of your being answer to the call and become one in the consecration.
   ~ The Mother, Words Of The Mother II,
32:The boy with the flute is Sri Krishna, the Lord descended into the world-play from the divine Ananda; his flute is the music of the call which seeks to transform the lower ignorant play of mortal life and bring into it and establish in its place the lila of his divine Ananda. It was the psychic being in you that heard the call and followed after it.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - III,
33:Turn Your Face Toward Me
Turn your face toward me, my dear one,
Turn your face toward me!
It is you who inserted the hook in me,
It is you who pulls the cord.
Turn your face toward me!
The call to prayer came from your throne in heaven,
The sound reverberated in Mecca.
Turn your face toward me!
Says Bulla, I will not die,
Though someone else may.
Turn your face toward me!
~ Bulleh Shah,
34:It is occult students for whom search is now being made, and not mystics; it is for clear-thinking men and women that the call has gone forth, and not for the fanatic or for the person who sees nothing but the ideal, and who is unable to work successfully with situations and things as they are, and who cannot, therefore, apply the necessary and unavoidable compromise. ~ Alice Bailey, "The Externalization of the Hierarchy" (1957) p. 654
35:MASTER: "I want you to remember this. You may impart thousands of instructions to people, but they will not bear fruit except in proper time. On going to bed, a child said to his mother, 'Mother, please wake me up when I feel the call of nature.' The mother said: 'Don't worry about it, my child. That call will wake you up itself.' (All laugh.) One feels yearning for God at the proper time. ~ Sri Ramakrishna, Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna,
36:So the call of the Nondual traditions is: Abide as Emptiness, embrace all Form. The liberation is in the Emptiness, never in the Form, but Emptiness embraces all forms as a mirror all its objects. So the Forms continue to arise, and, as the sound of one hand clapping, you are all those Forms. You are the display. You and the universe are One Taste. Your Original Face is the purest Emptiness, and therefore every time you look in the mirror, you see only the entire Kosmos. ~ Ken Wilber, A Brief History of Everything, p. 240,
37:But if we desire to make the most of the opportunity that this life gives us, if we wish to respond adequately to the call we have received and to attain to the goal we have glimpsed, not merely advance a little towards it, it is essential that there should be an entire self-giving. The secret of success in Yoga is to regard it not as one of the aims to be pursued in life, but as the one and only aim, not as an important part of life, but as the whole of life.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga,
38:it is better to wander :::
   it is a deeper and more seldom heard call; yet to follow it when heard is wisest : even, it is better to wander at the call of ones soul than to go apparently straight with the reason and the outward moral mentoR But It is only when the life turns towards the Divine that the soul can truly come forward and impose its power on the outer members; for, itself a spark of the Divine, to grow in flame towards the Divine is its true life and its very reason of existence.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, The Ascent of the Sacrifice - 1,
39:The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.
   ~ H P Lovecraft, The Call Of Cthulhu,
40:Whenever we moderns pause for a moment, and enter the silence, and listen very carefully, the glimmer of our deepest nature begins to shine forth, and we are introduced to the mysteries of the deep, the call of the within, the infinite radiance of a splendor that time and space forgot - we are introduced to the all-pervading Spiritual domain that the growing tip of our honored ancestors were the first to discover. And they were good enough to leave us a general map to that infinite domain, a map called the Great Nest of Being, a map of our own interiors, an archeology of our own Spirit. ~ Ken Wilber, Integral Psychology, p. 190,
41:Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?
And even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,
And we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying.
And so I hold myself back and swallow the call-note of my dark sobbing.
Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need?
Not angels, not humans, and already the knowing animals are aware
That we are not really at home in our interpreted world. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke,
42:In all doubt and depression, to say 'I belong to the Divine, I cannot fail'; to all suggestions of impurity and unfitness, to reply 'I am a child of Immortality chosen by the Divine; I have but to be true to myself and to Him-the victory is sure; even if I fell, I would be sure to rise again'; to all impulses to depart and serve some smaller ideal, to reply 'This is the greatest, this is the Truth that alone can satisfy the soul within me; I will endure through all tests and tribulations to the very end of the divine journey.' This is what I mean by faithfulness to the Light and the Call.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,
43:But you must remember that nothing can be achieved except in its proper time. Some persons must pass through many experiences and perform many worldly duties before they can turn their attention to God; so they have to wait a long time. If an abscess is lanced before it is soft, the result is not good; the surgeon makes the opening when it is soft and has come to a head. Once a child said to its mother: 'Mother, I am going to sleep now. Please wake me up when I feel the call of nature.' 'My child,' said the mother, 'when it is time for that, you will wake up yourself. I shan't have to wake you.' ~ Sri Ramakrishna, Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna,
44:There is only one way if you cannot exert your will - it is to call the Force; even the call only with the mind or the mental word is better than being extremely passive and submitted to the attack, - for although it may not succeed instantaneously, the mental call even ends by bringing the Force and opening up the consciousness again. For everything depends upon that. In the externalised consciousness obscurity and suffering can always be there; the more the internalised consciousness reigns, the more these things are pushed back and out, and with the full internalised consciousness they cannot remain
   - if they come, it is as outside touches unable to lodge themselves in the being. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - IV,
45:2. Refusal of the Call:Often in actual life, and not infrequently in the myths and popular tales, we encounter the dull case of the call unanswered; for it is always possible to turn the ear to other interests. Refusal of the summons converts the adventure into its negative. Walled in boredom, hard work, or 'culture,' the subject loses the power of significant affirmative action and becomes a victim to be saved. His flowering world becomes a wasteland of dry stones and his life feels meaningless-even though, like King Minos, he may through titanic effort succeed in building an empire or renown. Whatever house he builds, it will be a house of death: a labyrinth of cyclopean walls to hide from him his minotaur. All he can do is create new problems for himself and await the gradual approach of his disintegration. ~ Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces,
46:ALL YOGA is in its nature a new birth; it is a birth out of the ordinary, the mentalised material life of man into a higher spiritual consciousness and a greater and diviner being. No Yoga can be successfully undertaken and followed unless there is a strong awakening to the necessity of that larger spiritual existence. The soul that is called to this deep and vast inward change, may arrive in different ways to the initial departure. It may come to it by its own natural development which has been leading it unconsciously towards the awakening; it may reach it through the influence of a religion or the attraction of a philosophy; it may approach it by a slow illumination or leap to it by a sudden touch or shock; it may be pushed or led to it by the pressure of outward circumstances or by an inward necessity, by a single word that breaks the seals of the mind or by long reflection, by the distant example of one who has trod the path or by contact and daily influence. According to the nature and the circumstances the call will come.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, Self-Consecration,
47:3. Meeting the Mentor:For those who have not refused the call, the first encounter of the hero journey is with a protective figure (often a little old crone or old man) who provides the adventurer with amulets against the dragon forces he is about to pass. What such a figure represents is the benign, protecting power of destiny. The fantasy is a reassurance-promise that the peace of Paradise, which was known first within the mother womb, is not to be lost; that it supports the present and stands in the future as well as in the past (is omega as well as alpha); that though omnipotence may seem to be endangered by the threshold passages and life awakenings, protective power is always and ever present within or just behind the unfamiliar features of the world. One has only to know and trust, and the ageless guardians will appear. Having responded to his own call, and continuing to follow courageously as the consequences unfold, the hero finds all the forces of the unconscious at his side. Mother Nature herself supports the mighty task. And in so far as the hero's act coincides with that for which his society is ready, he seems to ride on the great rhythm of the historical process. ~ Joseph Campbell,
48:Part 1 - Departure
1. The Call to Adventure ::: This first stage of the mythological journey-which we have designated the "call to adventure"-signifies that destiny has summoned the hero and transferred his spiritual center of grav­ ity from within the pale of his society to a zone unknown. This fateful region of both treasure and danger may be variously represented: as a distant land, a forest, a kingdom underground, beneath the waves, or above the sky, a secret island, lofty mountaintop, or profound dream state; but it is always a place of strangely fluid and polymorphous beings, unimaginable torments, superhuman deeds, and impossible delight. The hero can go forth of his own volition to accomplish the adventure, as did Theseus when he arrived in his father's city, Athens, and heard the horrible history of the Minotaur; or he may be carried or sent abroad by some benign or malignant agent, as was Odysseus, driven about the Mediterranean by the winds of the angered god, Poseidon. The adventure may begin as a mere blunder, as did that of the princess of the fairy tale; or still again, one may be only casually strolling, when some passing phenomenon catches the wandering eye and lures one away from the frequented paths of man. Examples might be multiplied, ad infinitum, from every corner of the world. ~ Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces,
49:What your reasoning ignores is that which is absolute or tends towards the absolute in man and his seeking as well as in the Divine - something not to be explained by mental reasoning or vital motive. A motive, but a motive of the soul, not of vital desire; a reason not of the mind, but of the self and spirit. An asking too, but the asking that is the soul's inherent aspiration, not a vital longing. That is what comes up when there is the sheer self-giving, when "I seek you for this, I seek you for that" changes to a sheer "I seek you for you." It is that marvellous and ineffable absolute in the Divine that Krishnaprem means when he says, "Not knowledge nor this nor that, but Krishna."

The pull of that is indeed a categorical imperative, the self in us drawn to the Divine because of the imperative call of its greater Self, the soul ineffably drawn towards the object of its adoration, because it cannot be otherwise, because it is it and He is He. That is all about it.

I have written all that only to explain what we mean whenwe speak of seeking the Divine for himself and not for anything else - so far as it is explicable. Explicable or not, it is one of the most dominant facts of spiritual experience. The call to selfgiving is only an expression of this fact. But this does not mean that I object to your asking for Ananda. Ask for that by all means, so long as to ask for it is a need of any part of your being - for these are the things that lead on towards the Divine so long as the absolute inner call that is there all the time does not push itself to the surface. But it is really that that has drawn from the beginning and is there behind - it is the categorical spiritual imperative, the absolute need of the soul for the Divine. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II, Seeking the Divine,
50:There I waited day and night for the voice of God within me, to know what He had to say to me, to learn what I had to do. In this seclusion the earliest realisation, the first lesson came to me. I remembered then that a month or more before my arrest, a call had come to me to put aside all activity, to go in seclusion and to look into myself, so that I might enter into closer communion with Him. I was weak and could not accept the call. My work was very dear to me and in the pride of my heart I thought that unless I was there, it would suffer or even fail and cease; therefore I would not leave it. It seemed to me that He spoke to me again and said, The bonds you had not the strength to break, I have broken for you, because it is not my will nor was it ever my intention that that should continue. I have had another thing for you to do and it is for that I have brought you here, to teach you what you could not learn for yourself and to train you for my work. Then He placed the Gita in my hands. His strength entered into me and I was able to do the sadhana of the Gita. I was not only to understand intellectually but to realise what Sri Krishna demanded of Arjuna and what He demands of those who aspire to do His work, to be free from repulsion and desire, to do work for Him without the demand for fruit, to renounce self-will and become a passive and faithful instrument in His hands, to have an equal heart for high and low, friend and opponent, success andfailure, yet not to do His work negligently. I realised what the Hindu religion meant. We speak often of the Hindureligion, of the Sanatan Dharma, but few of us really know what that religion is. Other religions are preponderatingly religions of faith and profession, but the Sanatan Dharma is life itself; it is a thing that has not so much to be believed as lived. This is the Dharma that for the salvation of humanity was cherished in the seclusion of this peninsula from of old. It is to give this religion that India is rising. She does not rise as other countries do, for self or when she is strong, to trample on the weak. She is rising to shed the eternal light entrusted to her over the world. India has always existed for humanity and not for herself and it is for humanity and not for herself that she must be great.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Karmayogin,
51:But this is not always the manner of the commencement. The sadhaka is often led gradually and there is a long space between the first turning of the mind and the full assent of the nature to the thing towards which it turns. There may at first be only a vivid intellectual interest, a forcible attraction towards the idea and some imperfect form of practice. Or perhaps there is an effort not favoured by the whole nature, a decision or a turn imposed by an intellectual influence or dictated by personal affection and admiration for someone who is himself consecrated and devoted to the Highest. In such cases, a long period of preparation may be necessary before there comes the irrevocable consecration; and in some instances it may not come. There may be some advance, there may be a strong effort, even much purification and many experiences other than those that are central or supreme; but the life will either be spent in preparation or, a certain stage having been reached, the mind pushed by an insufficient driving-force may rest content at the limit of the effort possible to it. Or there may even be a recoil to the lower life, - what is called in the ordinary parlance of Yoga a fall from the path. This lapse happens because there is a defect at the very centre. The intellect has been interested, the heart attracted, the will has strung itself to the effort, but the whole nature has not been taken captive by the Divine. It has only acquiesced in the interest, the attraction or the endeavour. There has been an experiment, perhaps even an eager experiment, but not a total self-giving to an imperative need of the soul or to an unforsakable ideal. Even such imperfect Yoga has not been wasted; for no upward effort is made in vain. Even if it fails in the present or arrives only at some preparatory stage or preliminary realisation, it has yet determined the soul's future.

But if we desire to make the most of the opportunity that this life gives us, if we wish to respond adequately to the call we have received and to attain to the goal we have glimpsed, not merely advance a little towards it, it is essential that there should be an entire self-giving. The secret of success in Yoga is to regard it not as one of the aims to be pursued in life, but as the one and only aim, not as an important part of life, but as the whole of life. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, Self-Consecration,
52:Workshops, churches, and palaces were full of these fatal works of art; he had even helped with a few himself. They were deeply disappointing be­ cause they aroused the desire for the highest and did not fulfill it. They lacked the most essential thing-mystery. That was what dreams and truly great works of art had in common : mystery. Goldmund continued his thought: It is mystery I love and pursue. Several times I have seen it beginning to take shape; as an artist, I would like to capture and express it. Some day, perhaps, I'll be able to. The figure of the universal mother, the great birthgiver, for example. Unlike other fi gures, her mystery does not consist of this or that detail, of a particular voluptuousness or sparseness, coarseness or delicacy, power or gracefulness. It consists of a fusion of the greatest contrasts of the world, those that cannot otherwise be combined, that have made peace only in this figure. They live in it together: birth and death, tenderness and cruelty, life and destruction. If I only imagined this fi gure, and were she merely the play of my thoughts, it would not matter about her, I could dismiss her as a mistake and forget about her. But the universal mother is not an idea of mine; I did not think her up, I saw her! She lives inside me. I've met her again and again. She appeared to me one winter night in a village when I was asked to hold a light over the bed of a peasant woman giving birth: that's when the image came to life within me. I often lose it; for long periods it re­ mains remote; but suddenly it Hashes clear again, as it did today. The image of my own mother, whom I loved most of all, has transformed itself into this new image, and lies encased within the new one like the pit in the cherry.

   As his present situation became clear to him, Goldmund was afraid to make a decision. It was as difficult as when he had said farewell to Narcissus and to the cloister. Once more he was on an impor­ tant road : the road to his mother. Would this mother-image one day take shape, a work of his hands, and become visible to all? Perhaps that was his goal, the hidden meaning of his life. Perhaps; he didn't know. But one thing he did know : it was good to travel toward his mother, to be drawn and called by her. He felt alive. Perhaps he'd never be able to shape her image, perhaps she'd always remain a dream, an intuition, a golden shimmer, a sacred mystery. At any rate, he had to follow her and submit his fate to her. She was his star.

   And now the decision was at his fingertips; everything had become clear. Art was a beautiful thing, but it was no goddess, no goal-not for him. He was not to follow art, but only the call of his mother.

   ~ Hermann Hesse, Narcissus and Goldmund,
53:There is no invariable rule of such suffering. It is not the soul that suffers; the Self is calm and equal to all things and the only sorrow of the psychic being is the sorrow of the resistance of Nature to the Divine Will or the resistance of things and people to the call of the True, the Good and the Beautiful. What is affected by suffering is the vital nature and the body. When the soul draws towards the Divine, there may be a resistance in the mind and the common form of that is denial and doubt - which may create mental and vital suffering. There may again be a resistance in the vital nature whose principal character is desire and the attachment to the objects of desire, and if in this field there is conflict between the soul and the vital nature, between the Divine Attraction and the pull of the Ignorance, then obviously there may be much suffering of the mind and vital parts. The physical consciousness also may offer a resistance which is usually that of a fundamental inertia, an obscurity in the very stuff of the physical, an incomprehension, an inability to respond to the higher consciousness, a habit of helplessly responding to the lower mechanically, even when it does not want to do so; both vital and physical suffering may be the consequence. There is moreover the resistance of the Universal Nature which does not want the being to escape from the Ignorance into the Light. This may take the form of a vehement insistence on the continuation of the old movements, waves of them thrown on the mind and vital and body so that old ideas, impulses, desires, feelings, responses continue even after they are thrown out and rejected, and can return like an invading army from outside, until the whole nature, given to the Divine, refuses to admit them. This is the subjective form of the universal resistance, but it may also take an objective form - opposition, calumny, attacks, persecution, misfortunes of many kinds, adverse conditions and circumstances, pain, illness, assaults from men or forces. There too the possibility of suffering is evident. There are two ways to meet all that - first that of the Self, calm, equality, a spirit, a will, a mind, a vital, a physical consciousness that remain resolutely turned towards the Divine and unshaken by all suggestion of doubt, desire, attachment, depression, sorrow, pain, inertia. This is possible when the inner being awakens, when one becomes conscious of the Self, of the inner mind, the inner vital, the inner physical, for that can more easily attune itself to the divine Will, and then there is a division in the being as if there were two beings, one within, calm, strong, equal, unperturbed, a channel of the Divine Consciousness and Force, one without, still encroached on by the lower Nature; but then the disturbances of the latter become something superficial which are no more than an outer ripple, - until these under the inner pressure fade and sink away and the outer being too remains calm, concentrated, unattackable. There is also the way of the psychic, - when the psychic being comes out in its inherent power, its consecration, adoration, love of the Divine, self-giving, surrender and imposes these on the mind, vital and physical consciousness and compels them to turn all their movements Godward. If the psychic is strong and master...
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - IV, Resistances, Sufferings and Falls, 669,
54::::
   As an inner equality increases and with it the sense of the true vital being waiting for the greater direction it has to serve, as the psychic call too increases in all the members of our nature, That to which the call is addressed begins to reveal itself, descends to take possession of the life and its energies and fills them with the height, intimacy, vastness of its presence and its purpose. In many, if not most, it manifests something of itself even before the equality and the open psychic urge or guidance are there. A call of the veiled psychic element oppressed by the mass of the outer ignorance and crying for deliverance, a stress of eager meditation and seeking for knowledge, a longing of the heart, a passionate will ignorant yet but sincere may break the lid that shuts off that Higher from this Lower Nature and open the floodgates. A little of the Divine Person may reveal itself or some Light, Power, Bliss, Love out of the Infinite. This may be a momentary revelation, a flash or a brief-lived gleam that soon withdraws and waits for the preparation of the nature; but also it may repeat itself, grow, endure. A long and large and comprehensive working will then have begun, sometimes luminous or intense, sometimes slow and obscure. A Divine Power comes in front at times and leads and compels or instructs and enlightens; at others it withdraws into the background and seems to leave the being to its own resources. All that is ignorant, obscure, perverted or simply imperfect and inferior in the being is raised up, perhaps brought to its acme, dealt with, corrected, exhausted, shown its own disastrous results, compelled to call for its own cessation or transformation or expelled as worthless or incorrigible from the nature. This cannot be a smooth and even process; alternations there are of day and night, illumination and darkness, calm and construction or battle and upheaval, the presence of the growing Divine Consciousness and its absence, heights of hope and abysses of despair, the clasp of the Beloved and the anguish of its absence, the overwhelming invasion, the compelling deceit, the fierce opposition, the disabling mockery of hostile Powers or the help and comfort and communion of the Gods and the Divine Messengers. A great and long revolution and churning of the ocean of Life with strong emergences of its nectar and its poison is enforced till all is ready and the increasing Descent finds a being, a nature prepared and conditioned for its complete rule and its all-encompassing presence. But if the equality and the psychic light and will are already there, then this process, though it cannot be dispensed with, can still be much lightened and facilitated: it will be rid of its worst dangers; an inner calm, happiness, confidence will support the steps through all the difficulties and trials of the transformation and the growing Force profiting by the full assent of the nature will rapidly diminish and eliminate the power of the opposing forces. A sure guidance and protection will be present throughout, sometimes standing in front, sometimes working behind the veil, and the power of the end will be already there even in the beginning and in the long middle stages of the great endeavour. For at all times the seeker will be aware of the Divine Guide and Protector or the working of the supreme Mother-Force; he will know that all is done for the best, the progress assured, the victory inevitable. In either case the process is the same and unavoidable, a taking up of the whole nature, of the whole life, of the internal and of the external, to reveal and handle and transform its forces and their movements under the pressure of a diviner Life from above, until all here has been possessed by greater spiritual powers and made an instrumentation of a spiritual action and a divine purpose. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, The Ascent of the Sacrifice - 2, 179,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:The call to adventure signifies that destiny has summoned the hero. ~ joseph-campbell, @wisdomtrove
2:May you respond to the call of your gift, and find the courage to follow its path. ~ john-odonohue, @wisdomtrove
3:What is Art? It is the response of man's creative soul to the call of the Real. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
4:To refuse to accept the call of your best life is to insult the force that created you. ~ robin-sharma, @wisdomtrove
5:Living by faith includes the call to something greater than cowardly self-preservation. ~ j-r-r-tolkien, @wisdomtrove
6:When we awaken to the call of Beauty, we become aware of new ways of being in the world. ~ john-odonohue, @wisdomtrove
7:Come Senators, Congressman, please heed the call, don't stand in the doorway, don't block the hall. ~ bob-dylan, @wisdomtrove
8:From the moment we claim the truth of being the beloved, we are faced with the call to become who we are. ~ henri-nouwen, @wisdomtrove
9:Success isn't about acquiring things, it's about discovering your life purpose and following the call ~ elizabeth-gilbert, @wisdomtrove
10:It is not enough to be ready to go where duty calls. A man should stand around where he can hear the call! ~ robert-louis-stevenson, @wisdomtrove
11:There is no security in following the call to adventure. Nothing is exciting if you know what the outcome is going to be. ~ joseph-campbell, @wisdomtrove
12:I heard the call to give up all and follow Christ into the slums to serve Him among the poorest of the poor. It was an order. ~ mother-teresa, @wisdomtrove
13:If you're going to answer the call and you're going to transform and you're going to change, get ready. It is not a day at the beach. ~ elizabeth-gilbert, @wisdomtrove
14:Duty doesn't need to call; it only needs to whisper. And if you heed the call, no matter what happens, you have no need for regret." Odd Thomas ~ dean-koontz, @wisdomtrove
15:The call to religion is not a call to be better than your fellows, but to be better than yourself. Religion is relative to the individual. ~ henry-ward-beecher, @wisdomtrove
16:The call to adventure is the point in a person’s life when they are first given notice that everything is going to change, whether they know it or not. ~ joseph-campbell, @wisdomtrove
17:When the last moment arrives, praise and blame will be the same to you, to me, and to others. We are here to work, and will have to leave all when the call comes. ~ swami-vivekananda, @wisdomtrove
18:The call of death is a call of love. Death can be sweet if we answer it in the affirmative, if we accept it as one of the great eternal forms of life and transformation. ~ hermann-hesse, @wisdomtrove
19:The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time. ~ mary-oliver, @wisdomtrove
20:The call to the creative life is a call to dignity, to a life of vulnerability and adventure and the call to a life that exquisite excitement and indeed ecstasy will often visit. ~ john-odonohue, @wisdomtrove
21:There is not one life that doesn’t add tremendous value to the whole. Somewhere inside of us we know this to be true; we hear the call to head in the direction of this bigger life. ~ debbie-ford, @wisdomtrove
22:I realized that I had the call to take care of the sick and the dying, the hungry, the naked, the homeless - to be God's Love in action to the poorest of the poor. That was the beginning of the Missionaries of Charity. ~ mother-teresa, @wisdomtrove
23:Spiritually evolved people, by virtue of their discipline, mastery and love, are people of extraordinary competence, and in their competence they are called on to serve the world, and in their love they answer the call. ~ m-scott-peck, @wisdomtrove
24:What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for some goal worthy of him. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost, but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. ~ viktor-frankl, @wisdomtrove
25:If men as individuals surrender to the call of their elementary instincts, avoiding pain and seeking satisfaction only for their own selves, the result for them all taken together must be a state of insecurity, of fear, and of promiscuous misery. ~ albert-einstein, @wisdomtrove
26:I want people to remember me that I was faithful, faithful to the gospel, faithful to the call that God gave me. And when I get to heaven, I'm going to ask him why he called me, because I was much used to milking cows and working on the farm than I was preaching. ~ billy-graham, @wisdomtrove
27:Come senators, congressmen, Please heed the call, Don't stand in the doorway, Don't block up the hall, For he that gets hurt, Will be he who has stalled, The battle outside ragin', Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls, For the times they are a-changin'... ~ bob-dylan, @wisdomtrove
28:The greatest trouble with most of us is that our demands upon ourselves are so feeble, the call upon the great within of us so weak and intermittent that it makes no impression upon the creative energies; it lacks the force that transmutes desires into realities. ~ orison-swett-marden, @wisdomtrove
29:Whenever we moderns pause for a moment, and enter the silence, and listen very carefully, the glimmer of our deepest nature begins to shine forth, and we are introduced to the mysteries of the deep, the call of the within, the infinite radiance of a splendor that time and space forgot ~ ken-wilber, @wisdomtrove
30:Remembering is a noble and necessary act. The call of memory, the call to memory, reaches us from the very dawn of history. No commandment figures so frequently, so insistently, in the Bible. It is incumbent upon us to remember the good we have received, and the evil we have suffered. ~ elie-wiesel, @wisdomtrove
31:Your adventure has to be coming out of your own interior. If you are ready for it then doors will open where there were no doors before, and where there would not be doors for anyone else. And you must have courage. It's the call to adventure, which means there is no security, no rules. ~ joseph-campbell, @wisdomtrove
32:One thing is certain: the call of Christ is always a promotion. Were Christ to call a king from his throne to preach the gospel to some tribe of aborigines, that king would be elevated above anything he had known before. Any movement toward Christ is ascent, and any direction away from Him is down. ~ aiden-wilson-tozer, @wisdomtrove
33:The hero’s journey always begins with the call. One way or another, a guide must come to say, &
34:Your call will become clear as as your mind is transformed by the reading of Scripture and the internal work of God's Spirit. The Lord never hides His will from us. In time, as you obey the call first to follow, your destiny will unfold before you. The difficulty will lie in keeping other concerns from diverting your attention. ~ charles-r-swindoll, @wisdomtrove
35:Say to the Source within you. How is it that you are seeing this? Because the negative emotion means there’s two points of view going on, your source energy point of view and the point of view that you hold. Just listen. And you will hear the call of Source. You will hear Source giving you specific direction right there, right then, in that moment. ~ esther-hicks, @wisdomtrove
36:He stretched out his hands as he sang, sadly, because all beauty is sad‚ĶThe poem had done no ‚Äògood’ to anyone, but it was a passing reminder, a breath from the divine lips of beauty, a nightingale between two worlds of dust. Less explicit than the call to Krishna, it voiced our loneliness nevertheless, our isolation, our need for the Friend who never comes yet is not entirely disproved. ~ e-m-forster, @wisdomtrove
37:But the others, those who tried to bring Jesus to life at the call of love, found it a cruel task to be honest. The critical study of the life of Jesus has been for theology a school of honesty. The world had never seen before, and will never see again, a struggle for truth so full of pain and renunciation as that of which the Lives of Jesus of the last hundred years contain the cryptic record. ~ albert-schweitzer, @wisdomtrove
38:Retreat is a response to the call of the heart-that call which beckons us toward reality, to the truth of our being, to that which is truly sane, really real and liberating ... When a group of people come together as a response to that kind of inward call, it creates a very powerful environment, where truth is held in the highest esteem and the reality of our being responds to that deepest intention. ~ adyashanti, @wisdomtrove
39:The feeling, "this can't be it", is a very powerful form of prayer. It's the agony of the separated self longing for reunion with wholeness. It's the call of your soul urging you to return to your own path and purpose. It's the force of evolution driving you home. Do not try to deny or override your divine discontent. Heed its call. Knowing "this can't be it" implies that somewhere inside you, you DO know what IS it. ~ alan-cohen, @wisdomtrove
40:Why continue? Because we must. Because we have the call. Because it is nobler to fight for rationality without winning than to give up in the face of continued defeats. Because whatever true progress humanity makes is through the rationality of the occasional individual and because any one individual we may win for the cause may do more for humanity than a hundred thousand who hug their superstitions to their breast. ~ isaac-asimov, @wisdomtrove
41:We do not know what we can bear until we are put to the test. Many a delicate mother, who thought that she could not survive the death of her children, has lived to bury her husband and the last one of a large family, and in addition to all this has seen her home and last dollar swept away; yet she has had the courage to bear it all and to go on as before. When the need comes, there is a power deep within us that answers the call. ~ orison-swett-marden, @wisdomtrove
42:Nowhere was the airport's charm more concentrated than on the screens placed at intervals across the terminal which announced, in deliberately workmanlike fonts, the itineraries of aircraft about to take to the skies. These screens implied a feeling of infinite and immediate possibility: they suggested the ease with which we might impulsively approach a ticket desk and, within a few hours, embark for a country where the call to prayer rang out over shuttered whitewashed houses, where we understood nothing of the language and where no one knew our identities. ~ alain-de-botton, @wisdomtrove
43:The Parisian is to the French what the Athenian was to the Greeks: no one sleeps better than he, no one is more openly frivolous and idle, no one appears more heedless. But this is misleading. He is given to every kind of listlessness, but when there is glory to be won he may be inspired with every kind of fury. Give him a pike and he will enact the tenth of August, a musket and you have Austerlitz. He was the springboard of Napoleon and the mainstay of Danton. At the cry of "la patrie" he enrols, and at the call of liberty he tears up the pavements. Beware of him! ~ victor-hugo, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:when she got the call, poor girl. ~ Stephanie Bond,
2:ended the call, and then my phone chirped. ~ M Z Kelly,
3:Discomfort is the call to set yourself free. ~ Byron Katie,
4:just make the call. Last-minute preparation is ~ Grant Cardone,
5:The call from Victor took the icing off her cake. ~ Donna Hill,
6:Let us put away our blinders and answer the call to Joy. ~ Rumi,
7:No one is exempt from the call to find common ground. ~ Barack Obama,
8:We join the call from other States from our region ~ Laura Chinchilla,
9:At every instant and from every side, resounds the call of Love: ~ Rumi,
10:Every man has a vocation. The talent is the call. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
11:She did have one other fear, though: missing the call of God. ~ Ron Hall,
12:There is no security in following the call to adventure. ~ Joseph Campbell,
13:Religion is the call to confront reality; to master the self. ~ Huston Smith,
14:there, behind that hedge. Keep low. After Mindy makes the call, her ~ Joe Hill,
15:The call of love sounds very hollow among these immobile rocks. ~ Gustav Mahler,
16:Once the call of God comes to you, start going and never stop. ~ Oswald Chambers,
17:The call to repentance is a call to return, a call to go back home. ~ R C Sproul,
18:I've heard the call. I believe God wants me to run for president. ~ George W Bush,
19:Every person has his or her own vocation-talent is the call. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
20:The call of God does what the call of man cannot. It raises the dead. ~ John Piper,
21:I love you for answering the call of a red notebook once upon a time. ~ Rachel Cohn,
22:That you respond to the call, not how, is what makes it extraordinary. ~ Jeff Goins,
23:The call is to do theology in loving community with other people. ~ Paul David Tripp,
24:The call to adventure signifies that destiny has summoned the hero. ~ Joseph Campbell,
25:You were born with everything you need to answer the call of your soul. ~ Marie Forleo,
26:I always had one ear offstage, listening for the call from the bookie. ~ Walter Matthau,
27:One of my rules is, if Jesus or Taylor [Swift] calls, I take the call. ~ Scott Borchetta,
28:The palace woke to its own emptiness;
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
29:she fell asleep listening to the call of the river as it rushed to the sea. ~ Eloisa James,
30:Almighty powers are shut in Nature’s cells. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
31:Eternity speaks, none understands its word; ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
32:Fame and fortune are calling. Are we taking the call or blocking the number? ~ Nicole Richie,
33:When we heed the call of our deepest desires, we fulfill our true destinies. ~ Deepak Chopra,
34:A casual passing phrase can change our life. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
35:The Wise who know see but one half of Truth, ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
36:it’s not about being right and knowing all the answers. It’s about making the call. ~ Ryk Brown,
37:No blasphemy harms Islam and Muslims so much as the call for murdering a writer ~ Naguib Mahfouz,
38:If you had not answered the call, it wouldn't have become a conversation ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
39:Nothing guarantees more applause and more support than the call to abolish the IRS. ~ Frank Luntz,
40:Practice is essential not only to achieve excellence but to clarify the call itself. ~ Jeff Goins,
41:The call of God is what gets you out of bed everyday, not a burden for something. ~ Tommy Barnett,
42:The moon floated, a luminous waif through heaven ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
43:He who awaits the call, but sees the need, Already sets his spirit to refuse it. ~ Dante Alighieri,
44:The past cannot bind the future. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
45:Now I am steel-set: I follow the call to the clear radiance and glow of the heights. ~ Henrik Ibsen,
46:The beach was empty and dark but she couldn't hear her fear over the call of the surf. ~ Lori Lansens,
47:The earth you tread is a border screened from heaven ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
48:What is Art? It is the response of man's creative soul to the call of the Real. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
49:The law is not thrust upon man; it rests deep within him, to waken when the call comes. ~ Martin Buber,
50:To refuse to accept the call of your best life is to insult the force that created you. ~ Robin Sharma,
51:We are the heirs of infinite widenesses. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems, The Call of the Impossible,
52:When a man comes out of great danger, he is apt to be a little deaf to the call of duty. ~ John Buchan,
53:I choose not to remain at good today, but rather to answer the call to greatness. ~ Marianne Williamson,
54:Living by faith includes the call to something greater than cowardly self-preservation. ~ J R R Tolkien,
55:It is the essentials alone that matter. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
56:They who deny God have not seen Him. ~ Agni Yoga, Leaves of Morya’s Garden: Book One: The Call, 12, (1924),
57:Sometimes God gives us a moment of destiny, and we have to hear the call and rise to it. ~ Philippa Gregory,
58:The call for a sincere gift of self is the fullest way to realize our personal freedom. ~ Pope John Paul II,
59:Spring beckons! All things to the call respond; the trees are leaving and cashiers abscond. ~ Ambrose Bierce,
60:But I couldn't stop there. The call of adventure was much stronger and more inviting. ~ Pramoedya Ananta Toer,
61:I am greatly obliged to you, and to all who have come forward at the call of their country. ~ Abraham Lincoln,
62:Where is there a boy to whom the call of the wild and the open road does not appeal? ~ Baden Powell de Aquino,
63:Come Senators, Congressman, please heed the call, don't stand in the doorway, don't block the hall. ~ Bob Dylan,
64:My call is the call of battle- I nourish active rebellion;/ He going with me must go well armed. ~ Walt Whitman,
65:Love even the knot-grass. God created it. ~ Agni Yoga, Leaves of Morya’s Garden: Book One: The Call, 237, (1924),
66:Absoballylutely top hole, wot. A and B the C of D I'd say. . . Above and Beyond the Call of Duty. ~ Brian Jacques,
67:Remember God so much that you are forgotten. Let the caller and the called disappear; be lost in the Call. ~ Rumi,
68:The call of God creates sight in us. It's the work of God in our hearts to awaken us before his word. ~ John Piper,
69:When you're doing a big-budget movie and you're four on the call sheet, you've got a lot of free time. ~ Chris Rock,
70:A child doesn’t know the call of his pastor father. All he knows is the effects it has on his life. ~ Barnabas Piper,
71:There’s a rumor that a recent Oscar host is going to play Catwoman. Waiting by my phone for the call. ~ Steve Martin,
72:One drenched in blood and glory, and she could feel her warrior's heart fill with hunger at the call. ~ Leigh Bardugo,
73:Our new faith-based laws have removed government as a roadblock to people of faith who hear the call. ~ George W Bush,
74:Be quiet. Part of your responsibility is to honour the quiet inside yourself so you can hear the call. ~ Oprah Winfrey,
75:In a rational religion there is no perplexity. ~ Agni Yoga, Leaves of Morya’s Garden: Book One: The Call, 11, (1924),
76:I realize Jubilee is a bit of a stripper name. You probably think I have heard the call of the pole. ~ Maureen Johnson,
77:the call to follow Jesus is not simply an invitation to pray a prayer; it’s a summons to lose our lives. ~ David Platt,
78:Sometimes pain is the call of a wound that needs tending, and sometimes it is the sting of its healing. ~ Melissa Febos,
79:The call to make that decision is not mine, because obviously I won't resign and I'm not a quitter. ~ Andre Villas Boas,
80:But who, except God, can say whether a man is right or foolish if he follows the call of his conscience? ~ Muhammad Asad,
81:From the moment we claim the truth of being the beloved, we are faced with the call to become who we are. ~ Henri Nouwen,
82:It really is true that when you're living for you, the call to love others is always a burden for you ~ Paul David Tripp,
83:Just Jim Casy now. Ain’t got the call no more. Got a lot of sinful idears—but they seem kinda sensible. ~ John Steinbeck,
84:Like a miracle, a conch horn sounded from the smoky picture. The call of the ocean. The call of Poseidon. ~ Rick Riordan,
85:The call to self-emptying will always be unpopular to those whose pockets and closets are full. What ~ Kevin J Vanhoozer,
86:They wonder why everyone waits to send the note, make the call, say the one thing you know you should say. ~ Kris Radish,
87:Success isn't about acquiring things, it's about discovering your life purpose and following the call ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,
88:To each his own difficulties seem enormous and radical. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
89:The call of the gospel is for the church to implement the victory of God in the world through suffering love. ~ N T Wright,
90:The call of the spinning wheel is the noblest of all. Because it is the call of love. And love is Swaraj. ~ Mahatma Gandhi,
91:The first call which every Christian experiences is the call to abandon the attachments of this world. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
92:as we heeded the call of the Katyusha rockets, hissing in the distance like librarians demanding silence. ~ Viet Thanh Nguyen,
93:I would say I'm 90 percent collaborative in everything I do, and 10 percent of the time I just make the call. ~ Ashton Kutcher,
94:So this is how it ends, she thought, when the call was over, and she was soothed by the banality of it. ~ Emily St John Mandel,
95:To disengage from the profound needs of those caught in suffering is to reject the call to bear the image of God. ~ Andy Crouch,
96:God — or Aum (om) —is the Highest Being of your inner self. ~ Agni Yoga, Leaves of Morya’s Garden: Book One: The Call, 6, (1924),
97:CRISIS COUNSELING THERE IS HOPE MAKE THE CALL THE CONSEQUENCES OF JUMPING FROM THIS BRIDGE ARE FATAL AND TRAGIC ~ Caitlin Doughty,
98:The call now is for each of us to ask ourselves: are we doing all we can to help build the country of our dreams? ~ Nelson Mandela,
99:The Savior will let you feel the love He feels for those you serve. The call is an invitation to become like Him. ~ Henry B Eyring,
100:It is not enough to be ready to go where duty calls. A man should stand around where he can hear the call! ~ Robert Louis Stevenson,
101:Remember God so much that you are forgotten. Let the caller and the called disappear; be lost in the Call. ~ Jalaluddin Rumi, [T5],
102:One of the advantages of loving women, of being loved by women: they will always do things far beyond the call of duty ~ Zadie Smith,
103:But with intent, all things are possible.” “Meaning?” “When something is wanted bad enough, the Universe answers the call. ~ J R Rain,
104:I am the call of love....
Can you hear me in the full grasses, in the scented winds ?
It is I who makes the garden smile. ~ Rumi,
105:Jeeves, of course, is a gentleman’s gentlemen, not a butler, but if the call comes, he can buttle with the best of them. ~ P G Wodehouse,
106:Let us rise to the call. It is a call to call. An ability to respond to, and a needful duty to solemnly hold high ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
107:Not for a changeless littleness were you meant,
Not for vain repetition were you built ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
108:What has happened in most of my books is the call to the extraordinary world, the hero's push, or that push has come to him. ~ Karan Bajaj,
109:God makes us as broken bread and poured-out wine to please Him. Beware of competing calls once the call of God grips you. ~ Oswald Chambers,
110:I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied. ~ John Masefield,
111:According to our text, there is no road to faith or discipleship, no other road - only obedience to the call of Jesus. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
112:Did you pull rank?” “On a chief warrant officer?” They’d reached the link, and he slapped the call button. “Do I look suicidal? ~ Tanya Huff,
113:I felt the hand and the call of God in my life that I would be doing ministry and trying to serve Him the best that I could. ~ John C Maxwell,
114:I heard the call to give up all and follow Christ into the slums to serve Him among the poorest of the poor. It was an order. ~ Mother Teresa,
115:Mathematics is, in many ways, the most precious response that the human spirit has made to the call of the infinite. ~ Cassius Jackson Keyser,
116:goal of spirituality is not to extract from you all desire and passion. The call of Jesus is the exact opposite—delight ~ Erwin Raphael McManus,
117:Thank you for answering the call to be teachers. Thank you for the enduring impression you've made in the lives you have touched. ~ Donna Fargo,
118:Authors of earth’s high change, to you it is given
To cross the dangerous spaces of the soul ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
119:Being the one to end the call gave the fucking twerp some kind of sense of power. Annoying, yes, but seriously laughable. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
120:But like a shining answer from the gods
   Approached through sun-bright spaces Savitri.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest, [T5],
121:Duty doesn’t need to call; it only needs to whisper. And if you heed the call, no matter what happens, you have no need for regret. ~ Dean Koontz,
122:Each moment from all sides rushes to us the call to love. We are running to contemplate its vast green field. Do you want to come with us? ~ Rumi,
123:...Seek counsel of very pious, disinterested persons, and follow the call of O[ur] L[ord] and the advice of those persons. ~ Saint Vincent de Paul,
124:You can only ignore the call so many times before you know it’s time to go.
Life is spreading her legs for me.
I’m going in. ~ Karina Halle,
125:Action is never enough if defined as eradicating the problem. Action is always enough if it is faithful to the call of the moment. ~ Dan B Allender,
126:Small businesses have made the call that to stay alive, health care isn't something they can provide. I think it's a tragic calculation. ~ Peter Lee,
127:The call to religion is not a call to be better than your fellows, but to be better than yourself. ~ Henry Ward Beecher, Life Thoughts (1858), p. 18,
128:One who has the call in him cannot fail to arrive, if he follows patiently the way towards the Divine. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, Purity,
129:When you heed the call of your heart, you are fulfilling your life plan, even if your mind has no conscious awareness of that plan. ~ Robert Schwartz,
130:History doesn't choose individual people. History chooses everyone. Every day. The only question is: How long will you ignore the call? ~ Brad Meltzer,
131:Obedience to the call of Christ nearly always costs everything to two people- the one who is called, and the one who loves that one. ~ Oswald Chambers,
132:P33- the wail of the living had answered the call of universal motherhood within her wild beast which the dead could not still. ~ Edgar Rice Burroughs,
133:Each moment from all sides rushes to us the call to love.
We are running to contemplate its vast green field.
Do you want to come with us? ~ Rumi,
134:If you're going to answer the call and you're going to transform and you're going to change, get ready. It is not a day at the beach. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,
135:The air they drove through was clear and crisp. They kept the windows up and their expectations down. The call was a suicide run. They ~ Michael Connelly,
136:The call of the yellow-billed cuckoo of North America is often mistaken for a bloodhound drinking a bowl of milk. He goes coulp coulp coulp. ~ Will Cuppy,
137:If you scorn the fellowship of the brethren, you reject the call of Jesus Christ, and thus your solitude can only be hurtful to you. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
138:The hapless wit has his labors always to begin, the call for novelty is never satisfied, and one jest only raises expectation of another. ~ Samuel Johnson,
139:This is the time for a young man to stop saying, “Why is life so hard?” He takes the hardness as the call to fight, to rise up, take it on. ~ John Eldredge,
140:Those who devote their lives to serving our country, children, and neighborhoods are giving back. They have answered the call to serve. ~ Jennifer Granholm,
141:...but I guess it's better for people to shut up rather than rather than say something nasty. -ONE NIGHT @ THE CALL CENTER Chapter 1 page 22 ~ Chetan Bhagat,
142:But the reality is: reinvention is life. This is the call to adventure that constantly whispers to us. Do we answer it? Do we take the call? ~ James Altucher,
143:Duty doesn't need to call; it only needs to whisper. And if you heed the call, no matter what happens, you have no need for regret." Odd Thomas ~ Dean Koontz,
144:There comes a time in a man's life when he hears the call of the sea. If the man has a brain in his head, he will hang up the phone immediately. ~ Dave Barry,
145:Though I’m tempted by the call of the sea, I resist.
It can’t claim me.
In a way I’m stronger than the waves and I feel good about that. ~ Darren Shan,
146:The call to religion is not a call to be better than your fellows, but to be better than yourself. Religion is relative to the individual. ~ Henry Ward Beecher,
147:The true call upon us is the call of the Infinite and the Supreme. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Life Divine, The Origin and Remedy of Falsehood, Error, Wrong and Evil,
148:Truth stands forth of its own when the obstacles are removed. The call is from within rather than a response to exhortation from without. The ~ David R Hawkins,
149:...but I guess it's better for people to shut up rather than rather than say something nasty.
-ONE NIGHT @ THE CALL CENTER Chapter 1 page 22 ~ Chetan Bhagat,
150:But if you hear the call to make your life about more than you and what you can contribute, you will have peace, not anxiety, when facing mortality. ~ Jeff Goins,
151:Many do not recognize the call of God simply because they have never taken the time to really talk with Him long enough to know what He is like. ~ Winkie Pratney,
152:one could starve to death on an enviable job — for mountain wind, for stars among pine trees, or the call of a wood-thrush to his mate. ~ Barbara Newhall Follett,
153:Peter's destiny lay along a different path from John's. And your calling is unlike anyone else's. But the call remains the same: "Follow Me! ~ Charles R Swindoll,
154:What the fuck?” I mutter to myself. With a sigh, I connect the call and stare down at the glitter and sparkle of the lights in the city below me. I'm ~ R R Banks,
155:When you're the lead and on most of the call sheets, some people have expectations of you and whether you like it or not, you kind of set the tone. ~ Mike Colter,
156:I cannot really be open to the call of God in a situation of oppression if the one thing I have excluded as an option is my own suffering and death. ~ Walter Wink,
157:And I keep on marching as if this is the way a Christian woman is supposed to live, as if this is the call on my life, as if this is all there is. ~ Lysa TerKeurst,
158:I think heroism is when somebody really goes above and beyond the call of duty and does something outstanding for either themselves or somebody else. ~ John Assaraf,
159:Every time the telephone rings, you feel a frisson of excitement. The call is almost never exciting, but it is in our character to keep on believing. ~ Chloe Thurlow,
160:The call to protect life—and not merely life but another’s identity; it is perhaps not too much to say another’s soul—was obvious in its sacredness. ~ Paul Kalanithi,
161:Special Agent Jack Randall already felt the headache coming on. The call from his office had arrived about the same time as the story had aired on CNN. ~ Randall Wood,
162:After nearly 15 minutes of soul searching, I have heard the call. Nation, I will seek the office of the president of the United States. I am doing it! ~ Stephen Colbert,
163:Seven half-bloods shall answer the call To storm or fire the world must fall An oath to keep with a final breath and foes bear arms to the doors of death ~ Rick Riordan,
164:Seven half-bloods shall answer the call, To storm or fire the world must fall. An oath to keep with a final breath, And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. ~ Anonymous,
165:The call to adventure is the point in a person’s life when they are first given notice that everything is going to change, whether they know it or not. ~ Joseph Campbell,
166:In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with the hour for loving ~ Thomas Hardy,
167:So the call to discipleship is a commitment solely to the person of Jesus Christ, a breaking through of all legalisms by the grace of him who calls. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
168:In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with the hour for loving. ~ Thomas Hardy,
169:The call to protect life -- and not merely life but another's identity; it is perhaps not too much to say another's soul -- was obvious in its sacredness. ~ Paul Kalanithi,
170:I feel the old dark gathering, the solitude preparing, by which I know myself, and the call of that ignorance which might be noble and is mere poltroonery. ~ Samuel Beckett,
171:It is our hope that writing releases us. Instead maybe it deepens the echo. We call out to our past and the call comes back. We are alone--and not alone. ~ Natalie Goldberg,
172:One ought not to settle down into a fixed idea of one’s own incapacity or allow it to become an obsession. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
173:Seven half-bloods shall answer the call, To storm or fire the world must fall. An oath to keep with a final breath, And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. ~ Rick Riordan,
174:The morn went up into a smiling sky;
Cast from its sapphire pinnacle of trance
Day sank into the burning gold of eve. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
175:The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.” —H. P. Lovecraft,
“The Call of Cthulhu ~ Michael Reaves,
176:Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire, the world must fall. An oath to keep with a final breath, And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. ~ Rick Riordan,
177:Through touch, God gave us the power to injure or to heal, to wage war or to wash feet. Let us not forget the gravity of that. Let us not forget the call. ~ Rachel Held Evans,
178:True luxury is being able to own your time - to be able to take a walk, sit on your porch, read the paper, not take the call, not be compelled by obligation. ~ Ashton Kutcher,
179:It was after the time of Origen’s disciples that the false religion of the priesthood began to spread. ~ Agni Yoga, Leaves of Morya’s Garden: Book One: The Call, 268, (1924),
180:The call of Christ is a call to live a life of sacrifice and loss and suffering--a life that would be foolish to live if there were no resurrection from the dead. ~ John Piper,
181:Seven half bloods shall answer the call
To storm or fire the world must fall
An oath to keep with a final breath
And foes bear arms to the doors of death ~ Rick Riordan,
182:Seven half-bloods shall answer the call
To storm or fire the world must fall
An oath to keep with a final breath
and foes bear arms to the doors of death ~ Rick Riordan,
183:Certainty of purpose pumping with every heartbeat. That rare sense of satisfaction that came only when one responded to the call to the direct call of the Lord. ~ Karen Witemeyer,
184:Disciples like Peter, Andrew, James, and John show us that the call to follow Jesus is not simply an invitation to pray a prayer; it is a summons to lose our lives. ~ David Platt,
185:I never know tomorrow what I might be doing. I just ask God to lead me and show me and direct me and help me and support me in it. So I just wait to hear the call. ~ Dolly Parton,
186:All night long I hear the call of death, all night long I hear the song of death down by the river, all night long I hear the voice of death calling out to me. ~ Alejandra Pizarnik,
187:The cacophony of contemporary popular culture makes it hard to discern the call of truth and wisdom. There is no area in which practicing asceticism is more important. ~ Rod Dreher,
188:The flute is the call of the Divine Love; the peacock is victory.The flute is the symbol of a call - usually the spiritual call.The flute is the call of the Divine. ~ Sri Aurobindo,
189:The majority of believers on this earth find it laughable that we could reduce the call to follow Jesus and make disciples to an invitation to sit in church service. ~ Francis Chan,
190:I tried to get through to my brother, Mike, on the Moon, but the phone company wouldn’t let me place the call until I had signed a contract and posted a $25,000 bond. ~ Joe Haldeman,
191:Getting people to go above and beyond the call of duty can be achieved but only if you, the artist, are willing to go above and beyond any and all calls of duty yourself. ~ Tori Amos,
192:When the last moment arrives, praise and blame will be the same to you, to me, and to others. We are here to work, and will have to leave all when the call comes. ~ Swami Vivekananda,
193:Jayce snapped then pressed a button to end the call. It was a shame you couldn’t slam a phone down anymore when you were pissed. There was something satisfying in that. ~ C D Breadner,
194:Seven half-bloods shall answer the call,
To storm or fire the world must fall,
An oath to keep within a final breath,
And foes bear arms to the doors of death. ~ Rick Riordan,
195:grateful because each detail kept her from the purpose of the call. She talked about her life in California and how she had never returned to Rock Point or Spruce County. ~ Gregg Olsen,
196:When we see ourselves in a relationship of love with God, there is always something of a lover's dilemma, a struggle to give and receive, to trust and obey the call. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,
197:The call of death is a call of love. Death can be sweet if we answer it in the affirmative, if we accept it as one of the great eternal forms of life and transformation. ~ Hermann Hesse,
198:What happened there was they were moving the chains and we had the call made. We were really trying to get two plays if we could have rather than use the timeout thereafter. ~ Les Miles,
199:I never want to have that on my shoulders - I never want to be number one on the call sheet. That's a life that I don't want. I mean, I'm not ducking the responsibility. ~ Jeffrey Tambor,
200:The call goes forth, and is at once followed by the response of obedience. The response of the disciples is an act of obedience, not a confession of faith in Jesus. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
201:He called at once to his companion Patroclus, shouting for him from the ship. Hearing the call in his hut, Patroclus equal of Ares came out; and that was the beginning of his end. ~ Homer,
202:The connection was so bad, and I couldn’t talk at all during most of the call. How terrible it is when you say I love you and the person at the other end shouts back ‘What? ~ J D Salinger,
203:Those who suffer can respond to the call of the gospel with a certain abandonment and uncomplicated totality because they have so little to lose and are ready for anything. ~ Philip Yancey,
204:It was the song of the birds in spring and the call of the wind through bare branches on a cold winter afternoon. Fate. Both my anguish and my solace. My escort and my cage. ~ Leslye Walton,
205:mother says her son turned blue and she was unable to revive him. Father was at home and made the call for emergency aid. Both parents reported that such an incident had never ~ Gregg Olsen,
206:The fear of the unknown was eclipsed by the gladness that came of taking action, of doing something rather than waiting, of following what seemed to be the call of my life. ~ Tracy L Higley,
207:The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time. ~ Mary Oliver,
208:Every Christian, you see, has at least two major callings: (A) The call to use your vocation for the glory of God and the blessing of others; and (B) the call to make disciples. ~ J D Greear,
209:If ever the call comes to them, the young will go straight from the ranks of the neutralists into the ranks of he Majesty's Forces, as they have so often done in the past. ~ Harold MacMillan,
210:I’m not about to suck your dick so you’ll make a call for me.”
“And I’m not making the call so you’ll suck my dick. So, now that we've cleared that up, can you get on with it? ~ C D Reiss,
211:I believe there's a calling for all of us. I know that every human being has value and purpose. The real work of our lives is to become aware. And awakened. To answer the call. ~ Oprah Winfrey,
212:The past was like a bad dream; the future was all happy holiday as I moved Southwards week by week, easily, lazily, lingering as long as I dared, but always heeding the call! ~ Kenneth Grahame,
213:While Hildebrandt, Niemöller, and Jacobi were thinking about how to defeat Müller, Bonhoeffer was thinking about God’s highest call, about the call of discipleship and its cost. ~ Eric Metaxas,
214:Write a treatise. Create an event. Champion a cause. Build something great. Speak your mind. Make the call. Build the business. Author the book. Send the email. Do it. Do it. ~ Johnny B Truant,
215:In moments of trial faith in the Divine protection and the call for that protection; at all times the faith that what the Divine wills is the best. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, Faith,
216:countering him. The call does happen, a decision is made, and by evening I’m suited up in my Mockingjay outfit, with my bow slung over my shoulder and an earpiece that connects ~ Suzanne Collins,
217:I've got a great sense of where I want to lead and I'm comfortable with why I'm running. And, you know, the call on that speech was, beware. This is going to be a tough campaign. ~ George W Bush,
218:There is not one life that doesn’t add tremendous value to the whole. Somewhere inside of us we know this to be true; we hear the call to head in the direction of this bigger life. ~ Debbie Ford,
219:The call for the birth of the new light out of the dark comes to us any time we encounter something new that requires development beyond our current capacities. ~ Monika Wikman, Pregnant Darkness,
220:I will always write myself a part. It will never be number one or two on the call sheet, but it will be number five through ten. That way they won't kick you off after you sell it. ~ Kevin Grevioux,
221:And with brows furrowed, considering the state of play, even though he didn’t know who it was, he took the call. If it was a marketing person, he’d hunt them down and strangle them. ~ Kristen Ashley,
222:Initiation is the creative, artful container that helps each young person hear the call of spirit. In order to hear the call, a small death must come between parents and their child. ~ Michael Meade,
223:The population heeded the call. They pounced on a dozen people they suspected were rebels, looped tires around their necks, doused them in gasoline, and made them into human torches. ~ Jason Stearns,
224:Nick was giving me the same look. And this time,instead of being taken aback or feeling squicky about it,my heart raced and my face grew hot. My body's response to the call of Nick. ~ Jennifer Echols,
225:Do we choose our life’s work based on the U.S. Department of Labor’s list of highest-paying jobs, or do we follow our bliss? Do we heed the call to conformity, or the call to adventure? ~ Sean Patrick,
226:We must all stop looking for others to supply answers to the world's questions. We must instead heed the call of the unconscious to follow our dreams and seek the answers for ourselves. ~ Stephen Biro,
227:Thus the call to follow Christ always means a call to share the work of forgiving men their sins. Forgiveness is the Christlike suffering which it is the Christian's duty to bear. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
228: Meanwhile, I was holding on to my composure by sheer force of will. But when we ended the call I was likely going to dismember Greg’s favorite boxer briefs and hide his cell phone charger.  ~ Penny Reid,
229:We are living in a time of many wars. The call for peace must be shouted. Peace sometimes gives the impression of being quiet, but it is never quiet. Peace if always proactive and dynamic. ~ Pope Francis,
230:whistle a birdcall. The mockingjay cocks its head and whistles the call right back at me. Then, to my surprise, Pollux whistles a few notes of his own. The bird answers him immediately. ~ Suzanne Collins,
231:Everyone is called, everyone is sent out… The call of God can reach us on the assembly line and in the office, in the supermarket and in the stairwell, i.e., in the places of everyday life. ~ Pope Francis,
232:Then it comes, always—the overseer’s cry, the call to work, the shadow of the master, the reminder that she is only a human being for a tiny moment across the eternity of her servitude. ~ Colson Whitehead,
233:If a dish could make a woman strong enough to ignore the call of her heart, then the world would be ruled by woman. There would be no tears or shattered dreams."- Komathi, Alphabet Soup for Lover ~ Anita Nair,
234:Then it comes, always—the overseer’s cry, the call to work, the shadow of the master, the reminder that she is only a human being for a tiny moment across the eternity of her servitude. The ~ Colson Whitehead,
235:There is only one logic in spiritual things: when a demand is there for the Divine, a sincere call, it is bound one day to have its fulfilment. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
236:Follow your bliss. The heroic life is living the individual adventure. There is no security in following the call to adventure. Nothing is exciting if you know what the outcome is going to be. ~ Joseph Campbell,
237:hunt you down and kill you myself. Chapter 18 SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA The call from Philippe Roussard’s handler came in the middle of the night. “Do you have everything in place?” Roussard sat up in bed ~ Brad Thor,
238:ritual is called for because our soul communicates things to us that the body translates as need, or want, or absence. So we enter into ritual in order to respond to the call of the soul. ~ Malidoma Patrice Som,
239:When you get the call from Quentin Tarantino, it's the call of a lifetime. You don't allow yourself to be vulnerable enough or to be fool enough to expect that phone call to happen, in reality. ~ Walton Goggins,
240:But, what we need to get out of the first EVA is to have the arm completely unfolded and powered so that they can keep the temperature under control. That will really the call of the first EVA. ~ Umberto Guidoni,
241:Now I am being called upon for some purpose. I answer the call determined to observe the right limits; to act with restraint, but also with confidence, devoid of desire or aversion towards externals. ~ Epictetus,
242:There's a reason the call God a presence ~ Elizabeth Gilbert because God is right here, right now. In the present is the only place to find Him, and now is the only time. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,
243:About 15 minutes before the Tomahawks would hit, a warning was sent to the Russians at the airfield. When the call was made, the Russian who picked up the phone at the airfield sounded intoxicated. ~ Bob Woodward,
244:Take the adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes! 'Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of your old life and into the new! ~ Kenneth Grahame,
245:There is no patriotic obligation to help advance the career of a politician who is otherwise pursuing interests that are fundamentally antithetical to your values. That's not the call of patriotism. ~ John Bolton,
246:There is no beautiful universe on the other side of the email refresh button, and yet it’s the call of that button that keeps pulling me out of the work I am doing, out of reading books I want to read. ~ Anonymous,
247:Behind every specific call, whether it is to teach or preach or write or encourage or comfort, there is a deeper call that gives shape to the first: the call to give ourselves away - the call to die. ~ Michael Card,
248:I do know how to operate a computer. (Joe) Yeah, right. What was it you said just ten minutes ago? Get this damned thing off my desk before I shoot it? Now make the call, Mr. Hunt-and-Peck. (Tee) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
249:As he left to answer the call, she heard him exclaiming in wonderment on the rise. "Rocks, Nash. Is that a river mare out there? Do you see her? Have you ever laid eyes on a more gorgeous creature? ~ Kristin Cashore,
250:Like Joseph, you've been dumped into the pit. And, like Joseph, you choose to heed the call of God on your life. It's not easy. You're tempted to get even. But you choose instead to ponder your destiny. ~ Max Lucado,
251:Long projects zap morale. The longer it takes to develop, the less likely it is to launch. Make the call, make progress, and get something out now—while you’ve got the motivation and momentum to do so. ~ Jason Fried,
252:This was the call-and-response of democracy, I realized, a contract forged person by person. You show up for us, and we’ll show up for you. I had fifteen thousand more reasons to want Barack to win. ~ Michelle Obama,
253:Where there is a soul that has once become awake, there is surely a capacity within that can outweigh all surface defects and can in the end conquer. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
254:Life gets in the way and people you could never imagine your life without at one point become memories you relive with a smile and a reminder to call them, and then years pass but you never made the call. ~ Ker Dukey,
255:I do know how to operate a computer. (Joe)
Yeah, right. What was it you said just ten minutes ago? Get this damned thing off my desk before I shoot it? Now make the call, Mr. Hunt-and-Peck. (Tee) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
256:With a sigh, I connect the call and stare down at the glitter and sparkle of the lights in the city below me. I'm not an overly sentimental man, but looking down on the city makes me appreciate its beauty. ~ R R Banks,
257:You are called into the community of faith; the call was not meant for you alone. You carry your cross, you struggle, and you pray in the community of faith, the community of those who are called. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
258:Amy gritted her teeth. "King Louis XVI even put Franklin's picture on a chamber pot!" Jonah looked at his dad. "Do we have souvenir chamber pots?" "No." His dad whipped out his phone. "I'll make the call. ~ Rick Riordan,
259:Bodie’s phone rang. Ivy. I knew it was her, the way you know the protagonist of a horror movie really shouldn’t go down into that basement. Bodie took the call, then nodded at me to go back inside. ~ Jennifer Lynn Barnes,
260:I’ll call him for you.”
“I’m not about to suck your dick so you’ll make a call for me.”
“And I’m not making the call so you’ll suck my dick. So, now that we’ve cleared that up, can you get on with it? ~ C D Reiss,
261:You are sunshine and moonlight, laughter and joy, a life lived entirely without fear. You heard the call of a dream and made it a reality. You are everything I believed I was fighting for all those years. ~ Elaine Levine,
262:There's the pressure of being a No. 1 on the call sheet, being a lead actor. There's almost this feeling like being captain of the team. You want to put a bit of energy into actually setting a good example. ~ Joel Edgerton,
263:We rarely mention the radical depravity of man and the heinous nature of his sin or expound it to wound the conscience. We have replaced the call to repentance and faith with the repetition of a prayer. ~ Paul David Washer,
264:We’ve seen with this president, experience matters. When that phone call comes at three o’clock in the morning, I will be up and ready for the call because I will know what’s going on in the world around us. ~ Rick Santorum,
265:It is by the Grace of the Divine and the aid of a Force greater than your own, not by personal capacity and worth that you can attain the goal of the sadhana. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
266:Amy gritted her teeth. "King Louis XVI even put Franklin's picture on a chamber pot!"
Jonah looked at his dad. "Do we have souvenir chamber pots?"
"No." His dad whipped out his phone. "I'll make the call. ~ Rick Riordan,
267:Each and every master, regardless of the era or the place, heard the call and attained harmony with heaven and earth. There are many paths leading to the top of Mount Fuji, but there is only one summit - love. ~ Morihei Ueshiba,
268:I can be careful,” Dannon said, “but it’s still a little more chum in the water. We could be stirring up the sharks.” “It’s a small risk, and we need to take it,” she said. “Make the call. Let’s see what happens. ~ John Sandford,
269:The Call
MY blood so red
For thee was shed,
Come home again, come home again;
My own sweet heart, come home again!
You've gone astray
Out of your way,
Come home again, come home again!
~ Anonymous,
270:We are never short on opportunities to answer the call to assist the widows, support the homeless, stand up for justice and to preach Christ crucified and resurrected. That is the true calling of every believer. ~ Andrena Sawyer,
271:Let the wind blow, lad
Let fall the deep snow,
Let the stars fall, lad
we'll answer the call.
Let the dark come, lad
Ask not were its from.
After the fight, lad
we'll see mornings light. ~ Jennifer A Nielsen,
272:Beauty will not come at the call of a legislature, nor will it repeat in England or America its history in Greece. It will come, as always, unannounced, and spring up between the feet of brave and earnest men. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
273:I was a pallbearer. I felt, when I got the call that Peter had died, I didn't have any bank account, but I felt I needed to start walking then because there was no way in the world I would miss Peter Norman's service. ~ John Carlos,
274:The heroic life is living the individual adventure. There is no security in following the call to adventure. Nothing is exciting if you know what the outcome is going to be. To refuse the call means stagnation. ~ Joseph Campbell,
275:From the time of my conversion, I realized my need of much study if ever I were to fulfill the call of God upon my life. Therefore, I spent many hours reading the Bible, and seeking to understand its message and meaning. ~ A A Allen,
276:the checks from patients, through a service called, ‘lockbox.’ Lisa Trask managed the hospital receivables. I don’t think it’s that—” “Greene, I could hug you right now,” Tess replied, then ended the call. “I’ll be dam ~ Leslie Wolfe,
277:If the soul does not hear the call and sleeps, it is not the fault of nature, which is continually calling. Therefore, if I were to say in a few words, how to find one's purpose, I would say: by waking from sleep. ~ Hazrat Inayat Khan,
278:I realized that I had the call to take care of the sick and the dying, the hungry, the naked, the homeless - to be God's Love in action to the poorest of the poor. That was the beginning of the Missionaries of Charity. ~ Mother Teresa,
279:Spiritually evolved people, by virtue of their discipline, mastery and love, are people of extraordinary competence, and in their competence they are called on to serve the world, and in their love they answer the call. ~ M Scott Peck,
280:..then he pushed the call button again and asked, "Are you sleeping with anyone?"

"Why is that any business of yours?"

"Because I want to fuck you, Eva. I need to know what's standing in my way, if anything. ~ Sylvia Day,
281:What there is to be proud of? One answer is: Darwin-like behavior. Go above and beyond the call of a smoothly functioning conscience; help those who aren´t likely to help you in return, and do so when nobody is watching ~ Robert Wright,
282:He who now stares at the world with ignorant eyes
Hardly from the Inconscient’s night aroused,
That look at images and not at Truth,
Can fill those orbs with an immortal’s sight. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
283:I filled in for Papa Roach because we weren't doing much. Unwritten Law had a few more shows booked, but I got the call to fill in again at the end of the year. I was like, "I have to make myself available to these guys." ~ Tony Palermo,
284:Let the winds blow, lad
Let fall the deep snow.
Let the stars fall, lad
We'll answer the call.

Let the dark come, lad
Ask not where it's from.
After the fight, lad
We'll see morning's light ~ Jennifer A Nielsen,
285:It is that the promise of the “gift” or “baptism” of the Spirit is to as many as the Lord our God calls. The promise of God is coextensive with the call of God. Whoever receives the divine call inherits the divine promise. ~ John R W Stott,
286:It was the call of workers who organized; women who reached for the ballot; a President who chose the moon as our new frontier; and a King who took us to the mountain top and pointed the way to the Promised Land. Yes we can! ~ Barack Obama,
287:To her surprise, Jilly appeared to have handed over the telephone and a moment
later Taka ended the call. No, maybe it shouldn't surprise her. Jilly would have resisted bullying, but Taka's calm control was very…seductive. ~ Anne Stuart,
288:Weamish looked here and there to discover the source of the call. Observing Twango and Soldinck, he uttered a wild cry in which defiance seemed mingled with mirth.

"That is at best an ambiguous response," said Soldinck. ~ Jack Vance,
289:It's just weird that out of nowhere God said, May the three best-looking guys in Hollywood have babies - Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and me. It was bizarre that God said, I want to make the planet more beautiful, and I got the call. ~ Adam Sandler,
290:The ketch belonged to an angry millionaire, who hadn't been willing to lend it until he received a personal telephone call from the President of France. (His wife had put on her tiara to listen to the call on an extension.) ~ Peter Dickinson,
291:It is not one’s personal fitness and worthiness that makes one succeed, but the Mother’s grace and power and the consent of the soul to her grace and the workings of her Force. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters on Yoga - II, The Call and the Capacity,
292:THEME ASPIRATIONIt [aspiration] is the call in the being for the Divine or for the higher things that belong to the Divine Consciousness. (To "aspire" always means to call for higher things.) ~ Sri Aurobindo(Letters on Yoga - II)#SriAurobindo,
293:How impossible, how utterly absurd it would be for the disciples--these disciples, such men as these!--to try and become the light of the world! No, they are already the light, and the call has made them so. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
294:If you're never called, then you don't know any better. If you are called and don't answer the call, then that is the most difficult and painful. If you are called and do answer the call, it is the adventure of your life. ~ Kelly Carlin McCall,
295:Jewish fundamentalism is teaching that Jews can fight with guns and with civil war, against being relocated off the West Bank, and disobey the orders of their government. That is the call to jihad, to several kinds of jihad. ~ Arthur Hertzberg,
296:The conviction which we must share and spread is that the call to holiness is directed to all Christians. This is not a question of privilege or of spiritual elitism. It is a question of a grace offered to all the baptized. ~ Pope John Paul II,
297:attacks of 9/11.Acting Deputy Administrator Belger was frustrated to learn later in the morning that the military had not been on the call.188 At theWhite House,the video teleconference was conducted from the Situation Room by Richard ~ Anonymous,
298:I've written a number of songs over the years and it's a big part of my life, this sort of tension between a longing for home and the call for the open road. It's sort of like a tug between two families. I even love to miss my home. ~ James Taylor,
299:Woody Allen, that was a dream come true, although I never really talked to him. Auditioning was fun, because you don't really hear much about the script. They just said, "They want a Woody Allen type," so of course I got the call. ~ Peter Jacobson,
300:In the hero stories, the call to go on a journey takes the form of a loss, a depression, an error, a wound, an unexplainable longing, or a sense of a mission. When any of these happens to us, we are being summoned to make a transition. ~ David Richo,
301:The struggle of literature is in fact a struggle to escape from the confines of language; it stretches out from the utmost limits of what can be said; what stirs literature is the call and attraction of what is not in the dictionary. ~ Italo Calvino,
302:I still read the books to-day, but never again shall I read them with that old glory of youthful passion when I harked to the call from over and beyond that whispered me on to win to the mystery at the back of life and behind the stars. ~ Jack London,
303:Does anyone know Steve well enough to call him on this?” Amelio asked his staff. Because his encounter with Jobs two years earlier had ended badly, Amelio didn’t want to make the call himself. But as it turned out, he didn’t need to. ~ Walter Isaacson,
304:The call of God is not a reflection of my nature; my personal desires and temperament are of no consideration. As long as I dwell on my own qualities and traits and think about what I am suited for, I will never hear the call of God. ~ Oswald Chambers,
305:Many Christians 'stall out' in the faith when the call to total commitment is received or viewed as something too high or too hard to acquire...or they have never been taught that total commitment is Christ's demand for all His followers. ~ Chip Ingram,
306:Human nature was such that individuals could respond to reason, to the call of justice, and even to the love perfection of the religious spirit, but nations, corporations, labor unions, and other large social groups would always be selfish. ~ Taylor Branch,
307:Maybe it stems from my newspaper-reporting days, but I took notes the whole time - getting the call, how I felt. As soon as I put pen to paper, it became a story [Hunger Heart], not something happening to me but something I was recording. ~ Jennifer Weiner,
308:Often in business we take decisions based on how we interpret the situation, not being sure of whether the call we have taken will work or not. When it works, we are often taken by surprise. But the world at large demands an explanation. ~ Devdutt Pattanaik,
309:Being a novelist and being a mother have exactly coincided in my life: the call from my agent saying that I had a contract for my first novel - that was on my answering phone message when I got back from the hospital with my first child. ~ Barbara Kingsolver,
310:This is a global war on terror. We're facing extremists that believe something. And they want to achieve objectives. And, therefore, the United States must use all our assets and we must work with others to defeat this enemy. That's the call. ~ George W Bush,
311:Yeah,Livie?”
“How do you figure out the right way to live your life?” There’s a long pause. So long that I check the screen of my cell phone to see if the call is still connected.
“Trial and error, Livie. That’s the only way that I know of. ~ K A Tucker,
312:We have only to see how that which makes up the reality of our lives relates to our vocation; we have only to hear the call God makes to us to work with him. Quite often it is not a matter of doing something different, but doing it differently. ~ Jean Danielou,
313:You need to be confronted
By the Stranger on the shore
You need to have Him search your soul
You need to hear the call
You need to learn exactly
What it means for you to follow
You need to realize that He`s asking for your all. ~ Michael Card,
314:The equilibrium you admire in me is an unstable one, difficult to maintain. My inner life was split early between the call of the Ancestors and the call of Europe, between the exigencies of black-African culture and those of modern life. ~ Leopold Sedar Senghor,
315:9. Gods three thousand and three hundred and thirty and nine waited upon the Fire. They anointed him with streams of the clarity, they spread for him the seat of sacrifice, and seated him within as priest of the call.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Hymns To The Mystic Fire,
316:Getting the call to be in The Goblet of Fire was like being welcomed into the most exclusive upper circle of some elite actors' club. You sit on set with the cream of the National Theatre and the RSC, all clutching wands or wearing witches' hats. ~ David Tennant,
317:I had spent an entire life praying for a miracle, and none had come. And now I looked at the stuffy chapel of my ancestors and saw vanity and greed, heard the call to prayer and thought of power, smelled incense and wondered at the waste of it all. ~ Claire North,
318:What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for some goal worthy of him. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost, but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. ~ Viktor E Frankl,
319:If men as individuals surrender to the call of their elementary instincts, avoiding pain and seeking satisfaction only for their own selves, the result for them all taken together must be a state of insecurity, of fear, and of promiscuous misery. ~ Albert Einstein,
320:The call of Constantinople echoed loudly around all of Europe in the eleventh century. Documents record that in the eleventh century it was home to men from Britain, Italy, France and Germany—as well as from Kiev, Scandinavia and Iceland. Traders ~ Peter Frankopan,
321:When you realize that suffering and discomfort are the call to inquiry, you may actually begin to look forward to uncomfortable feelings. You may even experience them as friends coming to show you what you have not yet investigated thoroughly enough. ~ Byron Katie,
322:I might be a tad on the lazy side when it came to researching—it was always the job I hated the most when I was stuck in the call center—but when things interested me I was all over them. I was like a ninja private investigator with a degree in Google. ~ Jaymin Eve,
323:And closely akin [...] was the call still sounding in the depths of the forest. It filled him with a great unrest and strange desires. It caused him to feel a vague, sweet gladness, and he was aware of wild yearnings and stirrings for he knew not what. ~ Jack London,
324:Gallantry,” he often told his men, “is an act of great courage under fire, of bravery beyond the call of duty. But if it kills your comrades as well or puts the battle in jeopardy, then it is arrant pride and foolishness. Learn to know the difference. ~ Charles Todd,
325:The call for journalists to adopt objectivity was an appeal for them to develop a consistent method of testing information—a transparent approach to evidence—precisely so that personal and cultural biases would not undermine the accuracy of their work. ~ Mark R Levin,
326:But if you’re going to make a judgment about me, then you need to know who I really am, not just the part I decide to tell you. I’d rather be honest about all of it and let you make the call as to whether you want to keep talking to me or not.” “Have ~ Nicholas Sparks,
327:So this is how it ends, she thought, when the call was over, and she was soothed by the banality of it. You get a phone call in a foreign country, and just like that the man with whom you once thought you’d grow old has departed from this earth. ~ Emily St John Mandel,
328:It’s one thing to think that your job has a purpose, and it’s another to meet a specific person who cares, appreciates, and values what you do,” Grant told me. “The call center people got a new sense of their worth—not only on the job but as individuals. ~ Janice Kaplan,
329:MH and Leon had accepted the call to raise a child, not by railroading her into becoming a gratifying mashup of biology and dreams, but by allowing her to reveal her nature over time, in no particular order, with switchbacks and reversals along the way. ~ Kelly Corrigan,
330:The night came stealing my heart away, a million sparkling diamonds and the call of the coyote. Lost in an endless eternity of questions, only darkened clouds for paths. The edge breaks a golden seal, a blazing sun announcing a new day's miracle. Ann DeMarle ~ Kim Weiss,
331:When we gather, we are responding to a call to worship; that call is an echo and renewal of the call of creation to be God’s image bearers for the world, and we fulfill the mission of being God’s image bearers by undertaking the work of culture making. ~ James K A Smith,
332:A shaking of heads, perhaps even an evil laugh, must go through our old, smart, experienced, self-assured world, when it hears the call of salvation of believing Christians: “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us.”5 Dietrich Bonhoeffer ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
333:I hadn’t believed it was possible, but maybe now I did. This was the call-and-response of democracy, I realized, a contract forged person by person. You show up for us, and we’ll show up for you. I had fifteen thousand more reasons to want Barack to win. ~ Michelle Obama,
334:I'm very harsh on real estate agents. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because of how the call every small house 'charming' and every run-down house a 'great fixer-upper'. Just once, I'd like them to show me a house and declare, 'This one's a piece of crap'. ~ Stephan Pastis,
335:In those moments, it was easy to believe that Izumrud still lived somewhere, waiting to be woken by the call of heroes, dreaming of the fine meal he would have it only some hapless child would walk into his mouth. A beast like that rests; he does not die. ~ Leigh Bardugo,
336:that she didn’t have time for tonight. Sidestepping the open suitcase laid out on the bedroom floor, she fished her phone out of her bag and stared at the screen. Voice mail. She continued to pack while the call connected, but stopped when she heard Eric’s ~ Ania Ahlborn,
337:The conditions that we are suffering force us to address the real issues that affect the life and well-being of the majority of our people. That is why the call for reparations and justice in dealing with the problems of Black people is so relevant now. ~ Louis Farrakhan,
338:By all means,' said Harriet. 'Where did you come from?'

'From London--like a bird that hears the call of its mate.'

'I didn't--" began Harriet.

'I didn't mean you. I meant the corpse. But still, talking of mates, will you marry me? ~ Dorothy L Sayers,
339:writer Oswald Chambers.“Beware of anything that competes with loyalty to Jesus Christ,” he wrote.“The greatest competitor of devotion to Jesus is service for Him.... The one aim of the call of God is the satisfaction of God, not a call to do something for Him. ~ Anonymous,
340:I disconnect the call and drop the phone into my pocket. Ordinarily, I'm more deferential to Trujillo. Given who he is and what he does, it only seems prudent, if not wise. I don't know what got into me just now. Talking to him like that is a good way to get my ~ R R Banks,
341:Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry’s best friends at Hogwarts, came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things Harry didn’t, but had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call. ~ J K Rowling,
342:ibn al-Musayyab said: ‘If a person performs Prayer in a wilderness, an angel prays on his right and an angel prays on his left. If he also gives the Call to Prayer and the signal to begin, angels perform Prayer behind him in rows like mountain ranges. ~ Abu Hamid al-Ghazali,
343:Now Rann the Kite brings home the night That Mang the Bat sets free— The herds are shut in byre and hut For loosed till dawn are we. This is the hour of pride and power, Talon and tush and claw. Oh, hear the call!—Good hunting all That keep the Jungle Law! ~ Rudyard Kipling,
344:Sometimes a party must sail against the wind. We cannot heed the call of those who say it is time to furl the sail. The party that tore itself apart over Vietnam in the 1960s cannot afford to tear itself apart today over budget cuts in basic social programs. ~ Edward Kennedy,
345:You are the call and I am the answer,
You are the wish, and I the fulfillment,
You are the night, and I the day.
What else? it is perfect enough.
It is perfectly complete,
You and I,
What more⎼?
Strange, how we suffer in spite of this! ~ D H Lawrence,
346:You are the call and I am the answer,
You are the wish, and I the fulfilment,
You are the night, and I the day.
What else? It is perfect enough.
It is perfectly complete.
You and I,
What more—?
Strange, how we suffer in spite of this! ~ D H Lawrence,
347:The call to wholeness is a call to a psycho-spiritual ecology, in which body, mind and spirit are held in relationship. Just as we have endangered the ecology of the world, and brought it to imbalance and crisis, so we can say the same of our internal relations. ~ David Tacey,
348:The family believes that my grandfather, Mark Felt Sr., is a great American hero who went well above and beyond the call of duty at much risk to himself to save his country from a horrible injustice. We all sincerely hope the country will see him this way as well. ~ Mark Felt,
349:The artist, and particularly the poet, is always an anarchist in the best sense of the word. He must heed only the call that arises within him from three strong voices: the voice of death, with all its foreboding, the voice of love and the voice of art. ~ Federico Garc a Lorca,
350:The artist, and particularly the poet, is always an anarchist in the best sense of the word. He must heed only the call that arises within him from three strong voices: the voice of death, with all its foreboding, the voice of love and the voice of art. ~ Federico Garcia Lorca,
351:I am asking for a conversion of our whole person so that all we do, say, and think becomes part of our urgent vocation to be peacemakers… Peacemaking is not restricted by any schedule, job, or talent. It is as universal a calling as the call to love.” (pg.23) ~ Henri J M Nouwen,
352:I want people to remember me that I was faithful, faithful to the gospel, faithful to the call that God gave me. And when I get to heaven, I'm going to ask him why he called me, because I was much used to milking cows and working on the farm than I was preaching. ~ Billy Graham,
353:. . . most of the ones who come when the call goes out won't have ever fought a war before. They'll come because they think it's honorable, or because they want to be heroes. They'll show up in their pretty armor, and they'll litter the battlefield like leaves. ~ Seanan McGuire,
354:What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. ~ Viktor E Frankl,
355:I also could not now return the call that my mother had left on my machine, a week previously. I just hadn’t got round to it. I hadn’t expected them to be erased from the surface of the earth without warning, and put below it, down where they couldn’t hear me. ~ Michael Marshall,
356:History has taught us over and over again that freedom is not free. When push comes to shove, the ultimate protectors of freedom and liberty are the brave men and women in our armed forces. Throughout our history, they've answered the call in bravery and sacrifice. ~ Tim Pawlenty,
357:Let us each of us now embrace with solemn duty, and awesome joy, what is our lasting birthright. With common effort and common purpose, with passion and dedication, let us answer the call of history and carry into an uncertain future that precious light of freedom. ~ Barack Obama,
358:Come senators, congressmen, Please heed the call, Don't stand in the doorway, Don't block up the hall, For he that gets hurt, Will be he who has stalled, The battle outside ragin', Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls, For the times they are a-changin'... ~ Bob Dylan,
359:We all know people who have been made much meaner and more irritable and more intolerable to live with by suffering: it is not right to say that all suffering perfects. It only perfects one type of person ...... the one who accepts the call of God in Christ Jesus. ~ Oswald Chambers,
360:Life without meaning
cannot be borne.
We find a mission
to which we're sworn
--or answer the call
of Death's dark horn.
Without a gleaning
of purpose in life,
we have no vision,
we live in strife,
--or let blood fall
on a suicide knife. ~ Dean Koontz,
361:Andrew put a finger to the underside of Neil's chin and forced Neil's head up until they were looking at each other. "On that day you're not going to run. You're going to think about what I promised you and you're going to make the call. Tell me you understand." Neil's ~ Nora Sakavic,
362:The greatest trouble with most of us is that our demands upon ourselves are so feeble, the call upon the great within of us so weak and intermittent that it makes no impression upon the creative energies; it lacks the force that transmutes desires into realities. ~ Orison Swett Marden,
363:Hunter looked over at Darcangelo. "How'd you get here so fast?"
"I was setting up that solicitation sting down on Colfax when the call came in. What took you so long? Getting your nails buffed?"
"Hey, F*ck you. It's my day off."
"Your day off? What is that sh*t? ~ Pamela Clare,
364:I have called those who had no tribe," he went on, "but still had honor and heeded the call of blood to blood. They rode us in trust. And I say to you all, there are no tribes under the sky father. There is only one Mongol nation and it begins this night, in this place. ~ Conn Iggulden,
365:When you build a product or service, you make the call on hundreds of tiny decisions each day. If you’re solving someone else’s problem, you’re constantly stabbing in the dark. When you solve your own problem, the light comes on. You know exactly what the right answer is. ~ Jason Fried,
366:Exactly.” Irma nodded, thoughtful. “I always figured that was because our greatest temptation wouldn’t be the big guns on the sin list — murder and theft and the rest. But something so simple we might overlook it. The temptation to hold a grudge.” “The call to forgive. ~ Karen Kingsbury,
367:Maybe everyone here slept better than my family did—surrounded by kin, lulled to sleep by the river-roar motion of wheels. No matter that some of those wheels glided on pavement instead of iron; they heeded the call to move, always move, rocking us to sleep with dreams ~ Barbara Nickless,
368:How often God visited the Jewish Church with judgments because they would not repent and be revived at the call of His prophets! How often have we seen Churches, and even whole denominations, cursed with a curse, because they would not wake up and seek the Lord. ~ Charles Grandison Finney,
369:I promise that because of your faithful response to the call to spread the gospel, He will bind up your broken hearts, dry your tears, and set you and your families free. That is my missionary promise to you and your missionary message to the world. ~ Jeffrey R Holland,
370:People who have lived their whole lives feeling half-complete. Who never truly fit anywhere in the world. Who never understood why they were here, or what they were meant for. Who never answered the call, because they never heard it. Because nothing ever spoke to them. ~ Guillermo del Toro,
371:I remember when I first got the call from Beyoncé to work on the project, and the mood that she was in and she was feeling, she wanted New Orleans-inspired music to be incorporated to the stuff she was doing. Creole-type stuff. Zydeco... She wanted that type of inspiration. ~ Rodney Jerkins,
372:Shepherds have received the revelations, While emperors have searched for them. Dogmatic scholars have resisted them. Leaders have been fearful of them. The Voice of God overshadows all when there is spiritual readiness. ~ Agni Yoga, Leaves of Morya’s Garden: Book One: The Call, 367, (1924),
373:Utility representatives will not show up at your door unannounced and will not ask for banking information in unsolicited phone calls. If you get a request for personal information that leaves you skeptical, contact my office and we can help determine if the call was legitimate. ~ Mike Beebe,
374:Oh, so this is the kitchen! And the call girls come to you, to service you on shift. Shit, that's a nice perk of the job. Wish I could get a blowjob while I'm working." Audra snorted. If the stories were true, Jay had enjoyed more such perks than Patel would in his lifetime. ~ Demelza Carlton,
375:The superficial and the slipshod have ready answers, but those looking this complex life straight in the eye acquire a wealth of perception so composed of delicately balanced contradictions that they dread, or resent, the call to couch any part of it in a bland generalization. ~ Peter De Vries,
376:When we look at what we have to offer—our skills, gifts, and desires—before asking what is needed of us, we are putting the cart before the horse, or the gifts before the call. The question a disciple must first ask is not, "What am I good at?" but rather, "What is required of me? ~ Jeff Goins,
377:Hurry," Hector urged, and his voice changed as his power surged, his tone and cadence sliding into the rhythm that said he was seeing the future. "Battle is in the air. I smell it. I can almost touch it. Death is coming Death is coming for us." With a click, the call disconnected. ~ Linda Howard,
378:Now Rann the Kite brings home the night
That Mang the Bat sets free—
The herds are shut in byre and hut
For loosed till dawn are we.
This is the hour of pride and power,
Talon and tush and claw.
Oh, hear the call!--Good hunting all
That keep the Jungle Law! ~ Rudyard Kipling,
379:Knowledge of the way is not enough - one must tread it, or if one cannot do that, allow oneself to be carried along it. The human vital and physical external nature resist to the very end, but if the soul has once heard the call, it arrives, sooner or later. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,
380:My mother thinks some disaster has happened if I don't return a phone call from her within twenty-four hours. It's hard to explain that the only chance to return the call will be when a disaster ISN'T happening, stormy being the prevailing climate with surprise outbreaks of calm. ~ Allison Pearson,
381:Whenever we moderns pause for a moment, and enter the silence, and listen very carefully, the glimmer of our deepest nature begins to shine forth, and we are introduced to the mysteries of the deep, the call of the within, the infinite radiance of a splendor that time and space forgot ~ Ken Wilber,
382:Now Rann the Kite brings home the night That Mang the Bat sets free— The herds are shut in byre and hut For loosed till dawn are we. This is the hour of pride and power, Talon and tush and claw. Oh, hear the call!—Good hunting all That keep the Jungle Law! Night-Song in the Jungle ~ Rudyard Kipling,
383:Remembering is a noble and necessary act. The call of memory, the call to memory, reaches us from the very dawn of history. No commandment figures so frequently, so insistently, in the Bible. It is incumbent upon us to remember the good we have received, and the evil we have suffered. ~ Elie Wiesel,
384:The Arctic has a call that is compelling. The distant mountains [of the Brooks Range in Alaska] make one want to go on and on over the next ridge and over the one beyond. The call is that of a wilderness known only to a few...This last American wilderness must remain sacrosanct. ~ William O Douglas,
385:The story of Jonah shows us the importance of the call of the prophet. Prophets are different. Prophets are unique. Prophets don’t ask to be called or chosen. Prophets are called from the womb. Prophets pay a price for running and hiding. Jonah ended up in the belly of a great fish. ~ John Eckhardt,
386:When our students accept the call of a servant leader to further the cause of Christ, it is time to begin considering how they can escape the strictly Christian subculture in order to shine their lights of truth into the dark places in our world. This will take great care and wisdom. ~ Dallas Willard,
387:A person who has not completely lost the memory of paradise, even though it is a faint one, will suffer endlessly. He will feel the call of the essential world, will hear the voice that comes from so far away that one cannot find out where it comes from, a voice that cannot guide him. ~ Eugene Ionesco,
388:He will hear this voice in uneasy dreams for the rest of his life, never quite remembering what he has dreamed, only knowing that the dreams leave him feeling ill somehow—walking restlessly, straightening pictures in loveless rooms, listening to the call to muzzein in alien town squares. ~ Stephen King,
389:The call to follow Christ, the call to desire his kingdom, does not simplify our lives by segregating us in some “pure” space; to the contrary, the call to bear Christ’s image complicates our lives because it comes to us in the midst of our environments without releasing us from them. ~ James K A Smith,
390:Today’s perfect right hooks always include three characteristics: They make the call to action simple and easy to understand. They are perfectly crafted for mobile, as well as all digital devices. They respect the nuances of the social network for which you are making the content. I’ll ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
391:Fate. As a child, that word was often my only companion. It whispered to me from dark corners during lonely nights. It was the song of the birds in spring and the call of the wind through bare branches on a cold winter afternoon. Fate. Both my anguish and my solace. My escort and my cage. ~ Leslye Walton,
392:Your adventure has to be coming out of your own interior. If you are ready for it then doors will open where there were no doors before, and where there would not be doors for anyone else. And you must have courage. It's the call to adventure, which means there is no security, no rules. ~ Joseph Campbell,
393:Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'. ~ Bob Dylan,
394:God did not direct His call to Isaiah— Isaiah overheard God saying, ". . . who will go for Us?" The call of God is not just for a select few but for everyone. Whether I hear God’s call or not depends on the condition of my ears, and exactly what I hear depends upon my spiritual attitude. ~ Oswald Chambers,
395:Jack London (January 12, 1876 – November 22, 1916), was an American author who wrote The Call of the Wild and other books. A pioneer in the then-burgeoning world of commercial magazine fiction, he was one of the first Americans to make a huge financial success from writing. Source: Wikipedia ~ Jack London,
396:Now Rann, the Kite, brings home the night That Mang, the Bat, sets free— The herds are shut in byre and hut, For loosed till dawn are we. This is the hour of pride and power, Talon and tush and claw. Oh, hear the call! —Good hunting all That keep the Jungle Law! Night-Song in the Jungle. ~ Rudyard Kipling,
397:We all experience 'soul moments' in life-when we see a magnificent sunrise, hear the call of the loon, see the wrinkles in our mother's hands, or smell the sweetness of a baby. During these moments, our body, as well as our brain, resonates as we experience the glory of being a human being. ~ Marion Woodman,
398:As when the mantra sinks in Yoga’s ear,
Its message enters stirring the blind brain
And keeps in the dim ignorant cells its sound;
The hearer understands a form of words
And, musing on the index thought it holds,
He strives to read it with the l ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
399:Boys did not go to work on the railroad simply because their fathers did. What fetched them were sights and sounds of moving trains, and above all the whistle of a locomotive. I've heard of the call of the wild, the call of the law, the call of the church. There is also the call of the railroad. ~ Gary Krist,
400:I don't know if it has set in or not. Honestly, it's crazy. It's such an amazing honor. I remember thinking back to being in my room waiting for the call to see if I got the part. It's like winning the lottery. I'm proud to be a member of such an amazing cast - that's the best award of all. ~ Hailee Steinfeld,
401:Every believer should evangelize. I know some Christians think that evangelism is only for people with special gifts for it, but I don't believe the New Testament teaches that. While Paul does say that some believers have the call to be evangelists, all of us have the responsibility of evangelism. ~ Mark Dever,
402:One thing is certain: the call of Christ is always a promotion. Were Christ to call a king from his throne to preach the gospel to some tribe of aborigines, that king would be elevated above anything he had known before. Any movement toward Christ is ascent, and any direction away from Him is down. ~ A W Tozer,
403:Still is just the right way to be. You rise in the morning to go about your day. You remember a friend who has troubles. You don't quibble with yourself about whether to call her; you don't write a reminder on your Palm Pilot or in your planner to make the call tomorrow. You just call. Simple. ~ C Terry Warner,
404:The call to humility has been too little regarded in the church because its true nature and importance have been too little apprehended. It is not something that we bring to God, or that He bestows; it is simply the sense of entire nothingness that comes when we see how truly God is everything. ~ Andrew Murray,
405:The call of the father is not the call of the child, but the ministry of the father creates an anvil-like weight on the child. He just feels the pressure of it. Even the best pastoral parents can’t protect their kids from this. And it is this pressure, in part, that drives so many PKs to break. ~ Barnabas Piper,
406:Voluntary cooperation is more than mechanical execution, where people do only what it takes to get by. It involves going beyond the call of duty, wherein individuals exert energy and initiative to the best of their abilities—even subordinating personal self-interest—to execute resulting strategies. ~ W Chan Kim,
407:I think we draw people into our lives. It’s as though we broadcast our deepest needs, and certain people hear the signal somewhere in their own subconscious and heed the call. For better or worse, we attract our teachers, our allies, and sometimes even our nightmares. Some of us have louder signals. ~ Lisa Unger,
408:I tried to get the word out to people who are information hubs in their communities, because they could propagate the call quickly. One challenge is that breaking science fiction means, well, breaking science fiction. Many communities of colour have a different approach to narratives of science. ~ Nalo Hopkinson,
409:Voluntary cooperation is more than mechanical execution, where people do only what it takes to get by. It involves going beyond the call of duty, wherein individuals exert energy and initiative to the best of their abilities—even subordinating personal self-interest—to execute resulting strategies.3 ~ W Chan Kim,
410:You’re worried about your mother dying, aren’t you,” Leah said, putting her cheek on my forearm. “I can tell.”
For a moment I hesitated, but I could hear the call for intimacy in her voice, the desire for me to let her enter those grottoes where I tended my own fear of my mother’s illness. ~ Pat Conroy,
411:If, on the other hand, our prompting are awards a withdrawal on to the Mystical Path, let us ask ourselves honestly whether we are following that Path because the call of God in our hearts is so strong, or because
we have found life so difficult that we want to escape for ever from its problems. ~ Dion Fortune,
412:The goal of yoga is always hard to reach, but this one is more difficult than any other, and it is only for those who have the call, the capacity, the willingness to face everything and every risk, even the risk of failure, and the will to progress....

Sri Aurobindo
Letters on Yoga, p.545 ~ Sri Aurobindo,
413:...perhaps the most distinguishing trait of visionary leaders is that they believe in a goal that benefits not only themselves, but others as well. It is such vision that attracts the psychic energy of other people, and makes them willing to work beyond the call of duty for the organization. ~ Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi,
414:Unchaste abandon and the self-surrender of the soul to the world of sensuality paralyzes the primordial powers of the moral person: the ability to perceive, in silence, the call of reality, and to make, in the retreat of this silence, the decision appropriate to the concrete situation of concrete action. ~ Josef Pieper,
415:Always, we think we know what courage means. If I were called upon, we say, I would answer the call. I would not hesitate. Until the moment is upon us, and then we realize that the demands of true courage are very different from what we had envisioned, long ago on that bright morning when we felt brave. ~ Erika Johansen,
416:Everything, it seemed to Mma Ramotswe, had a waiting list—except the government taxman and the call, when it came, to leave this world. You could not argue with the agents of either of these: you paid, and you went. But I am just on the waiting list…No, there is no waiting list for these things… ~ Alexander McCall Smith,
417:God is calling and transitioning many of His ministers. Many have been called to be prophets, but they are fearful. Don’t be a Jonah. Don’t run from the call. Embrace it. The prophet’s ministry is designed to bring deliverance and salvation to many. Nineveh was spared and blessed because Jonah went there. ~ John Eckhardt,
418:Unfortunately, Martha's recipes, though suitably complex, fall a tad short if you're looking for aphrodisiac cooking, perhaps only because everything about a Martha recipe, from the font it's printed in to the call for sanding sugar, with appended notes on where to find such a thing, simply screams Martha. ~ Julie Powell,
419:Now Rann the Kite brings home the night
That Mang the Bat sets free—
The herds are shut in byre and hut
For loosed till dawn are we.
This is the hour of pride and power,
Talon and tush and claw.
Oh, hear the call!—Good hunting all
That keep the Jungle Law!
Night-Song in the Jungle ~ Rudyard Kipling,
420:An amusing story? She jabs the call button as if poking an eye. She doesn’t want an amusing story, she wants change, a break, not anecdotes. Her life has been stuffed with anecdotes, an endless string of the bastards, now she wants something to right for once. She wants success, or at least the hope of it. ~ David Nicholls,
421:Now Rann, the Kite, brings home the night That Mang, the Bat, sets free— The herds are shut in byre and hut, For loosed till dawn are we. This is the hour of pride and power, Talon and tush and claw. Oh, hear the call! —Good hunting all That keep the Jungle Law! Night-Song in the Jungle. Mowgli’s Brothers ~ Rudyard Kipling,
422:Only those who in following Christ leave everything they have can stand and say that they are justified solely by grace. They recognize the call to discipleship itself as grace and grace as that call. But those who want to use this grace to excuse themselves from discipleship are deceiving themselves. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
423:Isaiah was so attuned to God, because of the great crisis he had just endured, that the call of God penetrated his soul. The majority of us cannot hear anything but ourselves. And we cannot hear anything God says. But to be brought to the place where we can hear the call of God is to be profoundly changed. ~ Oswald Chambers,
424:So the call to “give an account” is, first, not a call to beat unwilling people into intellectual submission, but to be the servant of those in need, often indeed the servant of those who are in the grip of their own intellectual self-righteousness and pride, usually reinforced by their social surroundings. ~ Dallas Willard,
425:The People’s Daily summoned the language of another era and warned that constitutionalism, the call to put the Party under the rule of law, was “a weapon for information and psychological warfare used by the magnates of American monopoly capitalism and their proxies in China to subvert China’s socialist system. ~ Evan Osnos,
426:Wait.” Sheridan rose to his feet. Nykyrian hesitated. “If you need me, aridos,” he said, his voice tight with sincerity as he used the Ritadarion word for brother, “I will be there for you.” Nykyrian’s tone was still deadpan and emotionless. “If I need you, aridos, I’ll be dead before I can make the call. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
427:It is easier to serve God without a vision, easier to work for God without a call, because then you are not bothered by what God requires; common sense is your guide, veneered over with Christian sentiment. You will be more prosperous and successful, more leisure-hearted, if you never realize the call of God. ~ Oswald Chambers,
428:Always, we think we know what courage means. If I were called upon, we say, I would answer the call. I would not hesitate. Until the moment is upon us, and then we realize that the demands of true courage are very different from what we had envisioned, long ago on that bright morning when we felt brave. –Father ~ Erika Johansen,
429:The hero’s journey always begins with the call. One way or another, a guide must come to say, 'Look, you’re in Sleepy Land. Wake. Come on a trip. There is a whole aspect of your consciousness, your being, that’s not been touched. So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.' And so it starts. ~ Joseph Campbell,
430:In the hero stories, the call to go on a journey takes the form of a loss, an error, a wound, an unexplainable longing, or a sense of a mission. When any of these happens to us, we are being summoned to make a transition. It will always mean leaving something behind,...The paradox here is that loss is a path to gain. ~ David Richo,
431:I remember the call I got when they found her. All those dead men. She’d been untouched. That’s what happens when you corner my wife. That’s what happens when you throw her into the fray.
I’m an idiot for trying to protect her this whole time. She was never the one who needed protecting.
Everyone else was. ~ Laura Thalassa,
432:It is so easy to accept, so easy to refuse, when the call is heard, so easy, so easy. But to us, in our windowlessness, in our bloodheat, in our hush, to us who could not hear the wind, nor see the sun, what call could come, from the kind of weather we liked, but a call so faint as to mock acceptance, mock refusal? ~ Samuel Beckett,
433:The call of God is to preach the gospel--namely, the reality of redemption in our Lord Jesus Christ. The one passion of Paul's life was to proclaim the gospel of God. He welcomed heartbreak, disillusionment , and tribulation for only one reason--these things kept him unmovable in his devotion to the gospel of God. ~ Oswald Chambers,
434:There is danger there—a very real danger to humanity. Consider, Watson, that the material, the sensual, the worldly would all prolong their worthless lives. The spiritual would not avoid the call to something higher. It would be the survival of the least fit. What sort of cesspool may not our poor world become? ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
435:Being in the industry, I've seen many situations where someone will get the call from the network where they say 'You guys have 5 episodes to wrap it up.' Then all your long-term story arcs gotta get wrapped up in five episodes because that's how many episodes you got left. I would hate to see that happen to 'Castle'. ~ Nathan Fillion,
436:if our ward and stake leaders were to focus on leading their members to share the gospel, many of the other problems that fester in our hearts and homes, and in our wards and stakes, would resolve themselves through the blessings that come from accepting the call that God has given each of us to be missionaries. ~ Clayton M Christensen,
437:There is a danger there - a very real danger to humanity. Consider, Watson, that the material, the sensual, the worldly would all prolong their worthless lives. The spiritual would not avoid the call to something higher. It would be the survival of the least fit. What sort of cesspool may not our poor world become? ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
438:When the call came for the factory fire, Logan was spoiling for a fight...His degree of pissed-off had reached epic proportions.

The fire was everything Logan needed right now. Big and raging and hungry...

He couldn't do a damn thing about his private life but he could beat this motherfucker into submission. ~ Amy Andrews,
439:Old as I am in age, I have no feeling that I have ceased to grow inwardly or that my growth will stop at the dissolution of the flesh. What I am concerned with is my readiness to obey the call of Truth, my God, from moment to moment, no matter how inconsistent it may appear. My commitment is to Truth, not to consistency. ~ Mahatma Gandhi,
440:The reason why the world's leftists give the world' s most horrible murderers a pass is because they sympathize with their socioeconomic goals, which include government ownership and/or control over the means of production. In the U.S., the call is for government control, through regulations, as opposed to ownership. ~ Walter E Williams,
441:Hunter’s name drifted to him on the wind, the call barely discernible yet shrill, like the whisper of a lost soul searching for solace. He reined his stallion to a halt, bracing himself against the sound, teeth clenched, eyes closed, his trapped breath searing his throat. Hunter. His woman still called for him. ~ Catherine Anderson,
442:But when I accept the call of creative passion, I am a bold stroke of vermilion, a renegade hyperbole, or the wild fury of jazz violin. The world is a canvas to explore, a blank page to fill, and an arpeggio of waiting experiences. This moving masterpiece called “life” becomes intoxicating when it’s lived as if it were art. ~ Jill Badonsky,
443:Guy Molony, who ran away from New Orleans at sixteen to fight in the Boer War. It was the era of romantic soldiering, when boys heeded the call of Rudyard Kipling (“Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, / Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments an’ a man can raise a thirst,” he wrote in “Mandalay”). ~ Rich Cohen,
444:It is strange and ultimately insulting how, when someone you love dies, just expires without warning, time does not stop. For weeks after the funeral, everything is in limbo. Obligations disappear, routines crumble. It is enough to shuffle along the edge of one’s life. When the call back to normality comes, I ignore it ~ Kayla Rae Whitaker,
445:The life you lead conceals the light you are.
Immortal Powers sweep flaming past your doors;
Far-off upon your tops the god-chant sounds
While to exceed yourselves thought's trumpets call,
Heard by a few, but fewer dare aspire,
The nympholepts of the ecstasy and the blaze.
~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Call to the Quest,
446:Through being fired I was given the perfect circumstances to finally answer my calling and live my dream, and I remain grateful to this day for that television network firing me. Without them, I would have refused the call to follow my dream, and I would have missed living the most exciting and fulfilling journey of my life. ~ Rhonda Byrne,
447:But at the bottom, the immanent philosopher sees in the entire universe only the deepest longing for absolute annihilation, and it is as if he clearly hears the call that permeates all spheres of heaven: Redemption! Redemption! Death to our life! and the comforting answer: you will all find annihilation and be redeemed! ~ Philipp Mainl nder,
448:All the people speak of a hero like a ghost or a sleeping saint, or a pretender. It would almost make you believe that there is an heir of York hidden out in the hills, a king waiting for the call to battle, sleeping like the true Arthur of England, ready to rise. People love to dream, so how should anyone contradict them? ~ Philippa Gregory,
449:Eventually I got the call for 'Iron Man,' and I read sides that had nothing to do with what I did in the movie, and I performed it once while no one was in the room - it was videotaped, and I'm sure Shane Black was watching it from his helicopter or something. And then I got a call the next day that I was going down to shoot it. ~ Adam Pally,
450:Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire the world must fall—” Jason shot to his feet. His eyes looked wild, like he’d just been tasered. Even Rachel seemed caught off guard. “J-Jason?” she said. “What’s—” “Ut cum spiritu postrema sacramentum dejuremus,” he chanted. “Et hostes ornamenta addent ad ianuam necem. ~ Rick Riordan,
451:As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons. ~ George R R Martin,
452:She told me that the call had been a deliberate move to let all of Russian officialdom know about her views on my performance. As she wrote in her memoir, “I made a point of calling him on an open line one night, and speaking very clearly so all the eavesdropping Russian spies could hear, I told him what a good job he was doing. ~ Michael McFaul,
453:The call of Christ is to deny ourselves and to let go of our lives. To relinquish control of our lives, to surrender everything we are, everything that we do, our direction our safety our security is no longer found in the things of this world. It is found in Christ. And that is great risk when it comes to the things of this world. ~ David Platt,
454:No one knows themselves very well. Who has the time these days? Have you been formally introduced to yourself? Made the effort to get to know your faults and your strengths, sit yourself down to tea and listen to all your troubles, answered the call when yourself falters? Then how can you say you know yourself in the least? ~ Catherynne M Valente,
455:The goal of yoga is always hard to reach, but this one is more difficult than any other, and it is only for those who have the call, the capacity, the willingness to face everything and every risk, even the risk of failure, and the will to progress towards an entire selflessness, desirelessness and surrender. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,
456:Your call will become clear as as your mind is transformed by the reading of Scripture and the internal work of God's Spirit. The Lord never hides His will from us. In time, as you obey the call first to follow, your destiny will unfold before you. The difficulty will lie in keeping other concerns from diverting your attention. ~ Charles R Swindoll,
457:When I assert that Islam is not a religion of peace I do not mean that Islamic belief makes Muslims naturally violent. This is manifestly not the case: there are many millions of peaceful Muslims in the world. What I do say is that the call to violence and the justification for it are explicitly stated in the sacred texts of Islam. ~ Ayaan Hirsi Ali,
458:IBM uses what I like to call the 'hole-in-the-ground technique' to destroy the competition..... IBM digs a big HOLE in the ground and covers it with leaves. It then puts a big POT OF GOLD nearby. Then it gives the call, 'Hey, look at all this gold, get over here fast.' As soon as the competitor approaches the pot, he falls into the pit ~ John C Dvorak,
459:Humanity cherishes its swaddling clothes; but it shall not grow up unless it can free itself from them. Turning down his mother's breast does not make the weaned child ungrateful. ... Rise up naked, valiant; make the sheaths crack; push aside the stakes; to grow straight you need no more than the thrust of your sap and the call of the sun. ~ Andre Gide,
460:The call to be a disciple of Jesus Christ is open to everyone, but we don’t get to write our own job description. If Jesus is Lord, then He sets the agenda. If Jesus Christ is Lord, then your life belongs to Him. He has a plan, agenda, and calling for you. You don’t get to tell Him what you’ll be doing today or for the rest of your life. ~ Francis Chan,
461:One of the fundamental features of the so-called modern Islamic resurgence is the call to restore the Shari'a, the religious law of Islam. During the past two and a half decades, this call has grown ever more forceful, generating religious movements, a vast amount of literature, and affecting world politics. There is no doubt that Islamic law ~ Anonymous,
462:I'll only work on TV shows that have a 'Sookie' on them! Those are the only shows that will cast me. And I've never even met a Sookie in my life. Sookie on 'Gilmore Girls' was played by Melissa McCarthy. And Sookie, played by Anna Paquin, is number one on the call sheet on 'True Blood.' Somebody should write another script with a Sookie in it. ~ Todd Lowe,
463:When you understand that evangelism isn’t converting people, but that it is telling them the wonderful truth about God, the great news about Jesus Christ, then obedience to the call to evangelize can become certain and joyful. Understanding this increases evangelism, as it moves away from being a guilt-driven burden to being a joyful privilege. ~ Mark Dever,
464:Deep in the forest a call was sounding, and as often as he heard this call, mysteriously thrilling and luring, he felt compelled to turn his back upon the fire and the beaten earth around it, and to plunge into the forest, and on and on, he knew not where or why; nor did he wonder where or why, the call sounding imperiously, deep in the forest. ~ Jack London,
465:Some things, if you don't do them, they follow you all your life, whispering in your ear," says Granny Carne. She faces me sternly as if she's judging me. "You'll find a dozen good reasons why you pulled back from the Call, and you'll even fool yourself that you had no other choice. But in your bed at night you'll curse yourself for a coward. ~ Helen Dunmore,
466:The sad truth was that he feared he would never marry and have a family of his own. Meg was the only woman since his wild youth that made his blood sing. She was the only woman who made him want to be better, stronger. She was the only woman whose spirit cried out to him. For her sake, no matter how much he suffered, he had to ignore the call. ~ Penny Richards,
467:Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, alive or dead, young or old, my heart will always be with yours. Every beat you feel against your fingertips..." His fingers tapped against my chest, once, twice. "... is me calling out to you. It's you returning the call. It's us talking, communicating, bonding, sharing, Living -- Kiersten, it's us living. ~ Rachel Van Dyken,
468:In the sway of a sudden reverie among the furrows or while untangling the mysteries of an early-morning dream. In the middle of a song on a warm Sunday night. Then it comes, always—the overseer’s cry, the call to work, the shadow of the master, the reminder that she is only a human being for a tiny moment across the eternity of her servitude. ~ Colson Whitehead,
469:God is indeed angry at everything that has so horribly spoiled his wonderful world. His gaze from the throne is a deep, inexpressible mixture of sorrow and anger. But the lamb’s anger is the utter rejection, by Love incarnate, of all that is unloving. The only people who should be afraid of it are those who are determined to resist the call of love. ~ Tom Wright,
470:The Bible holds up before us ideals that are within sight of the weakest and the lowliest, and yet so high that the best and the noblest are kept with their faces turned ever upward. It carries the call of the Saviour to the remotest corners of the earth; on its pages are written the assurances of the present and our hopes for the future ~ William Jennings Bryan,
471:I applied to be a subject in a simulated Mars mission. I made it past the first round of cuts and was told that someone from the European Space Agency would call me for a phone interview later in the month. The call came at 4:30 A.M., and I did not take care to hide my irritation. I realized later that it had probably been a test, and I had failed it. ~ Mary Roach,
472:I deeply regret to say that terrorism has become globalized: ' From New York to Mosul, from Damascus to Baghdad, from the Easternmost to the Westernmost parts of the world, from Al-Qaeda to Daesh'. The extremists of the world have found each other and have put out the call: 'extremists of the world unite'. But are we united against the extremists? ~ Hassan Rouhani,
473:The only man who has the right to say that he is justified by grace alone is the man who has left all to follow Christ. Such a man knows that the call to discipleship is a gift of grace, and that the call is inseparable from the grace. But those who try to use this grace as a dispensation from following Christ are simply deceiving themselves. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
474:Then they told me about the call from home and that they were taking the threats seriously. I don't know why, but hearing I was being targeted did not worry me. It seemed to me that everyone knows they will die one day. My feeling was nobody can stop death; it doesn't matter if it comes from a Talib or cancer. So I should do whatever I want to do. ~ Malala Yousafzai,
475:And for five years it was no longer possible to enjoy the call of birds in the cool of the evening. We were forced to despair. We were cut off from the world because to each moment clung a whole mass of mortal images. For five years the earth has not seen a single morning without death agonies, a single evening without prisons, a noon without slaughter. ~ Albert Camus,
476:Being with patients in these moments certainly had its emotional cost, but it also had its rewards. I don’t think I ever spent a minute of any day wondering why I did this work, or whether it was worth it. The call to protect life—and not merely life but another’s identity; it is perhaps not too much to say another’s soul—was obvious in its sacredness. ~ Paul Kalanithi,
477:In the moment we cease resisting others, we’re out of the box—liberated from self-justifying thoughts and feelings. This is why the way out of the box is always right before our eyes—because the people we’re resisting are right before our eyes. We can stop betraying ourselves toward them—we can stop resisting the call of their humanity upon us. ~ The Arbinger Institute,
478:There was no downtime between calls, because there were always several hundred morons in the call queue, all of them willing to wait on hold for hours to have a tech rep hold their hand and fix their problem. Why bother looking up the solution online? Why try to figure the problem out on your own when you could have someone else do your thinking for you? ~ Ernest Cline,
479:When you resolve to become pious, the devil in your nature cries out at you, "Tread not those paths, O confused one; distress and poverty will overcome you. You will be despised, let down by friends, you will regret it." Dread of the devil has bound their souls; the cries of the devil are the drover of the damned; the call of the Lord is a guardian of the saints. ~ Rumi,
480:Because this report considered “commitment to multicultural social studies education” to be crucial, it called for “extensive staff development” which would “address attitudes”—i.e., indoctrination—and which would extend even to the schools’ clerical staffs and bus drivers.7 In short, the call for cultural “diversity” is a call for ideological conformity. ~ Thomas Sowell,
481:That’s when I got the first real tingle of warning. Small, but serious. The smart thing to do would have been to simply end the call. No goodbyes, no polite refusals, just hit the button, put the cell phone in the bottom drawer of my file cabinet, and go to the multiplex to watch a movie about things blowing up. Maybe get some Ben and Jerry’s afterward. ~ Jonathan Maberry,
482:Well, it worked. I think you saved me from having a nervous breakdown.” “I’m glad I did. Now get off the phone and concentrate on driving. Take care of our boy, and I love you.” “Love you, too.” I disconnect the call and thank my lucky stars that Cindy and the rest of the Canning clan are part of my life. Then I drive to the hospital to take care of our boy. ~ Sarina Bowen,
483:In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with the hour for loving. Nature does not often say 'See!' to her poor creature at a time when seeing can lead to happy doing; or reply 'Here!' to a body's cry of 'Where?' till the hide-and-seek has become an irksome outworn game. ~ Thomas Hardy,
484:'DWTS' came to America and I was ranked first in the U.S. When I got the call, I turned them down. That's why I missed the first season because I felt like I was still seriously competing and it would have been distracting. They called me again for the 2nd season and I said yes. I wanted to see what it was like to do something different and here we are. ~ Maksim Chmerkovskiy,
485:In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with the hour for loving. Nature does not often say "See!" to her poor creature at a time when seeing can lead to happy doing; or reply "Here!" to a body's cry of "Where?" till the hide-and-seek has become an irksome, outworn game. ~ Thomas Hardy,
486:Being with patients in these moments certainly had its emotional cost, but it also had its rewards. I don’t think I ever spent a minute of any day wondering why I did this work, or whether it was worth it. The call to protect life—and not merely life but another’s identity; it is perhaps not too much to say another’s soul—was obvious in its sacredness. Before ~ Paul Kalanithi,
487:Being with patients in these moments certainly had its emotional cost, but it also had its reward. I don't think I ever spent a minute of any day wondering why I did this work, or whether it was worth it. The call to protect life--and not merely life but another's identity; it is perhaps not too much to say another's soul--was obvious in its sacredness. ~ Paul Kalanithi,
488:disconnect the call and drop the phone into my pocket. Ordinarily, I'm more deferential to Trujillo. Given who he is and what he does, it only seems prudent, if not wise. I don't know what got into me just now. Talking to him like that is a good way to get my teeth kicked down my throat. I guess I'm just cold, tired, and stressed the fuck out. Turning back, I stare ~ R R Banks,
489:I plan to ease in, take my time, but as soon as my cock gets that first taste, I surrender to a force that is almost centripetal, drawing me in deeper. I plunge into the tight clutch of her body. She folds around me as I enter. When I withdraw, there’s a reluctant letting go. With every thrust, she takes more of me. Her body is the call, and mine is the response. ~ Kennedy Ryan,
490:The threat to man does not come in the first instance from the potentially lethal machines and apparatus of technology. The actual threat has already affected man in his essence. The rule of Enframing threatens man with the possibility that it could be denied to him to enter into a more original revealing and hence to experience the call of a more primal truth ~ Martin Heidegger,
491:Well, Ma, see... there's this girl."
Silence.
He checked to make sure the call hadn't been dropped. "You still there, Ma?"
A sniffle.
"You can't be crying already," he said. "I haven't told you anything about her yet."
"It doesn't matter, Nick," his mother said through her tears. "Those are the three words I've been waiting thirty-four years to hear. ~ Julie James,
492:IV. When those that we have formerly been conversant with are turning to God, and to his people, their example ought to influence us. Their example should be looked upon as the call of God to us to do as they have done. God, when he changes the heart of one, calls upon another; especially does he loudly call on those that have been their friends and acquaintance. ~ Jonathan Edwards,
493:I was struck again by the deep quiet of the countryside, the absence of any human sounds; my mind still expected the clamor of cars, voices, all the clatter of nonstop human movement. Here was only the hushed patter of the drizzle, the call of birds in faraway trees. The air was impossibly sweet, like wine. A crow called from somewhere, its voice dark and throaty. ~ Simone St James,
494:I've been driven all my life by a spirit of adventure and a criminal level of optimism. I believed in my dreams because they were my only option. The people who make it to the top are addicted to their calling. You have to honor the gift God has given you. The people who get the call are the ones who'd be doing whatever it is they love, even if they weren't being paid. ~ Quincy Jones,
495:I had just settled into Ms. Stein’s chair when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen, which told me that the call was from Rita. I answered. “Hello?” “Dexter, hi, it’s me,” she said. “That was my first guess,” I told her. “What? Oh. Anyway, listen,” she said, which didn’t seem necessary, since I was. “The doctor says I’m ready to come home, so can you come get us? ~ Jeff Lindsay,
496:He shucked his shorts, grabbed the newspaper off the nightstand, and plodded to the bathroom to take care of his business. Ensconced on the toilet, waiting for the semi-liquid gush that always came six hours or so after he ate Mexican food (would he never learn?), he opened the Call and rattled his way to the comics, the only part of the local paper that was worth a damn. ~ Stephen King,
497:I have not always chosen the safest path. I've made my mistakes, plenty of them. I sometimes jump too soon and fail to appreciate the consequences. But I've learned something important along the way: I've learned to heed the call of my heart. I've learned that the safest path is not always the best path and I've learned that the voice of fear is not always to be trusted. ~ Steve Goodier,
498:The meanings that God calls us to in our lives are never abstract.  Though the call may ask us to redefine, or refine what we know as life,  it does not demand a renunciation of life in favor of something beyond it.  Moreover, the call itself is always composed of life.   That is, it is not some hitherto unknown voice to which we respond;  it is life calling to life."   ~ Christian Wiman,
499:Act, Zachary Martin Glass, when and where you want to, since you feel you must, but do it with all your might. If you do anything at all beautiful on a stage, anything nameless and joy-making, anything above and beyond the call of theatrical ingenuity, S. and I will both rent tuxedos and rhinestone hats and solemnly come around to the stage door with bouquets of snapdragons. ~ J D Salinger,
500:We all face a fundamental choice in our lives. Do we take the path prescribed by our “now you’re supposed to” society, or do we take our own path toward the life we feel we ought to be living? Do we choose our life’s work based on the U.S. Department of Labor’s list of highest-paying jobs, or do we follow our bliss? Do we heed the call to conformity, or the call to adventure? ~ Sean Patrick,
501:Love? I need a lot of love." Of course you do. Everyone does. It's funny that we never say it. It's OK to scream, 'I'm starving' in public if you are hungry; it's OK to make a fuss and say, 'I'm so sleepy', if you are tired; but somehow we cannot say, 'I need some more love.' Why can't we say it? It's just as basic a need." - ONE NIGHT @ THE CALL CENTER Chapter 36 pages 293-4 ~ Chetan Bhagat,
502:The telephone is there for your convenience, not for the convenience of your callers. Yet, as soon as we hear the phone ring, we act as if we are firefighters rushing to a five-alarm fire. We run to pick it up as if our lives depended on the call being answered at once. I have seen people interrupt quiet family dinners, dedicated reading times and meditation periods to answer ~ Robin S Sharma,
503:We recognize, then, that only as we are within the fellowship can we be· alone, and only he that is alone can live in the fellowship. Only in the fellowship do we learn to be rightly alone and only in aloneness do we learn to live rightly in the fellowship. It is not as though the one preceded the other; both begin at the same time, namely, with the call of Jesus Christ. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
504:Have I the capacity and are there potentialities in me to follow this path?

   This is not the question, the question is whether you have the necessary aspiration, determination and perseverance and whether you can by the intensity and persistence of your aspiration make all the parts of your being answer to the call and become one in the consecration.
   ~ The Mother, Words Of The Mother II,
505:She made only one educational stipulation: religious instruction. Unlike Aziz, who was racked by ambiguity, she had remained devout. 'You have your Hummingbird,' she told him, 'but I, whatsitsname, have the Call of God. A better noise, whatsitsname, than that man's hum.' It was one of her rare political comments… and then the day arrived when Aziz threw out the religious tutor. ~ Salman Rushdie,
506:All over India, all over the world, as the sun or the shadow of darkness moves from east to west, the call to prayer moves with it, and people kneel down in a wave to pray to God. Five waves each day - one for each namaaz - ripple across the globe from longitude to longitude. The component elements change direction, like iron filings near a magnet - towards the house of God in Mecca. ~ Vikram Seth,
507:Each man has his own vocation. The talent is the call. There is one direction in which all space is open to him. He has faculties silently inviting him thither to endless exertion. He is like a ship in the river; he runs against obstructions on every side but one; on that side all obstruction is taken away, and he sweeps serenely over a deepening channel into an infinite sea. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
508:Her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was 216, which meant the call was from someone close to home. She picked up and said hello. “This is Darrow Fontera.” “Who?” “I’m the head of security for Red Lobster. We met when you asked for surveillance footage.” “Yes, right. What can I do for you?” “I had asked you to return the DVD when you were done.” Was ~ Harlan Coben,
509:May your fingers never know a fist. May your ears never ring with the call of duty. Before this war is over, all men will have an opportunity to reveal their true selves. I welcome that opportunity. To be a hero requires difficult choices and sacrifice. Each man can respond only when the finger of bravery curls and beckons him forth. That finger, it beckons me, Hannelore. I feel it. ~ Ruta Sepetys,
510:All over India, all over the world, as the sun or the shadow of darkness moves from east to west, the call to prayer moves with it, and people kneel down in a wave to pray to God. Five waves each day - one for each namaaz - ripple across the globe from longitude to longtigude. The component elements change direction, like iron filings near a magnet - towards the house of God in Mecca. ~ Vikram Seth,
511:[I]n the male sexual lexicon, which is the vocabulary of power, erotica is simply high-class pornography: better produced, better conceived, better executed, better packaged, designed for a better class of consumer. As with the call girl and the streetwalker, one is turned out better but both are produced by the same system of sexual values and both perform the same sexual service. ~ Andrea Dworkin,
512:Above all: only grant the suspicion that sport is a pastime for the most stupid as much space as it deserves, do not misuse it as a pretext to drift further in your customary state of self-neglect, distrust the philistine in yourself who thinks you are just fine as you are! Hear the voice from the stone, do not resist the call to get in shape! Seize the chance to train with a god! ~ Peter Sloterdijk,
513:Ringil, preparing to hand out some straightforward reassurance, felt mischief sparkle through him instead. It was the call of impending risk, he knew, the itch to action—and a long building irritation with Nyanar that finally flared to life. He put on a breezy grin. “But my lord Nyanar! That’s what gives life its savor, is it not? Where would we be if the future were always known? ~ Richard K Morgan,
514:The boy with the flute is Sri Krishna, the Lord descended into the world-play from the divine Ananda; his flute is the music of the call which seeks to transform the lower ignorant play of mortal life and bring into it and establish in its place the lila of his divine Ananda. It was the psychic being in you that heard the call and followed after it.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - III, #index,
515:As I was a kid, I had a bunch of musicians, they always told me that I should listen to all styles of music and try to play all styles and be authentic at it, if I can, because you never know who's gonna call you. This was coming from fellow horn players who would get the call to play with different types of people. Since I was a kid, that was just something I was always interested in. ~ Troy Andrews,
516:He stretched out his hands as he sang, sadly, because all beauty is sad…The poem had done no ‘good’ to anyone, but it was a passing reminder, a breath from the divine lips of beauty, a nightingale between two worlds of dust. Less explicit than the call to Krishna, it voiced our loneliness nevertheless, our isolation, our need for the Friend who never comes yet is not entirely disproved. ~ E M Forster,
517:Questions to Ask When Creating Facebook Micro-Content Is the text too long? Is it provocative, entertaining, or surprising? Is the photo striking and high-quality? Is the logo visible? Have we chosen the right format for the post? Is the call to action in the right place? Is this interesting in any way, to anyone? For real? Are we asking too much of the person consuming the content? ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
518:Sea Love
Tide be runnin' the great world over:
'Twas only last June month I mind that we
Was thinkin' the toss and the call in the breast of the lover
So everlastin' as the sea.
Heer's the same little fishes that sputter an swim,
Wi' the moon's old glim on the grey, wet sand;
An' him no more to me mor me to him
Than the wind goin' over my hand.
~ Charlotte Mary Mew,
519:In nature, all is useful, all is beautiful. It is therefore beautiful, because it is alive, moving, reproductive; it is thereforeuseful, because it is symmetrical and fair. Beauty will not come at the call of a legislature, nor will it repeat in England or America its history in Greece. It will come, as always, unannounced, and spring up between the feet of brave and earnest men. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
520:Your prospect was going about her morning happily when her phone rang, interrupting her day. Then she realized her mistake as soon as you said “How are you doing?” Suddenly her get-away-from-this-salesperson-fast mechanism kicked in. As soon as you paused, she hit you with an objection and a stern tone of voice. That's how your prospect is doing and that's how you lose control of the call. ~ Jeb Blount,
521:I remember the call came through on my cell phone just as the Wendy’s near my house was mounting a thirty-foot inflated chocolate frosty cone on its roof. No cookies or cake. No rice or pasta. No bread. A bite of fruit and maybe three beans were acceptable. The nurse assured me there were foods I was able to eat—cheese, meat, and all the leafy vegetables I could pile on my plate. Oh joy. ~ Jennifer Coburn,
522:If you have ever wondered why radio and television stations always have call signs beginning with W or K, the answer is that those letters were assigned to American airwaves by an international convention held in London in 1912. The United States was given the call letters A, N, W, and K. A and N were reserved respectively for the army and navy. The other two were given to public broadcasters. ~ Bill Bryson,
523:Jackie smiled graciously and did her part, the noblesse oblige she had talked about. I almost wished she’d been rude to them, since I had to hold the elevator door open for a long minute while she signed one of the briefcases with a Magic Marker. There were distant chimes, indicating that somebody else wanted the elevator, and the door kept thumping me as it tried to close and answer the call. ~ Jeff Lindsay,
524:Sacrifice. I'd never been in a position where I was number one on the call sheet, and everything was in my lap. I worked 16 hour days, and I was just not the lead of any film, it was a film about Jesse Owens, one of the greatest heroes of the 20th century. It was a whole new type of responsibility. It was a big weight, and I wanted to do him justice, especially in reviving him after 80 years. ~ Stephan James,
525:I am gradually learning that the call to gratitude asks us to say, "Everything is grace." As long as we remain resentful about things we wish had not happened, about relationships that we wish had turned out differently, mistakes we wish we had not made, part of our heart remains isolated, unable to bear fruit in the new life ahead of us. It is a way we hold part of ourselves apart from God. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,
526:Because of Christ's prevenient and unconditional invitation, the fellowship of the table cannot be restricted to people who are 'faithful to the church', or to the 'inner circle' of the community. For it is not the feast of the particularly righteous, of the people who think that they are particularly devout; it is the feast of the weary and heavy-laden, who have heard the call to refreshment. ~ J rgen Moltmann,
527:I'm not sure how far Derrida's later 'theological' interests are really rooted in post-structuralism or whether they don't rather reflect a kind of Kantian-Marxist trajectory - with a French twist on the centrality of liberty, equality and fraternity (cf. Politics of Friendship). Not to mention the role of Levinas and, behind Levinas, Judaism's twinning of eschatology and the call for justice. ~ George Pattison,
528:To live in the world as if there were no God ! "-but hon esty to the Gospel, to the whole Christian tradition, to the experience of every saint and every word of Christian litu rgy demands exactly the opposite : to live in the world seeing everything in it as a revelation of God, a sign of His presence, the joy of ·His coming, the call to communion with Him , the hope for fulfillment in Him ~ Alexander Schmemann,
529:Retreat is a response to the call of the heart-that call which beckons us toward reality, to the truth of our being, to that which is truly sane, really real and liberating ... When a group of people come together as a response to that kind of inward call, it creates a very powerful environment, where truth is held in the highest esteem and the reality of our being responds to that deepest intention. ~ Adyashanti,
530:But the others, those who tried to bring Jesus to life at the call of love, found it a cruel task to be honest. The critical study of the life of Jesus has been for theology a school of honesty. The world had never seen before, and will never see again, a struggle for truth so full of pain and renunciation as that of which the Lives of Jesus of the last hundred years contain the cryptic record. ~ Albert Schweitzer,
531:Sometimes he pursued the call into the forest, looking for it as though it were a tangible thing, barking softly or defiantly... Irresistible impulses seized him. he would be lying in camp, dozing lazily in the heat of the day, when suddenly his head would lift and his ears cock up, intent and listening, and he would spring on his feet and dash away, and on and on, for hours, though the forest aisles. ~ Jack London,
532:The Call to Discipleship And as he passed by he saw Levi, the son of Alpæus, sitting at the place of toll, and he saith unto him, Follow me. And he arose and followed him. (Mark 2.14) THE CALL goes forth, and is at once followed by the response of obedience. The response of the disciples is an act of obedience, not a confession of faith in Jesus. How could the call immediately evoke obedience? ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
533:Just so you know Labrodor retrivers do not howl.Begals Howl.Wolves howl. Labs do not howl, at lestnot well. Marley attempted twice to howl, both times in answer to a passing police siren, tossing back his head, forming his mouth into an O shape, and letting loose the most pathetic sound Ihave ever heard, more like gargling than answering the call of the wild. Butnow,no question about it he was howling. ~ John Grogan,
534:Protection of life and property,” it’s a simple description, but one that’s almost poetic. It has led countless firefighters into harm’s way while trying to achieve those noble goals. Whether the call is for a burning building, a medical aid or just a young boy trying to escape the wrath of an angry dog, it’s all protection of life and property. And when you see it in that light there are no gray areas. ~ D E McCourt,
535:We long for the call to come home. But until He calls, we wait.... And how do we wait? With patient eagerness. (See rom. 8:25,23)
Patient eagerness. Not so eager as to lose our patience, and not so patient as to lose our eagerness.
...we grow so patient we sleep!...
... Or we are so eager we demand. We demand in this world what only the next world can give. No sickness. No suffering. No struggle. ~ Max Lucado,
536:He rang Laurel as soon as he reached the apartment. Before he fixed a drink, before even lighting a cigarette. There was no answer to the call. He rang her every fifteen minutes after that, and at six, when the dusk was moving across the open windows, and when there was still no answer to his call, he stepped out into the courtyard where he could look up at her apartment. But there were no lights in it. ~ Dorothy B Hughes,
537:The Dead Come Home: Excerpt
'We answered to the call to arms, unquestioning and blind,
We trusted to the promises of those we left behind.
We gave our lives ungrudgingly. we did not flinch nor quail,
Strong in the splendid faith we held that justice must prevail,
And as we drew our latest breath in sorrow and in pain,
This faith upheld us to the last: 'We did not die in vain.'
~ Edward Harrington,
538:I've worked with Emily Skinner and I've seen Linda Balgord's work. I saw Harvey Keitel at the call-backs. But generally I don't know many people. They're not only good performers; they're really good singers! This show is for people who have more of a history in reading music. From what I already know about the ensemble, it's going to be great. And I can't wait to meet the rest of them. They're the real deal. ~ Max von Essen,
539:The act of consciousness is central; otherwise we are overrun by the complexes. The hero in each of us is required to answer the call of individuation. We must turn away from the cacaphony of the outerworld to hear the inner voice. When we can dare to live its promptings, then we achieve personhood. We may become strangers to those who thought they knew us, but at least we are no longer strangers to ourselves. ~ James Hollis,
540:Sanger was asked to write a column on sex education, “What Every Girl Should Know,” for The Call, a daily newspaper with socialist sympathies. When she tackled the subject of venereal disease, her column was banned by Anthony Comstock, who had acquired censorship as well as prosecutorial powers. The paper ran an empty space with the title: “What Every Girl Should Know. Nothing; by order of the U.S. Post Office. ~ Gail Collins,
541:The dividing line will run right through the confessing Church. Even if we make the confession of faith, it gives us no title to any special claim upon Jesus. We can never appeal to our confession or be saved simply on the ground that we have made it...The man who says "Lord, Lord" has either called himself to Jesus without the Holy Spirit, or else he has made out of the call of Jesus a personal privilege. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
542:Hmph." I pushed the button a couple more times, trying to hurry the elevator along.

"Oh, yeah, that's going to do some good. Everyone knows an elevator doesn't shift into second until you really lean on the call button."

I pressed it another fifteen times, giving Jim a triumphant smile when the green light lit above the door. "Ha! See? It does too work—oh, sorry. Didn't mean to step on your foot. ~ Katie MacAlister,
543:Dark times have come, but in spite of this we have not yet reached a twilight of the gods and even today we have no reason for doubt-filled pessimism, for the Wihinei of the Aryo-Germanics is too deep - even if unconscious and latent - rooted in every Aryo-Germanic soul and it awaits onl the call to awaken which will and must catch fire in order to instill the flame of inspiration in the Aryo-Germanic sensibility. ~ Guido von List,
544:Everything is important. If you live your life intensely, you experience pleasure all the time and don't feel the need for sex.

When you have sex, it's out of a sense of abundance, because the glass of wine is so full that it overflows naturally, because it is inevitable, because you are responding to the call of life, because at that moment, and only at that moment, you have allowed yourself to lose control. ~ Paulo Coelho,
545:Why continue? Because we must. Because we have the call. Because it is nobler to fight for rationality without winning than to give up in the face of continued defeats. Because whatever true progress humanity makes is through the rationality of the occasional individual and because any one individual we may win for the cause may do more for humanity than a hundred thousand who hug their superstitions to their breast. ~ Isaac Asimov,
546:Never mind. Let’s get right to the heart of this thing. You see, about twenty - four hours ago we were sitting in the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel - in the patio section, of course - and we were just sitting there under a palm tree when this uniformed dwarf came up to me with a pink telephone and said, ‘This must be the call you’ve been waiting for all this time, sir.’” I laughed and ripped open a beer can that ~ Anonymous,
547:Turn Your Face Toward Me
Turn your face toward me, my dear one,
Turn your face toward me!
It is you who inserted the hook in me,
It is you who pulls the cord.
Turn your face toward me!
The call to prayer came from your throne in heaven,
The sound reverberated in Mecca.
Turn your face toward me!
Says Bulla, I will not die,
Though someone else may.
Turn your face toward me!
~ Bulleh Shah,
548:Mortal never won to view thee,
Yet a thousand lovers woo thee;
Not a nightingale but knows
In the rose-bud sleeps the rose.

Love is where the glory falls
Of thy face: on convent walls
Or on tavern floors the same
Unextinguishable flame.

Where the turban'd anchorite
Chanteth Allah day and night,
Church-bells ring the call to prayer,
And the Cross of Christ is there.
~ Hafiz, The Beloved
,
549:Turn Your Face Toward Me
Turn your face toward me, my dear one,
Turn your face toward me!
It is you who inserted the hook in me,
It is you who pulls the cord.
Turn your face toward me!
The call to prayer came from your throne in heaven,
The sound reverberated in Mecca.
Turn your face toward me!
Says Bulla, I will not die,
Though someone else may.
Turn your face toward me!
~ Bulleh Shah,
550:You foolish idiot,” he suddenly rasped, drawing himself to his feet. “You went without orders from your superior. You ignored the call. You could have killed yourself, you dumb girl.” Vhalla shrunk back as though he’d slapped her. “And you stopped the storm.” He sat heavily on the edge of her bed. Without hesitation, Aldrik reached up and cupped her cheek gently. “You foolish, amazing, astounding woman, you saved us all. ~ Elise Kova,
551:MASTER: "I want you to remember this. You may impart thousands of instructions to people, but they will not bear fruit except in proper time. On going to bed, a child said to his mother, 'Mother, please wake me up when I feel the call of nature.' The mother said: 'Don't worry about it, my child. That call will wake you up itself.' (All laugh.) One feels yearning for God at the proper time. ~ Sri Ramakrishna, Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna,
552:It is occult students for whom search is now being made, and not mystics; it is for clear-thinking men and women that the call has gone forth, and not for the fanatic or for the person who sees nothing but the ideal, and who is unable to work successfully with situations and things as they are, and who cannot, therefore, apply the necessary and unavoidable compromise. ~ Alice Bailey, "The Externalization of the Hierarchy" (1957) p. 654,
553:Great labour, either of mind or body, continued for several days together is, in most men, naturally followed by a great desire of relaxation, which, if not restrained by force, or by some strong necessity, is almost irresistible. It is the call of nature, which requires to be relieved by some indulgence, sometimes of ease only, but sometimes too of dissipation and diversion. If it is not complied with, the consequences are ~ Adam Smith,
554:For many, the call to be a Christian can seem demanding, even overwhelming. But we need not be afraid or feel inadequate. The Savior has promised that He will make us equal to His work. 'Follow me,' He said, 'and I will make you fishers of men.' As we follow Him, He blesses us with gifts, talents, and the strength to do His will, allowing us to go beyond our comfort zones and do things we've never before thought possible. ~ Robert D Hales,
555:God is not looking for people to work for him, so much as he is looking for people ho will let him work for them. The gospel is not a Help Wanted ad. Neither is the call to to Christian service. On the contrary, the gospel commands us to give up and hang out a Help Wanted sign (this is the basic meaning of prayer). Then the gospel promises that God will work for us if we do. He will not surrender the glory of being the Giver. ~ John Piper,
556:President Donald Trump chose “Make America Great Again” as his 2016 campaign slogan. It sounded the call to white America to return to simpler, better days. But the golden age of the past is a fiction, a projection of nostalgia that selects what is most comforting to remember. It summons a past that was not great for all; in fact, it is a past that was not great at all, not with racism and sexism clouding the culture. ~ Michael Eric Dyson,
557:I wanted to leave. Every day the sun would set a little earlier, and every day I’d feel the call of those roads, those highways in hiding, a little more strongly. Some of it might have been the fabled geographic cure, to which I believe I have already alluded. It’s a wholly illogical but nonetheless powerful belief that things will change for the better in a new place; that the urge to self-destruct will magically disappear. ~ Stephen King,
558:There comes the baffling call of God in our lives also. The call of God can never be stated explicitly; it is implicit. The call of God is like the call of the sea, no one hears it but the one who has the nature of the sea in him. It cannot be stated definitely what the call of God is to, because his call is to be in comradeship with himself, for his own purposes, and the test is to believe that God knows what he is after. ~ Oswald Chambers,
559:You foolish idiot,” he suddenly rasped, drawing himself to his feet. “You went without orders from your superior. You ignored the call. You could have killed yourself, you dumb girl.”
Vhalla shrunk back as though he’d slapped her.
“And you stopped the storm.” He sat heavily on the edge of her bed. Without hesitation, Aldrik reached up and cupped her cheek gently. “You foolish, amazing, astounding woman, you saved us all. ~ Elise Kova,
560:Spiritually evolved people, by virtue of their discipline, mastery and love, are people of extraordinary competence, and in their competence they are called on to serve the world, and in their love they answer the call. They are inevitably, therefore, people of great power, although the world may generally behold them as quite ordinary people, since more often than not they will exercise their power in quiet or even hidden ways. ~ M Scott Peck,
561:The sound of pages flipping, the call of a gull, along with the muffled roar of the ocean and Samantha’s humming…all of it worked together to calm something in him. Odd, considering he’d always thought himself a low key man. But nothing compared to the peace that stole over him with this woman on his lap. It was bone deep, and it shifted past and future until they formed an arrow pointing right at them, where they sat on the balcony. ~ Tessa Bailey,
562:Her father said, “You know, my dears, the world has been abnormal for so long that we’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in a peaceful and reasonable climate. If there is to be any peace or reason, we have to create it in our own hearts and homes.” “Even at a time like this?” Meg asked. The call from Calvin, the sound of her husband’s voice, had nearly broken her control. “Especially at a time like this,” her mother said gently. ~ Madeleine L Engle,
563:A group is the right size, I would guess, when each member can pray every day for every other member, individually and by name, interceding for his personal needs as well as for the success of a particular mission. But what is to prevent twenty, fifty, one hundred such groups from springing up wherever the call is heard—each obedient to its own particular genius, each working in its different way for the coming of the one Kingdom. And ~ Brother Andrew,
564:Oh, the torment bred in the race, the grinding scream of death and the stroke that hits the vein, the hemorrhage none can staunch, the grief, the curse no man can bear.   But there is a cure in the house, and not outside it, no, not from others but from them, their bloody strife. We sing to you, dark gods beneath the earth.   Now hear, you blissful powers underground — answer the call, send help. Bless the children, give them triumph now. ~ J K Rowling,
565:The heartbreak that it might not happen wasn't something that I wanted to face with any more weight. Then, when I got the call to go ahead I never thought for a second as I was approaching it who I would get - that would come later. Again, I think the idea was that I now had the rights to make the movie and I can start writing it but if I have to wait another 10 years before I find an actor that's right for it, I'd be very happy to do that. ~ Sean Penn,
566:Nick took a deep breath and braced himself for the interrogation. “Well, Ma, see . . . there’s this
girl.”
Silence.
He checked to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped. “You still there, Ma?”
A sniffle.
“You can’t be crying already,” he said. “I haven’t told you anything about her yet.”
“It doesn’t matter, Nick,” his mother said through her tears. “Those are the three words I’ve been
waiting thirty-four years to hear. ~ Julie James,
567:We do not know what we can bear until we are put to the test. Many a delicate mother, who thought that she could not survive the death of her children, has lived to bury her husband and the last one of a large family, and in addition to all this has seen her home and last dollar swept away; yet she has had the courage to bear it all and to go on as before. When the need comes, there is a power deep within us that answers the call. ~ Orison Swett Marden,
568:They had not been obliged by necessity to leave their country; the social position they abandoned was one to be regretted, and their means of subsistence were certain. Nor did they cross the Atlantic to improve their situation or to increase their wealth; the call which summoned them from the comforts of their homes was purely intellectual; and in facing the inevitable sufferings of exile their object was the triumph of an idea. The ~ Alexis de Tocqueville,
569:This, no doubt, was the call 33 had heard. Bored with his balanced diet of maize and maple peas, tired of the pecking order of the loft and the predictability of each day — the bird had wanted out; wanted up and away. A day of high life; of food that had to be chased a little, and tasted all the better for that; of the companionship of wild things. All this went through Cal’s head, in a vague sort of way, while he watched the circling flocks. ~ Clive Barker,
570:What you seem so unwilling to accept, even now, is this: that the ideals which supported the old Republic had no correspondence to the fact of the old Republic; that the glorious word concealed the deed of horror; that the appearance of tradition and order cloaked the reality of corruption and chaos; that the call to liberty and freedom closed the minds, even of those who called, to the facts of privation, suppression, and sanctioned murder. ~ John Williams,
571:After the fall of communism in Poland, we had a post-communist as president for two terms: Aleksander Kwasniewski. He was very good. He brought Poland into NATO and the European Union. The call to finally clean house is a propaganda tool of the right, which tolerates the leftists who it condemns. Kaczynski appointed a judge to the position of deputy justice minister who had once sentenced current President Bronislaw Komorowski to a prison term. ~ Adam Michnik,
572:The music stopped. The circle broke. Sometimes a slave will be lost in a brief eddy of liberation. In the sway of a sudden reverie among the furrows or while untangling the mysteries of an early morning dream. In the middle of a song on a warm Sunday night. Then it comes, always - the overseer's cry, the call to work, the shadow of the master, the reminder that she is only a human being for a tiny moment across the eternity of her servitude. ~ Colson Whitehead,
573:THE music stopped. The circle broke. Sometimes a slave will be lost in a brief eddy of liberation. In the sway of a sudden reverie among the furrows or while untangling the mysteries of an early-morning dream. In the middle of a song on a warm Sunday night. Then it comes, always—the overseer’s cry, the call to work, the shadow of the master, the reminder that she is only a human being for a tiny moment across the eternity of her servitude. The ~ Colson Whitehead,
574:Cameron looked down long enough to end the call. When she returned her attention to the road, something large and black was in her path. A shriek escaped from her clenched jaw as she jammed on the brakes. The tiny car skidded perilously, and she was certain she’d be spiraling into the abyss at any second. Instead she smashed straight into the immovable object, deploying the car’s airbags. That was the last thing she saw before everything went black. ~ Marie Force,
575:To this culture warrior, gay marriage is not a vital issue. I don't believe the republic will collapse if Larry marries Brendan. However, it is clear that most Americans want heterosexual marriage to maintain its special place in American society. And as long as gays are not penalized in the civil arena, I think the folks should make the call at the ballot box. Traditional marriage is widely seen as a social stabilizer, and I believe that is true. ~ Bill O Reilly,
576:I, then, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received,a 2with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love,b 3striving to preserve the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace:c 4* one body and one Spirit, as you were also called to the one hope of your call;d 5one Lord, one faith, one baptism;e 6one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. ~ Anonymous,
577:I urge all Texans to answer the call to serve those in need. By volunteering their time, energy or resources to helping others, adults and youngsters follow Christ's message of love and service in thought and deed. Therefore I, George W. Bush, Governor of Texas, do hereby proclaim June 10, 2000, Jesus Day in Texas and urge the appropriate recognition whereof. In official recognition whereof, I hereby affix my signature this 17th day of March, 2000. ~ George W Bush,
578:The Call
Come calf now to mother,
Come lamb that I choose,
Come cats, one and t' other,
With snowy-white shoes,
Come gosling all yellow,
Come forth with your fellow,
Come chickens so small,
Scarce walking at all,
Come doves, that are mine now,
With feathers so fine now!
The grass is bedewed,
The sunlight renewed,
It's early, early, summer's advancing
But autumn soon comes a-dancing!
~ Bjornstjerne Bjornson,
579:In the silence that followed the end of the call to prayer, the songs of the first Delhi birds could suddenly be heard: the argumentative chuckle of the babblers, the sharp chatter of the mynahs, the alternating clucking and squealing of the rosy parakeets, the angry exclamations of the brain fever bird, and from deep inside the canopy of the fruit trees in Zafar’s gardens at Raushanara Bagh and Tis Hazari, the woody hot-weather echo of the koel. ~ William Dalrymple,
580:So long as we insist upon defining our identities only in terms of our work, so long as we try to blind ourselves to the needs of our children and harden our hearts against them, we will continue to feel torn, dissatisfied, and exhausted…. The guilt we feel for neglecting our children is a byproduct of our love for them. It keeps us from straying too far from them, for too long. Their cry should be more compelling than the call from the office. ~ Danielle Crittenden,
581:Recognize the call as a prime fact of human existence; (b) align life with it; (c) find the common sense to realize that accidents, including the heartache and the natural shocks the flesh is heir to, belong to the pattern of the image, are necessary to it, and help fulfill it. A calling may be postponed, avoided, intermittently missed. It may also possess you completely. Whatever; eventually it will out. It makes its claim. The daimon does not go away. ~ James Hillman,
582:AFTER THE CALL from Weather, Lucas showered and shaved, put a Band-Aid and some antiseptic on his index finger, above the knuckle, where he’d picked up a splinter earlier in the day, and put on some fresh clothes. He took ten minutes to vacuum up an accumulation of Asian ladybugs that had found their way through the windowless addition, and bagged up the garbage and trash. He called Jimi to tell her he’d be gone for a short time, no more than a few days. ~ John Sandford,
583:Her image had passed into his soul for ever and no word had broken the holy silence of his ecstasy. Her eyes had called him and his soul had leaped at the call. To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life! A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. On and on and on and on! ~ James Joyce,
584:I consider it a dangerous misconception of mental hygiene to assume that what man needs in the first place is equilibrium or, as it is called in biology, “homeostasis,” i.e., a tensionless state. What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. ~ Viktor E Frankl,
585:He knew he was at last answering the call, running by the side of his wood brother toward the place from where the call surely came. Old memories were coming upon him fast, and he was stirring to them as of old he stirred to the realities of which they were the shadows. He had done this thing before, somewhere in that other and dimly remembered world, and he was doing it again now, running free in the open, the unpacked earth underfoot, the wide sky overhead. ~ Jack London,
586:Without a proper esteem and love for Christ Himself, and an understanding of His covenant love for His church, we will lack the motive-force to serve Him in the world. If our ultimate motivation for service to God is simply because we love people, we will never be able to sustain the call to service that God has given to us because the very people we are called to serve will break our hearts. It is only the grace of Christ that enables us to persevere. ~ J Ligon Duncan III,
587:If there are words and wrongs like knives, whose deep inflicted lacerations never heal - cutting injuries and insults of serrated and poison-dripping edge - so, too, there are consolations of tone too fine for the ear not fondly and for ever to retain their echo: caressing kindnesses - loved, lingered over through a whole life, recalled with unfaded tenderness, and answering the call with undimmed shine, out of that raven cloud foreshadowing Death himself. ~ Charlotte Bront,
588:Friendship is the call out of isolation and selfishness in order to teach me how to love and how to serve. But without stability, friendship - real soul-searing friendship, the kind that makes us choose between domination and infatuation and possessiveness and dependence for growth and freedom and depth and responsibility and self-knowledge - is impossible.

Stability is what enables us, in other words, to live totally in God and totally for others. ~ Joan D Chittister,
589:If there are words and wrongs like knives, whose deep inflicted lacerations never heal - cutting injuries and insults of serrated and poison-dripping edge - so, too, there are consolations of tone too fine for the ear not fondly and for ever to retain their echo: caressing kindnesses - loved, lingered over through a whole life, recalled with unfaded tenderness, and answering the call with undimmed shine, out of that raven cloud foreshadowing Death himself. ~ Charlotte Bronte,
590:Sometimes in life, from out of a myriad of prosaic decisions like what to eat and where to sleep and how to dress, a true crossroads is revealed. In these moments, when the fog of relative irrelevancy lifts and fate rolls out a demand for free will, there is only left or right – no option of four-by-fouring into the underbrush between two paths, no negotiating with the choice that has been presented. You must answer the call and pick your way. And there is no reverse. ~ J R Ward,
591:Sometimes in life, from out of the myriad of prosaic decisions like what to eat and where to sleep and how to dress, a true crossroads is revealed. In these moments, when the fog of relative irrelevancy lifts and fate rolls out a demand for free will, there is only left or right—no option of four-by-fouring into the underbrush between two paths, no negotiating with the choice that has been presented. You must answer the call and pick your way. And there is no reverse. ~ J R Ward,
592:Trace asked Jackson, “Why the hell are you even here?”
Jackson looked far too uneasy for Trace’s peace of mind. “I know you didn’t want me here. I got the message loud and clear when you cut the call. Thing is, your little lady was damned insistent that I do something.”
“Like get stunned and tied up?”
“You try planning with a hellcat breathing fire in your ear, making demands, prodding you-“
“Priss?”
“She’s a terror. That name doesn’t suit her at all. ~ Lori Foster,
593:Bah! Doesn’t matter. Don’t want him for our Ayah. She should marry within her kind, a good Chinese boy—”
Mari had to smile. Mr. Hsu rarely took to foreigners, and this was yet another proof of how easy it was for Ayah to worm her way into people’s hearts. She was just so…sweet. Even when she was also so freaking stubborn, she was just too sweet about it.
“You do remember she’s American, right?” Mari teased.
“No,” Mr. Hsu snapped, “I don’t.” He ended the call. ~ Marian Tee,
594:Love God, love your neighbor, Jesus said, a perfect sound bite for the ages. But did Christ know how complicated my neighbors were? How hard they were to love sometimes? How much easier it is to surround myself with people who look and think and act like me, to love only myself? Yes, yes, yes, he does, but he is polite and firm in his response. A messy, present, incarnational love is the simplest and hardest call of all, the call that all of us were created to follow. ~ D L Mayfield,
595:To you who answered the call of your country and served in its Armed Forces to bring about the total defeat of the enemy, I extend the heartfelt thanks of a grateful Nation. As one of the Nation's finest, you undertook the most severe task one can be called upon to perform. Because you demonstrated the fortitude, resourcefulness and calm judgment necessary to carry out that task, we now look to you for leadership and example to further exalting our country in peace. ~ Harry S Truman,
596:Thus far then have we travelled along the terrible road we chose at the call of duty. The mood of Britain is wisely and rightly averse from every form of shallow or premature exultation. This is no time for boasts or glowing prophecies, but there is this: A year ago our position looked forlorn, and well nigh desperate to all eyes but our own. To-day we may say aloud before an awe-struck world: 'We are still masters of our fate. We are still captain of our souls. ~ Winston S Churchill,
597:For a time you can be alone and doing fine and never give a thought to living any other way and then you meet someone and suddenly you become lonely. It stabs at you, almost like a physical pain, and you feel both deprived and angry, deprived because you wish to be with that person, and angry because their absence brings you misery. It’s a strange feeling, akin to desperation, a feeling that makes you wait by the phone even though you know that the call is an hour away. ~ Ilona Andrews,
598:If I were convinced that any nation had made up its mind to dominate the world by fear of its force, I should feel that it must be resisted. Under such a domination, life for people who believe in liberty would not be worth living. But war is a fearful thing, and we must be very clear, before we embark on it, that it is really the great issues that are at stake, and that the call to risk everything in their defence, when all the consequences are weighed, is irresistible. ~ Robert Harris,
599:Oh, the torment bred in the race,
the grinding scream of death
and the stroke that hits the vein,
the hemorrhage none can staunch, the grief,
the curse no man can bear.

But there is a cure in the house, and not outside it, no,
not from others but from them,
their bloody strife. We sing to you,
dark gods beneath the earth.

Now hear, you blissful powers underground --
answer the call, send help.
Bless the children, give them triumph now. ~ Aeschylus,
600:You must prepare the ground. If you’re going to be asking one day, you need someone to ask who is going to answer the call. So you tend to your relationships on a nonstop basis, you abide by the slow, ongoing task, going out there like a faithful farmer, landing on the unseeable bamboo shoot. And then, when it is time—whether you’re asking a bunch of people to preorder your album, or asking one person to hold back your hair while you’re puking—someone will be there for you. ~ Amanda Palmer,
601:I say to hell with the work you have to do to earn a living! That kind of work does us no honor; all it does is fill up the bellies of the pigs who exploit us. But the work you do because you like to do it, because you've heard the call, you've got a vocation - that's ennobling! We should all be able to work like that. Look at me, Saturno - I don't work. And I don't care if they hang me, I won't work! Yet I'm alive! I may live badly, but at least I don't have to work to do it! ~ Luis Bunuel,
602:At a time when Democratic leaders are pushing rationed care in a world of limited resources, Americans might wonder where the call for shared sacrifice is from illegal immigrant patients like those in Los Angeles getting free liver and kidney transplants at UCLA Medical Center. 'I'm just mad,' illegal alien Jose Lopez told the Los Angeles Times last year after receiving two taxpayer-subsidized liver transplants while impatiently awaiting approval for state health insurance. ~ Michelle Malkin,
603:By his monstrous way of life, he seemed to have put himself beyond the limits of reality. Nothing moved him or spoke to him from the real world unless he heard it in an echo of the infuriated cries within him. He could respond to no earthly or human appeal, dumb and insensible to the call of summer and gladness and companionship, wearied and dejected by his father's voice. He could scarcely recognize as his own thoughts, and repeated slowly to himself:
- I am Stephen Dedalus ~ James Joyce,
604:answered the phone; it was, in fact, the Times—the Los Angeles one. Jackie took the call, and by the time I could get unhooked from my homicidal seat belt and turned around to look, there was nothing to see except the usual mad, gleaming pack of angry, overpowered vehicles. I scanned in all directions a couple of times, but I saw no cycles, and I heard no more popping backfire sounds. So I shrugged it off before we were even halfway to work, and thought no more about motorcycles. ~ Jeff Lindsay,
605:Integrity means being consistently and predictably honest in our dealings and relationships. It means being willing to do what is right—even if it costs us and even if no one sees our actions. In a day when a lack of integrity is often rewarded and true integrity is often penalized, the call to live thoroughly honest and upright lives is challenging. It may require standing alone. But no one who stands for God ever stands alone. God sees our acts of integrity and blesses us for them. ~ Anonymous,
606:Look, you’re right. Maybe I don’t like you the way someone should like you. I don’t like you in the call-you-and-read-you-a-poem-every-night-before-you-go-to-bed way. I’m crazy, okay? Sometimes I think, like, God, she’s superhot and smart and kind of pretentious but the pretentiousness just makes me kind of want her, and then other times I think it’s an amazingly bad idea, that dating you would be like a series of unnecessary root canals interspersed with occasional makeout sessions. ~ John Green,
607:The Arthashastra does not forget to warn the tyrant that he can never win. He may rise to eminence through ambition or the call of duty, but the more absolute his power, the more he is hated, and the more he is the prisoner of his own trap. The web catches the spider. He cannot wander at leisure in the streets and parks of his own capital, or sit on a lonely beach listening to the waves and watching the gulls. Through enslaving others he himself becomes the most miserable of slaves. ~ Alan W Watts,
608:There's actually a time when I got cast in something and it was announced that someone else was cast. I hadn't been told yet if I had the role and I had a breakdown because I really wanted it and it was announced on this website that this other girl had gotten it. I was so sad and called my agents and said, "You guys didn't tell me this other person got the role!" They were like, "No, they haven't decided yet." Then two hours later I got the call that said I had the role. ~ Mary Elizabeth Winstead,
609:The call is to leave a certain social situation, move into your own loneliness and find the jewel, the center that’s impossible to find when you’re socially engaged. You are thrown off-center, and when you feel off-center, it’s time to go. This is the departure when the hero feels something has been lost and goes to find it. You are to cross the threshold into new life. It’s a dangerous adventure, because you are moving out of the sphere of the knowledge of you and your community. ~ Joseph Campbell,
610:This, child, is our worship. To live and survive and play to God from the depths of our souls. This is the call that binds us. When we worship in the good times, it brings God joy. But worship in the midst of agony?” Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth and she shook her head. It was an action befitting the wisdom of the words she’d chosen. “That is authentic adoration of our Creator. An orchestra will worship together, as one body. As one song. A family must do no less. ~ Kristy Cambron,
611:Typographical
The Editor wrote his political screed
In ink that was fainter and fainter;
He rose to the call of his country's need,
And in spiderish characters wrote with speed,
A column on "Cutting the Painter".
The "reader" sat in his high-backed chair,
For literals he was a hunter;
But he stared aghast at the column long
Of the editorial hot and strong,
For the comp. inspired by some sense of wrong
Had headed it "Gutting the Punter".
~ Banjo Paterson,
612:But if we desire to make the most of the opportunity that this life gives us, if we wish to respond adequately to the call we have received and to attain to the goal we have glimpsed, not merely advance a little towards it, it is essential that there should be an entire self-giving. The secret of success in Yoga is to regard it not as one of the aims to be pursued in life, but as the one and only aim, not as an important part of life, but as the whole of life.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga,
613:I definitely isolate, but I also always have people in front of me, and I have to be OK with that. I'm in a business where, on the set, you're around two hundred people every day, and if you're high on the call sheet, you sort of set the tone for the set. And you want people to feel appreciated, and you want to ask them how their kids are. You want to talk to people and invest in them and let them know that they're appreciated and heard. But then I do like to just kind of withdraw. ~ Patricia Arquette,
614:The Call: A Lincoln Emancipation Conference to Discuss Means for Securing Political and Civil Equality for the Negro. “ ‘A house divided against itself cannot stand,’ ” Villard wrote, and “this government cannot exist half-slave and half-free any better today than it could in 1861. Hence we call upon all the believers in democracy to join in a national conference for the discussion of present evils, the voicing of protests, and the renewal of the struggle for civil and political liberty. ~ Jon Meacham,
615:She walked out of the room to make the call, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and with the fear of what was out there, waiting. I pushed it aside as I’d learned to do long ago. “Fear is just a tool to be used like any other emotion,” Merlin would say. “You need to control it. Do not let it control you.” It was a lesson he’d drilled into me, over and over again, making me face my fears until I could control them. But I never stopped feeling fear. No one can do that. No one sane, anyway. ~ Steve McHugh,
616:Is it because I worked on Sundays and didn't keep the Sabbath holy? Broke one of Your ten commandments? I had no choice. The call roster was drawn, the calls had to be done. Who was I not to work on a Sunday when everyone else does? Jesus' disciples picked wheat on the Sabbath, and He defended them. Why didn't He defend me? Is it because I'm not good enough? You say You love us all the same, but You don't, You love others differently, You love others more. Why didn't You defend me, Jesus? ~ Kopano Matlwa,
617:...we know that God arranges the opportunities for salvation in different ways. Our situation is that we respond eagerly or in a laggardly manner to these opportunities made available by God to us. God made the call come out of your homeland; Abraham by coming out was exercising obedience. There was the instruction come into the land; it was done, and that was the work of obedience. But the addition which I shall show you has to do with the grace of God, who gave a command - and a promise. ~ John Cassian,
618:My reclamation would be accomplished, like Malcom's, through books, through my own study and exploration. Perhaps I might write something of consequence someday. I had been reading and writing beyond the purview of the schools all my life. Already I was scribbling down bad rap lyrics and bad poetry. The air of that time was charged with the call for a return, to old things, to something essential, some part of us that had been left behind in the mad dash out of the past and into America. ~ Ta Nehisi Coates,
619:In times of crisis our nation depends on the courage and determination of the Guard. You know the call of active duty can come at any time. You stand ready to put your lives on hold and answer that call, ... And you did so because you love your state and your country. America appreciates your courageous decision to serve. Together with your comrades in the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Reserves, you are showing that patriotism is alive and well in Idaho and throughout the United States. ~ George H W Bush,
620:Therefore, the idle parent who wants to stop the whining needs to stop whining himself, and one way is to resist the call to work ever longer and harder hours. Throw your BlackBerry into the river. Unslave yourself. Hard work will not lead to health and happiness. Just ask yourself: would you rather spend your child's first few years playing with them or working for the mega-corp in order to make them profits and you money to buy ribbish you don't need in order to dull the pain of overwork? ~ Tom Hodgkinson,
621:Safely within the mandala you created, I am brought to rest before a pedestal.My purpose brought to light upon the pages lit by Sol. The words unreadable in my newly initiated state. The call being answered. The direction given. The reorientation commences. solitudinus“Safe” stories mention neither death nor aging, the limits to our existence, nor the wish for eternal life. The fairy tale, by contrast, confronts the child squarely with the basic human predicaments. ~ Bruno Bettelheim, The Uses of Enchantment,
622:Judaism calls for us to honor the rhythm of human life, the demands of the human community around us, the call of the divine order as the filter and scale for the decisions that drive our own small lives. We do not rule the universe, Judaism reminds us. God does. We are not its standard or its norms. We are only its keepers, its agents, its stewards. To do right by the universe at large is the measure of a happiness framed with the entire cosmos in mind but lived in microcosms across time. ~ Joan D Chittister,
623:Nobody's going to give you the gift of awesome. Nobody's going to make you good, or great, or amazing, or epic. Nobody's going to make you an expert or an authority or a voice anyone should listen to. Nobody's going to level you up. If you want that next level, take it. Take it for yourself. Grab it. Become it. Claim it. Write a treatise. Create an event. Champion a cause. Build something great. Speak your mind. Make the call. Build the business. Author the book. Send the email. Do it. Do it. ~ Johnny B Truant,
624:Helpful Help-desk Incorporated took millions of calls a day, from all over the world, 24-7, 365. One angry, befuddled cretin after another. There was no down time between the calls because there were always several hundred morons in the call queue, all of them willing to wait on hold for hours to have a tech-rep hold their hand and fix their problems. Why bother looking up the solution online, why try to figure the problem out on your own when you could have someone else do your thinking for you. ~ Ernest Cline,
625:Scholes was probably the best English midfielder since Bobby Charlton. He was such a brilliant long passer that he could choose a hair on the head of any team-mate answering the call of nature at our training ground. Gary Neville once thought he had found refuge in a bush, but Scholesy found him from 40 yeards. He inflicted a similar long-range missile strike, once, on Peter Schmeichel, and was chased round the training ground for his impertinence. Scholesy would have made a first class-sniper. ~ Alex Ferguson,
626:...when a phone call competes for attention with a real-world conversation, it wins. Everyone knows the distinctive high-and-dry feeling of being abandoned for a phone call, and of having to compensate - with quite elaborate behaviours = for the sudden half-disappearance of the person we were just speaking to. 'Go ahead!' we say. 'Don't mind us! Oh look, here's a magazine I can read!' When the call is over, other rituals come into play, to minimise the disruption caused and to restore good feeling. ~ Lynne Truss,
627:But the irony: Don't I often want to desperately wriggle free of the confines of a small life? Yet when I stand before immensity that heightens my smallness--I have never felt sadness. Only burgeoning wonder. Is it because within each frame of finite flesh lies the likeness of infinite God? In all things large and spectacular, we recognize glimpses of home and the call to our own deeper chemistry. Do we writhe to peel out of our smallness and into the big life because that fits our inborn God-image? ~ Ann Voskamp,
628:You don’t climb the second mountain the way you climb the first mountain. You conquer your first mountain. You identify the summit, and you claw your way toward it. You are conquered by your second mountain. You surrender to some summons, and you do everything necessary to answer the call and address the problem or injustice that is in front of you. On the first mountain you tend to be ambitious, strategic, and independent. On the second mountain you tend to be relational, intimate, and relentless. ~ David Brooks,
629:Longing is the call of ney to ney to restore the direction broken by the horses’ hooves in a military campaign. It is an intermittent ailment, neither contagious nor lethal, even when it takes the form of an epidemic. It is an invitation to stay up late with the lonesome and an excuse not to be on equal footing with train passengers who know their own addresses well. It is the transparent fabric of that beautiful nothingness, gathered to roast the coffee of wakefulness for the dreams of strangers. ~ Mahmoud Darwish,
630:The Call To Service
These are the days when little thoughts
Must cease men's minds to occupy;
The nation needs men's larger creeds,
Big men must answer to her cry;
No longer selfish ways we tread,
The greater task lies just ahead.
These are the days when petty things
By all men must be thrust aside;
The country needs men's finest deeds,
Awakened is the nation's pride;
Men must forsake their selfish strife
Once more to guard their country's life.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
631:The impossibility of 'fellow feeling' is itself the confirmation of injury. The call of such pain, as a pain that cannot be shared through empathy, is a call not just for an attentive hearing, but for a different kind of inhabitance. It is a call for action, and a demand for collective politics, as a politics based not on the possibility that we might be reconciled, but on learning to live with the impossibility of reconciliation, or learning that we live with and beside each other, and yet we are not as one ~ Sara Ahmed,
632:So the call of the Nondual traditions is: Abide as Emptiness, embrace all Form. The liberation is in the Emptiness, never in the Form, but Emptiness embraces all forms as a mirror all its objects. So the Forms continue to arise, and, as the sound of one hand clapping, you are all those Forms. You are the display. You and the universe are One Taste. Your Original Face is the purest Emptiness, and therefore every time you look in the mirror, you see only the entire Kosmos. ~ Ken Wilber, A Brief History of Everything, p. 240,
633:How many of us have treated the gospel as an object that can answer a deep-seated need (for acceptance, happiness, companionship, a clear conscience), and in so doing have approached Christianity in self-interested weakness, hoping that it will be the pill that will cure us, the liquid solution that will provide the ultimate solution. Bonhoeffer wondered whether it is possible to embrace God out of love and lightness of heart, out of a seduction that is caught up in the call of God rather than the need of God. ~ Peter Rollins,
634:Donald, it’s Hillary.” It was without a doubt one of the strangest moments of my life. I congratulated Trump and offered to do anything I could to make sure the transition was smooth. He said nice things about my family and our campaign. He may have said something about how hard it must have been to make the call, but it’s all a blur now, so I can’t say for certain. It was all perfectly nice and weirdly ordinary, like calling a neighbor to say you can’t make it to his barbecue. It was mercifully brief. ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
635:The flower of that generous manhood which quitted peaceful civilian life in every kind of workaday occupation, which came at the call of Britain, and as we may still hope, at the call of humanity, and came from the most remote parts of her Empire, was shorn away for ever in 1916. Unconquerable except by death, which they have conquered, they have set up a monument of native virtue which will command the wonder, the reverence and the gratitude of our island people as long as we endure as a nation among men. ~ Winston S Churchill,
636:Do you want to do something amazing for God? Trade the appearance of being close to God for the power of actually being close to God. Quit talking a big game and go live a big faith. One of Jesus’ friends said if we want to get it right, we need to live a life worthy of the calling we’ve received. The call is to love God and the people around us while we live into the most authentic version of ourselves. We weren’t just an idea God hoped would work out someday. We were one of His most creative expressions of love, ever. ~ Bob Goff,
637:The call to find the way again by seeking out God in the confession of sins is always at the eleventh hour. Whether you are young or old, whether you have sinned much or little, whether you have offended much or neglected much, the guilt makes this call come at the eleventh hour. The inner agitation of the heart understands what remorse insists upon, that the eleventh hour has come. For in the sense of time, the old man’s age is the eleventh hour; and the instant of death, the final moment in the eleventh hour. ~ S ren Kierkegaard,
638:Whether we're forgiving our parents or someone else or ourselves, the laws of mind remain the same.  As we love, we shall be released from pain and as we deny love, we shall remain in pain.  Each of us have different fears and different manifestations of fear,  but all of us are saved by the same technique:  The call to God to save our lives by salvaging our minds.  'Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.  For love is the kingdom and love is the glory and love is the power, forever and forever. ~ Marianne Williamson,
639:The isolation was necessary. He didn’t like people seeing him this way. It was better if they perceived him as the strong, capable man he’d always been, not this crippled creature, this dark entity with gnarled hands and a bent back. How would that image strike fear? Not long now. Fear would be his pale horse, ridden from the backs of red-lipped girls. His duplicates. His surrogates. His replacements. The ringing of the phone made him jump. Finally. He answered with a brusque “Yes?” He listened, then ended the call. An ~ J T Ellison,
640:but when the call came from Shirley Pedler to help in organizing the Utah Coalition Against the Death Penalty, she knew she would go out in the world again with her freaky blond hair, blond to everyone’s disbelief—at the age of fifty-four, go out in her denims and chin-length-hanging-down-straight vanilla hair to that Salt Lake world where nobody would ever make the mistake of thinking she was a native Utah lady inasmuch as Utah was the Beehive State. The girls went big for vertical hair-dos, pure monuments to shellac. ~ Norman Mailer,
641:Out in the Field, Down by the Sea, The Hour has peal’d, Whoever ye be,   Daughter of Erin, Scotia’s Son, Let us be daring,— Let it be done.   It is time for The Choosing,— Americans all, No more refusing   The Cry, and the Call,— For the Grain to be sifted, For the Tyrants to fall, As the Low shall be lifted,— Americans all . . .   Till the end of the Story, Till the end of the Fight, Till the last craven Tory Has taken to Flight,   Let us go to the Wall, Let us march thro’ the Pain, Americans all, Slaves ne’er again. ~ Thomas Pynchon,
642:The call dragged on for more than three hours until 10:30 p.m. They went over the site line by line, as Elizabeth slowly dictated every alteration that needed to be made. Patrick nodded off at one point. But Kate and Mike stayed alert enough to notice that the language was being systematically dialed back. “Welcome to a revolution in lab testing” was changed to “Welcome to Theranos.” “Faster results. Faster answers” became “Fast results. Fast answers.” “A tiny drop is all it takes” was now “A few drops is all it takes. ~ John Carreyrou,
643:EACH AND EVERY master, regardless of the era or place, heard the call and attained harmony with heaven and earth. There are many paths leading to the peak of Mount Fuji, but the goal is the same. There are many methods of reaching the top, and they all bring us to new heights. There is no need to battle with each other-we are all brothers and sisters who should walk the Path together, hand in hand. Keep to your Path, and nothing else will matter. When you lose your desire for things that do not matter, you will be free. ~ Morihei Ueshiba,
644:But the Chief Justice says, 'There must be an ultimate arbiter somewhere.' True, there must; but does that prove it is either party? The ultimate arbiter is the people of the Union, assembled by their deputies in convention, at the call of Congress or of two-thirds of the States. Let them decide to which they mean to give an authority claimed by two of their organs. And it has been the peculiar wisdom and felicity of our Constitution, to have provided this peaceable appeal, where that of other nations is at once to force. ~ Thomas Jefferson,
645:The Call of the Wild
They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching,
They have soaked you in convention through and through;
They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching–
But can't you hear the wild?–it's calling you.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
And the wild is calling, calling . . . . let us go. ~ Robert W Service,
646:If I feel compelled to act in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable . . . awkward even, then that feeling is almost always, if not always, coming to me from the Knowing. When I’ve chosen to heed the call, and I always try, it quickly becomes clear to me that there was a higher purpose to it. On the other hand, when I have acted in any degree of selfishness . . . meaning, when I seek a course that will benefit myself and not others, I have usually discovered, much to my chagrin, that I’ve failed a little test of character.” His ~ Jeff Wheeler,
647:Vince and I had reached the point where there was nothing else we could think of to do with the taco wrapper, and since he refused to draw straws for the privilege of telling Deborah, I'd been forced to make the call to give her the news that we'd come up blank. And three minutes later, here she was, striding into our lab like avenging fury.
"Goddamn it," she said before she was even all the way in the room, "I need something from you!"
"Maybe a sedative?" Vince suggested, and for once I thought he was right on the money. ~ Jeff Lindsay,
648:Thus a part of the call of God to us has always been to think. Indeed the call of Jesus to “repent” is nothing but a call to think about how we have been thinking. And when we come to the task of developing disciples into the fullness of Christ, we must be very clear that one main part, and by far the most fundamental, is to form the insights and habits of the student’s mind so that it stays directed toward God. When this is adequately done, a full heart of love will go out toward God, and joy and obedience will flood the life. ~ Dallas Willard,
649:Most of us would in fact find ourselves bored to tears after a few weeks of perpetual vacation—our thirst for flourishing is too strong to completely abandon the call to authority and vulnerability. But the technological culture has another, stronger trick up its sleeve—not total disengagement, but powerful and rewarding simulations of engagement. The real temptation for most of us is not complete apathy but activities that simulate meaningful action and meaningful risk without actually asking much of us or transforming much in us. ~ Andy Crouch,
650:there was no dissent, no strike, no protest, no hesitation to shoulder a rifle against fellow workers of another land. When the call came, the worker, whom Marx declared to have no Fatherland identified himself with country, not class. He turned out to be a member of the national family like anyone else. The force of his antagonism which was supposed to topple capitalism found a better target in the foreigner. The working class went to war willingly, even eagerly, like the middle class, like the upper class, like the species. ~ Barbara W Tuchman,
651:He resented such questions as people do who have thought a great deal about them. The superficial and slipshod have ready answers, but those looking this complex life straight in the eye acquire a wealth of perception so composed of delicately balanced contradictions that they dread, or resent, the call to couch any part of it in a bland generalization. The vanity (if not outrage) of trying to cage this dance of atoms in a single definition may give the weariness of age with the cry of youth for answers the appearance of boredom. ~ Peter De Vries,
652:Mike Pence came out and said this was a courtesy call, then Donald Trump a few hours later went on Twitter, as is his wont, and essentially linked the call to Taiwan with a whole series of things he doesn't like about Chinese economic and foreign policies and implied that the U.S. views of the status of Taiwan are now up for negotiation, that he wants them to be part of a broader negotiation with China about a whole series of economic and foreign policy issues. So, we just don't really know what exactly they're planing to do with this. ~ Geoff Dyer,
653:The love of God can be a profound answer to just about any human struggle, but sometimes we can use it in such a way that it becomes a watered down version of profoundly rich truth. For example, sometimes, because of shortcomings in us rather than Scripture, this answer misses the call to “consider others better than yourselves” (Phil. 2:3), or it ignores personal repentance. Sometimes it still allows us and our needs to be at the center of the world, and God becomes our psychic errand boy given the task of inflating our self-esteem. ~ Edward T Welch,
654:I majored in religion for my entire undergraduate career at Duke University and then I went to seminary for a year unsure whether or not I really had the call to be a minister. I spoke with a pastor of my home church and told him I was going to seminary. He said "Do you feel the call to be a minister?" and I said "Honestly, I don't. I know it's the greatest call you could have but I'm not feeling that call myself. He said "Well, you know, you're wrong. It's not the greatest call. The greatest call is whatever calling God has for you." ~ Randall Wallace,
655:Anna, ever since that night we got the call from Dr. Blakeman, I’ve been trying to make this pregnancy real in my mind. But it just seems impossible.” His words picked up steam. “I can’t picture you pregnant. I can’t imagine what we’ll tell people…what we will tell the child someday.” She didn’t miss the implications of that “we will.” “I don’t know if I can love this child, Anna. We’ll both be in our sixties before he’s grown. I’ll be almost seventy when he graduates from high school. I don’t mind telling you that terrifies me. Terrifies me. ~ Deborah Raney,
656:at the Pentagon the day after tomorrow, and then I’ll return to base immediately afterward and I’ll get JAG Corps involved at that point in time.” Garber was on the ball. He caught on fast and played his part well. He asked, “Who was the individual?” I said, “I’ll keep that strictly to myself for the next forty-eight hours, if you don’t mind.” Garber said, “Understood.” I dabbed the cradle to end the call, and then I dialed a new number. Colonel John James Frazer’s billet, deep inside the Pentagon. The Senate Liaison guy. I got his scheduler and made ~ Lee Child,
657:Bush was relieved by the call from his son and was glad to see Rumsfeld go. “I think he served the President badly,” Bush recalled of Rumsfeld after Bush 43 left the White House. “I don’t like what he did, and I think it hurt the President, having his iron-ass view of everything. I’ve never been that close to him anyway. There’s a lack of humility, a lack of seeing what the other guy thinks. He’s more kick ass and take names, take numbers. I think he paid a price for that.” Bush was blunt: “Rumsfeld was an arrogant fellow and self-assured, swagger. ~ Jon Meacham,
658:Nobody's going to level you up. If you want that next level, take it. Take it for yourself. Grab it. Become it. Claim it. Write a treatise. Create an event. Champion a cause. Build something great. Speak your mind. Make the call. Build the business. Author the book. Send the email. Do it. Do it. If you fail, big deal. You might write something and nobody might read it. You might build it and nobody might come. You could fail and ruin your life. You could take a chance and end up looking really, really stupid. Boo-fucking-hoo. It doesn't matter. ~ Johnny B Truant,
659:It is not hateful to say that an immoral action is sinful. On the contrary, the most compassionate thing we can do is help people to turn away from sin. To ignore another person's wrongful actions is a sign of apathy or indifference, while fraternal correction is motivated by love for that person's well-being, as can be seen by the fact that our Lord Jesus himself urged such correction. Indeed, the call to repentance is at the heart of the Gospel, as Jesus proclaimed, "The Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe the Good News" (Mark 1:15). ~ Thomas J Paprocki,
660:Time confined into blind caves or extended through tunnels, responds to the call of infinity, which teases with its promise of freedom. outside the body, time is a pair of compasses in the hands of eternity, but inside it is a pendulum, fastened to the heart. the heart takes its measure from the lengthening swing of the pendulum surveying what time is left. in its own rhythm time spreads itself wildly here and there and is crippled elsewhere. its unequally distributed weight wounds my body - that is how the particularities of my life are manifest. ~ Andy Goldsworthy,
661:time confined into blind caves or extended through tunnels, responds to the call of infinity, which teases with its promise of freedom. outside the body, time is a pair of compasses in the hands of eternity, but inside it is a pendulum, fastened to the heart. the heart takes its measure from the lengthening swing of the pendulum surveying what time is left. in its own rhythm time spreads itself wildly here and there and is crippled elsewhere. its unequally distributed weight wounds my body - that is how the particularities of my life are manifest. ~ Andy Goldsworthy,
662:it is better to wander :::
   it is a deeper and more seldom heard call; yet to follow it when heard is wisest : even, it is better to wander at the call of ones soul than to go apparently straight with the reason and the outward moral mentoR But It is only when the life turns towards the Divine that the soul can truly come forward and impose its power on the outer members; for, itself a spark of the Divine, to grow in flame towards the Divine is its true life and its very reason of existence.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, The Ascent of the Sacrifice - 1,
663:Catcher pulled out his phone,rose,and walked away from the table to make the call.
"I'm going to advise Chuck of our little breakthrough. Good job, Mallocake."
We all looked at Mallory.
"Did he just call you Mallocake ?"
She blushed to the roots of her blue hair, shrugged one shoulder.
"It's a nickname"
It was also my all-time favorite snack food- a log-shaped chocolate cake with a marshmallow center. They were absolutely delectable. And that was kind of adorable, especially for someone like Catcher, who made Eeyore seem like an optimist. ~ Chloe Neill,
664:Nowhere was the airport's charm more concentrated than on the screens placed at intervals across the terminal which announced, in deliberately workmanlike fonts, the itineraries of aircraft about to take to the skies. These screens implied a feeling of infinite and immediate possibility: they suggested the ease with which we might impulsively approach a ticket desk and, within a few hours, embark for a country where the call to prayer rang out over shuttered whitewashed houses, where we understood nothing of the language and where no one knew our identities. ~ Alain de Botton,
665:Nowhere was the airport’s charm more concentrated than on the screens placed at intervals across the terminal which announced, in deliberately workmanlike fonts, the itineraries of aircraft about to take to the skies. These screens implied a feeling of infinite and immediate possibility: they suggested the ease with which we might impulsively approach a ticket desk and, within a few hours, embark for a country where the call to prayer rang out over shuttered whitewashed houses, where we understood nothing of the language and where no one knew our identities. ~ Alain de Botton,
666:But the disciple had the advantage over the Pharisee in that his doing of the law is in fact perfect. How is such a thing possible? Because between the disciples and the law stands one who has perfectly fulfilled it, on with whom they live in communion...Jesus not only possesses this righteousness, but is himself the personal embodiment of it. He is the righteousness of the disciples...This is where the righteousness of the disciple exceeds that of the Pharisees; it is grounded solely upon the call to fellowship with him who alone fulfills the law. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
667:The cross is laid on every Christian. The first Christ-suffering which every man must experience is the call to abandon the attachments of this world. It is that dying of the old man which is the result of his encounter with Christ. As we embark upon discipleship we surrender ourselves to Christ in union with his death—we give over our lives to death. Thus it begins; the cross is not the terrible end to an otherwise god-fearing and happy life, but it meets us at the beginning of our communion with Christ. When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
668:The Parisian is to the French what the Athenian was to the Greeks: no one sleeps better than he, no one is more openly frivolous and idle, no one appears more heedless. But this is misleading. He is given to every kind of listlessness, but when there is glory to be won he may be inspired with every kind of fury. Give him a pike and he will enact the tenth of August, a musket and you have Austerlitz. He was the springboard of Napoleon and the mainstay of Danton. At the cry of "la patrie" he enrols, and at the call of liberty he tears up the pavements. Beware of him! ~ Victor Hugo,
669:The Call of Jeremiah 4Now the word of the LORD came to me, saying,     5  i “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,     and before you were born  j I consecrated you;     I appointed you a prophet  k to the nations.” 6Then I said, “Ah, Lord GOD! Behold,  l I do not know how to speak,  m for I am only a youth.” 7But the LORD said to me,     “Do not say, ‘I am only a youth’;     for to all to whom I send you, you shall go,     and  n whatever I command you, you shall speak. 8     o Do not be afraid of them,      p for I am with you to deliver you, declares the LORD. ~ Anonymous,
670:I absolutely am a big Call of Duty fan. Every time a new Call of Duty comes out – I never play the games online, but I play the solo version super fast. My family knows not to interrupt me the day they come out, they know it's a sacred date for me. I think my favorite visually, of all of the Call of Duty games -- even if it's not as sassy and high tech -- is World at War because. That game has some really incredible episodes in Berlin and the Japanese fields. It's really quite arresting for me, visually, and it was very immersive. But I love Modern Warfare, too. ~ Guillermo del Toro,
671:... In contrast to the "banality of evil," which posits that ordinary people can be responsible for the most despicable acts of cruelty and degradation of their fellows, I posit the "banality of heroism," which unfurls the banner of the heroic Everyman and Everywoman who heed the call to service to humanity when their time comes to act. When that bell rings, they will know that it rings for them. It sounds a call to uphold what is best in human nature that rises above the powerful pressures of Situation and System as the profound assertion of human dignity opposing evil. ~ Philip Zimbardo,
672:Key Thought The Bible teaches there is a clear relationship between spiritual discernment and spiritual maturity. For a Christian to be mature, he must also be discerning. Those who are not discerning must be immature, backsliding, or dead. Conversely, those who exhibit discernment must be alive, growing, and mature. It is clear from Scripture that all Christians are expected to pursue discernment, for the Bible cries out repeatedly for us to do so. It is the responsibility of each Christian to heed and to answer the call and so to guard the deposit God has entrusted to us. ~ Tim Challies,
673:This is just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. More in fact, because you got the call first. I’m finding out from you. How the heck did they get my name?” “I was told you had been recruited at the MMA event you attended several weeks ago. You must have talked to someone or done something, Jamie. They requested you specifically.” My head was spinning. Immediately, my memory was assaulted by the image of Michael Kage winking at me as he took off behind his goons to catch a plane. Catch you on the flip side. And I’d bet money that plane was headed to Las Vegas. “Wow. ~ Maris Black,
674:What can I do for you, Arbitrator?” I asked.
“George, please. There is no hot water in my bathroom.”
“Oh really?” You don’t say.
“Yes. In fact, it’s ice-cold.” He raised a half-filled glass. Thin slivers of ice floated on its surface. “I drew this from the tap in my sink.”
“How unfortunate. When did this happen?”
“About two minutes ago.”
“While you were in the shower?”
“Yes.”
“My apologies. I’ll get right on that.”
George squinted at me, his face thoughtful, and waved the call off.
Sophie leaned back and laughed. “You really love those trees. ~ Ilona Andrews,
675:OMG, I'm so sorry, do you want me to come over? You shouldnt be alone."

I'm fine, and I'm staying at Connors tonight, he was with me when I got the call."

"Seriously Elle? What the hell is going on between the two of you? Did you sleep with him?"

"No! We're just friends, and I'm staying in the guest room."

"Shut the f**k up and get into that mans bed, let him make you forget about everything bad, at least for tonight."

"LOL, good night Peyton, I'll keep in touch."

"Live Elle! Have you ever heard of friends with benefits? Nighty night... ~ Sandi Lynn,
676:[I]n nooks all over the earth sit men who are waiting, scarcely knowing in what way they are waiting, much less that they are waiting in vain. Occasionally the call that awakens– that accident which gives the “permission to act — comes too late, when the best youth and strength for action has already been used up by sitting still; and many have found to their horror when they ‘leaped up’ that their limbs had gone to sleep and their spirit had become to heavy. ‘It is too late,’ they said to themselves, having lost their faith in themselves and henceforth forever useless. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
677:Messner sighed and handed him the phone. “One minute.” “I swear it,” Simon said. He was already dialing the number. The phone rang five times and then the answering machine picked up the line. It was his own voice, saying first in Spanish and then again in French that they were out, saying they would return the call. Why hadn’t Edith recorded the message? What had he been thinking of? He put his hand over his eyes and began to cry. The sound of his own voice was almost unbearable to him. When it stopped there was a long, dull tone. “Je t’adore,” he said. “Je t’aime, Je t’adore. ~ Ann Patchett,
678:Ancient worship . . . does truth. All one has to do is to study the ancient liturgies to see that liturgies clearly do truth by their order and in their substance. This is why so many young people today are now adding ancient elements to their worship. . . . This recovery of ancient practices is not the mere restoration of ritual but a deep, profound, and passionate engagement with truth—truth that forms and shapes the spiritual life into a Christlikeness that issues forth in the call to a godly and holy life and into a deep commitment to justice and to the needs of the poor. ~ Robert E Webber,
679:In Luke, we are looking at Jesus’s story through a gentile lens, which viewed the biographies of great men as exemplars for others to emulate. So the great men and women of the Christian tradition must not be shown as muddled, contentious, or craven; and the central figure, Jesus, must be allowed as much dignity and distance from criticism as possible. Thus, in Luke’s treatment of the call of Matthew Levi, the Pharisees and their scribes direct their ire at Jesus’s disciples, not at Jesus himself (as they do in Mark), for eating and drinking with “tax collectors and prostitutes. ~ Thomas Cahill,
680:My phone blares on the little table between us and we both jump. I hastily mute the ringer, then nearly drop it when I see the name.
I gasp. “It’s Darren.”
“WHAT?” She rotates in her chair to face me, throwing her book down. “Freaking answer it! What are you doing?”
I answer the call and swallow, talking myself into staying calm so as not to appear psycho. “Hey!” I say, excited yet relatively restrained, considering who’s on the other end of the line.
“Hey, you.” His familiar, rough voice melts my insides.
“How are you?” I ask, cheeks killing me from smiling so hard. ~ Kristin Rae,
681:There was, I thought, something calling to me from out in the dark.
It came from out in the tempest, even from the lights of the fishing boats a mile out at sea. You can be called to a last effort, a final heroic statement, because I doubt you call yourself to leave comforts and certainties for an open road. But the call is inside your own head. It's a sad summons from the depths of your own wasted past. You could call it the imperative to go out with full-tilt trumpets and gunshots instead of the quietly desperate sound of the hospital ventilator. Victory instead of defeat. ~ Lawrence Osborne,
682:Now, when I assert that Islam is not a religion of peace I do not mean that Islamic belief makes Muslims naturally violent. This is manifestly not the case: there are many millions of peaceful Muslims in the world. What I do say is that the call to violence and the justification for it are explicitly stated in the sacred texts of Islam. Moreover, this theologically sanctioned violence is there to be activated by any number of offenses, including but not limited to apostasy, adultery, blasphemy, and even something as vague as threats to family honor or to the honor of Islam itself. ~ Ayaan Hirsi Ali,
683:But then I wasn't just asking questions; I was being changed by them. I was being changed by my prayers, which dwindled down nearer and nearer to silence, which weren't confrontations with God but with the difficulty - in my own mind, or in the human lot - of knowing what or how to pray. Lying awake at night, I could feel myself being changed - into what, I had no idea. It was worse than wondering if I had received the call. I wasn't just a student or a going-to-be preacher anymore. I was a lost traveler wandering in the woods, needing to be on my way somewhere but not knowing where. ~ Wendell Berry,
684:Do we now even have any idea of what discipleship evangelism, as we might call it, would look like? What message would we preach that would naturally lead to a decision to become an apprentice to Jesus in The Kingdom Among Us? I hope we can now understand what it might be, having worked our way this far. I hope that our understanding of what it is really to trust Jesus Christ, the whole person, with our whole life, would make the call to become his whole-life apprentice the natural next step. That would be discipleship evangelism. And it would be very different from what is now done. ~ Dallas Willard,
685:Yes. According to the charter of the school. One sec.” I held the phone away and called for Ingrid to inform Frau Blümen. Then I returned to the call. “What’s the situation with the press?” I asked. “None so far” came the tense answer over the phone. I could hear people in the background being frantically busy. “There’s been some chatter, but we got this very quickly.” I weighed the situation and took a deep breath. “Cut the city’s communications,” I said. “Excuse me?” came the startled response. “Do it, and call me back when it’s done—wait, Lewis! Are you there?” “Yes, Rook Thomas. ~ Daniel O Malley,
686:In Pakistan both branches [of the Ahmadis] fell to persecutions, sanction by the state in 1984 with General Zia Ul-Haq's Ordinance XX, which forbade Ahmadis of either branch from calling themselves Muslims, their religion Islam, or their temples mosques. Under penalty of law, they could not perform the call to pryaer, pray in the manner of Muslims, quote the Qur'an or hadith, greet each other with "as-salamu alaikum," or receite the shahadah... In the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, it was illegal for some people to say, "There is no god but Allah and Muhammad is his Messenger. ~ Michael Muhammad Knight,
687:The call to faith, in this light, is not some test of a coy god, waiting to see if we "get it right." It is the only summons, issued under the only conditions, which can allow us fully to reveal who we are, what we most love, and what we most devoutly desire. Without constraint, without any form of mental compulsion, the act of belief becomes the freest possible projection of what resides in our hearts...The greatest act of self-revelation occurs when we choose what we will believe, in that space of freedom that exists between knowing that a thing is, and knowing that a thing is not. ~ Terryl L Givens,
688:Even though I knew I was inside the space shuttle getting ready to go fly, something about it wasn't completely real up until we got the call at about one minute to go, to close and lock our visors and start our oxygen flow. People often ask me, "What did it feel like right at the moment of launch?" And they're surprised when I tell them actually what I felt was relief. It wasn't like being anxious or scared or anything. It was relief because this is something I had wanted to do my whole life and now that the boosters had lit, we were on our way to go do it and nothing was going to stop us. ~ Leroy Chiao,
689:Said the Prophet, on him be peace: ‘On the Day of Resurrection, three people will find themselves on a ridge of black musk. They will have no reckoning to fear, nor any cause for alarm while human accounts are being settled. First, a man who recites the Quran to please God, Great and Glorious is He, and who leads the Prayer to people’s satisfaction. Second, a man who gives the Call to Prayer in a Mosque, inviting people to God, Great and Glorious is He, for the sake of His good pleasure. Third, a man who has a hard time making a living in this world, yet is not distracted from the work ~ Abu Hamid al-Ghazali,
690:Above the din of the clamour and scramble rises the voice of the Angel of Surplus, of leisure, of detachment from the compelling claim of physical need, saying to men, “Rejoice.” From his original serfdom as a creature Man takes his right seat as a creator. Whereas, before, his incessant appeal has been to get, now at last the call comes to him to give. His God, whose help he was in the habit of asking, now stands Himself at his door and asks for his offerings. As an animal, he is still dependent upon Nature; as a Man, he is a sovereign who builds his world and rules it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
691:The call is not to be taken lightly. For a person to possess knowledge is not enough. He must be sure that he is properly called. Those who operate without a proper call seek no good purpose. God does not bless their labors. They may be good preachers, but they do no edify. Many of the fanatics of our day pronounce words of faith, but they bear no good fruit, because their purpose is to turn men to their perverse opinions. On the other hand, those who have a divine call must suffer a good deal of opposition in order that they may become fortified against the running attacks of the devil and the world. ~ Martin Luther,
692:The most rewarding call came at about ten a.m. “Sir the DIG is coming on the line. Please take the call.” A panicked sub-inspector rushed to me, where I was busy meeting a delegation from the nearby villages. I rushed back to the phone and by instinct addressed the caller as sir. I was greeted by a faint laughter and plenty of good wishes. My fiancé was on the line. It was the greatest reward that I hadn’t expected. I assured her that I wasn’t a dragon killer and I wasn’t going to expose myself to unwarranted danger. She knew it was a hollow promise. Danger and I were the most intimate bed mates. ~ Maloy Krishna Dhar,
693:We like to stress the commonness of heroes. Essences seem undemocratic. We feel oppressed by the call to greatness. We regard an interest in glory or perfection as a sign of mental unhealthiness, and have decided that high achievers, who are called overachievers, owe their surplus ambition to a defect in mothering (either too little or too much). We want to admire but think we have a right not to be intimidated. We dislike feeling inferior to an ideal. So away with ideals, with essences. The only ideals allowed are healthy ones -- those everyone may aspire to, or comfortably imagine oneself possessing. ~ Susan Sontag,
694:You've heard the call: We have to do something. We need to fight. We need to identify the enemy and go after them. Some respond, march and chant. Some look away, deny what's happening and search out escape routes into imaginary tomorrows: a life off the grid, space colonies, immortality in paradise, explicit denial, or consumer satiety in wireless, robot staffed, 3-D printed techno-utopia. Meanwhile, the rich take shelter in their fortresses, trusting to their air conditioning, private schools, and well-paid guards. Fight. Flight. Flight. Flight. The threat of death activates our deepest animal drives. ~ Roy Scranton,
695:You’ve heard the call: We have to do something. We need to fight. We need to identify the enemy and go after them. Some respond, march, and chant. Some look away, deny what’s happening, and search out escape routes into imaginary tomorrows: a life off the grid, space colonies, immortality in paradise, explicit denial, or consumer satiety in a wireless, robot-staffed, 3D-printed techno-utopia. Meanwhile, the rich take shelter in their fortresses, trusting to their air conditioning, private schools, and well-paid guards. Fight. Flight. Flight. Fight. The threat of death activates our deepest animal drives. ~ Roy Scranton,
696:The Lost Lagoon
It is dusk on the Lost Lagoon,
And we two dreaming the dusk away,
Beneath the drift of a twilight grey,
Beneath the drowse of an ending day,
And the curve of a golden moon.
It is dark in the Lost Lagoon,
And gone are the depths of haunting blue,
The grouping gulls, and the old canoe,
The singing firs, and the dusk and--you,
And gone is the golden moon.
O! lure of the Lost Lagoon,-I dream to-night that my paddle blurs
The purple shade where the seaweed stirs,
I hear the call of the singing firs
In the hush of the golden moon.
~ Emily Pauline Johnson,
697:Similarly the call to growth can be conceptualized as personal (a daimon or genius, an angel or a muse) or as impersonal, like the tides or the transiting of Venus. Either way works, as long as we're comfortable with it. Or if extra-dimensionality doesn't sit well with you in any form, think of it as "talent," programmed into our genes by evolution. The point, for the thesis I'm seeking to put forward, is that there are forces we can call our allies. As Resistance works to keep us from becoming who we were born to be, equal and opposite powers are counterpoised against it. These are our allies and angels. ~ Steven Pressfield,
698:The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.
   ~ H P Lovecraft, The Call Of Cthulhu,
699:In all doubt and depression, to say 'I belong to the Divine, I cannot fail'; to all suggestions of impurity and unfitness, to reply 'I am a child of Immortality chosen by the Divine; I have but to be true to myself and to Him-the victory is sure; even if I fell, I would be sure to rise again'; to all impulses to depart and serve some smaller ideal, to reply 'This is the greatest, this is the Truth that alone can satisfy the soul within me; I will endure through all tests and tribulations to the very end of the divine journey.' This is what I mean by faithfulness to the Light and the Call.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,
700:Whenever we moderns pause for a moment, and enter the silence, and listen very carefully, the glimmer of our deepest nature begins to shine forth, and we are introduced to the mysteries of the deep, the call of the within, the infinite radiance of a splendor that time and space forgot - we are introduced to the all-pervading Spiritual domain that the growing tip of our honored ancestors were the first to discover. And they were good enough to leave us a general map to that infinite domain, a map called the Great Nest of Being, a map of our own interiors, an archeology of our own Spirit. ~ Ken Wilber, Integral Psychology, p. 190,
701:each time we enter a ritual space we do so because something in the physical world has warned us of possible deterioration at hand. This presupposes that one does not enter into a ritual without a purpose, a goal. As I said earlier, ritual is called for because our soul communicates things to us that the body translates as need, or want, or absence. So we enter into ritual in order to respond to the call of the soul. So illness, perhaps, is the sign language of the soul in need of attention. This means that our soul is the part of us that picks up on situations well ahead of our conscious awareness of them. ~ Malidoma Patrice Som,
702:Do you think you are so very hard to read? Perhaps no one has ever bothered before, and this has led you to believe you are inscrutable. But no, I think not. I think it is more likely that these other people are lazy. You take a lot of studying and so they let you pass them by, even though everything you do says so much. You hide when you don’t want to; you hang up when you want to complete the call. You deny the things you feel the most and admit what matters least. My little study in opposites, are you not? Heart on her sleeve, though she would say it was only the pattern of the piece of clothing she was wearing. ~ Charlotte Stein,
703:What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. What man needs is not homeostasis but what I call “noö- dynamics,” i.e., the existential dynamics in a polar field of tension where one pole is represented by a meaning that is to be fulfilled and the other pole by the man who has to fulfill it. And one should not think that this holds true only for normal conditions; in neurotic individuals, it is even more valid. ~ Anonymous,
704:COME HOME, TENAR! COME HOME!”
In the deep valley, in the twilight, the apple trees were on the eve of blossoming; here and there among the shadowed boughs one flower had opened early, rose and white, like a faint star. Down the orchard aisles, in the thick, new, wet grass, the little girl ran for the joy of running; hearing the call she did not come at once, but made a long circle before she turned her face toward home. The mother waiting in the doorway of the hut, with the firelight behind her, watched the tiny figure running and bobbing like a bit of thistledown blown over the darkening grass beneath the trees. ~ Ursula K Le Guin,
705:The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."
The Call Of Cthulhu, incipit. ~ H P Lovecraft,
706:The Call Of The Nightingale
Awake! awake!
Sleep no more, my gentle mate!
With your tiny tawny bill,
Wake the tuneful echo shrill,
On vale or hill;
Or in her airy rocky seat,
Let her listen and repeat
The tender ditty that you tell,
The sad lament,
The dire event,
To luckless Itys that befell.
Thence the strain
Shall rise again,
And soar amain,
Up to the lofty palace gate
Where mighty Apollo sits in state
In Jove's abode, with his ivory lyre,
Hymning aloud to the heavenly choir,
While all the gods shall join with thee
In a celestial symphony.
~ Aristophanes,
707:But you must remember that nothing can be achieved except in its proper time. Some persons must pass through many experiences and perform many worldly duties before they can turn their attention to God; so they have to wait a long time. If an abscess is lanced before it is soft, the result is not good; the surgeon makes the opening when it is soft and has come to a head. Once a child said to its mother: 'Mother, I am going to sleep now. Please wake me up when I feel the call of nature.' 'My child,' said the mother, 'when it is time for that, you will wake up yourself. I shan't have to wake you.' ~ Sri Ramakrishna, Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna,
708:The connection was so bad, and I couldn't talk at all during most of the call. How terrible it is when you say I love you and the person at the other end shouts back 'What?' I've been reading a miscellany of Vedanta all [358] day. Marriage partners are to serve each other. Elevate, help, teach, strengthen each other, but above all, serve. Raise their children honorably, lovingly, and with detachment. A child is a guest in the house, to be loved and respected-never possessed, since he belongs to God. How wonderful, how sane, how beautifully difficult, and therefore true. The joy of responsibility for the first time in my life. ~ J D Salinger,
709:Everything teaches, whether you intend it to or not. The songs teach people doctrine and proper affections for God. Your prayers (or lack of them) teach people how to pray themselves. The kinds of prayers you pray (or don’t pray) teach people about the important differences between prayers of adoration, confession, thanksgiving, and supplication. The way you administer the ordinances teaches people about their meaning, and even the very meaning of the Gospel. Your preaching teaches people how to study and use the Bible appropriately. Everything from the call to worship to the benediction counts as teaching. Teaching is everything. ~ Mark Dever,
710:Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels’ hierarchies?
And even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,
And we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying.
And so I hold myself back and swallow the call-note of my dark sobbing.
Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need?
Not angels, not humans, and already the knowing animals are aware
That we are not really at home in our interpreted world. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke,
711:Then, in the end, the leader makes the call. It’s conflict and debate leading to an executive decision. No major decision we’ve studied was ever taken at a point of unanimous agreement. There was always some disagreement in the air. Our research showed that before a major decision, you would see significant debate. But after the decision, people would unify behind that decision to make it successful. Again, and I can’t stress this too much, it all begins with having the right people—those who can debate in search of the best answers but who can then set aside their disagreements and work together for the success of the enterprise. ~ Verne Harnish,
712:After supper was over and the toasts had been drunk, the boy Pablo was called in to play for the company while the gentlemen smoked. . . there was softness and languor in the wire strings--but there was also a kind of madness; the recklessness, the call of wild countries which all these men had felt or followed in one way or another. Through clouds of cigar smoke, the scout and the soldiers, the Mexican rancheros and the priests, sat silently watching the bent head and crouching shoulders of the banjo player, and his seesawing yellow hand, which sometimes lost all form and became a mere whirl of matter in motion, like a patch of sand-storm. ~ Willa Cather,
713:one of the funniest mockeries of psychology he'd ever seen. He'd wanted to share the joke with her so badly, he ached with the need. The phone rings… Click… Recording: Hello, welcome to the psychiatric hotline. --If you are obsessive-compulsive, please press 1 repeatedly. --If you are co-dependent, please ask for someone to press 2. --If you are paranoid-delusional, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line until we can trace the call. --If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press. --If you are manic-depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press. No one will answer. ~ Kathryn Shay,
714:The Pharisees weren’t teachable; you couldn’t tell them anything. So many people are like that; they profess Christ but don’t want to hear all that true Christianity demands. The call to self-denial, they reject. They hold high their own ideas, goals, and designs. They want to go their way, and when you try to teach the right way instead, they don’t want to hear it. It’s not because they’re unteachable Christians; it’s because they’re sham Christians. The one who digs deep empties himself of self-righteousness and self-sufficiency, casts aside his own visions and experiences, and builds on the Word of God for God’s glory and not his own. ~ John F MacArthur Jr,
715:Let's say I will rip your life apart. Me and my banker friends. How can he explain to him? The world is not run from where he thinks. Not from his border fortresses, not even from Whitehall. The world is run from Antwerp, from Florence, from places he has never imagined; from Lisbon, from where the ships with sails of silk drift west and are burned up in the sun. Not from castle walls, but from counting houses, not by the call of the bugle, but by the click of the abacus, not by the grate and click of the mechanism of the gun but by the scrape of the pen on the page of the promissory note that pays for the gun and the gunsmith and the powder and shot. ~ Hilary Mantel,
716:Living out this spiritual fatherhood requires the radical discipline of being home. As a self-rejecting person always in search of affirmation and affection, I find it impossible to love consistently without asking for something in return. But the discipline is precisely to give up wanting to accomplish this myself as a heroic feat. To claim for myself spiritual fatherhood and the authority of compassion that belongs to it, I have to let the rebellious younger son and the resentful elder son step up on the platform to receive the unconditional, forgiving love that the Father offers me, and to discover there the call to be home as my Father is home. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,
717:No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they’ve never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat-house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that. ~ Neil Gaiman,
718:Trip’s Tips: 1. Don’t return a new guy’s interest right away. Force his hand. Get him to invest first. 2. Whenever a guy calls for the first time, end the call first because you’ve got to “run.” Leave him wondering where you’re going and who you’re meeting. Jealousy is a powerful motivator. 3. Don’t talk about the guy to anyone for the first few weeks (not with friends or Facebook or anyone else). Let it develop privately. 4. Don’t text him all the time, or ask where things stand, or talk about your desire for marriage and family, for at least two months. 5. Under NO circumstances do you go to bed with him for at least five real dates. Make him work for it. ~ Jamie Beck,
719:These are the times foretold by the Prophets, ‘when a nation shall be born in a day',” declared the call for a black political gathering in 1865. A Tennessee newspaper commented in 1869 that freedmen habitually referred to slavery as Paul’s Time, and Reconstruction as Isaiah’s Time (referring perhaps to Paul’s message of obedience and humility, and Isaiah’s prophecy of cataclysmic change brought about by violence). God, who had “scourged America with war for her injustice to the black man,” had allowed his agent Lincoln, like Moses, to glimpse the promised land of “universal freedom” and then mysteriously removed him before he “reached its blessed fruitions. ~ Eric Foner,
720:But that’s not all. For thousands of years, many groups experimented with perceptual and sleep states
and achieved surprising results. This is the knowledge I’ll be sharing with you in this book —
information about one of the most ancient traditions in Mexico and the striking results it is producing
in all those who are following it now.
I’ll also narrate the personal experiences I’ve had with my teachers, and I hope that this will provide
guidance for all those who are curious about dreams and those who have already heard the call of
their dreaming mind and the Sixth Sun and want to set off on the path of the warrior of dreams. ~ Sergio Magana Ocelocoyotl,
721:He’d forced himself to get used to living a single man’s life after his wife died. In fact, he had never expected to find another woman to fill that space. But once Muriel had, it astonished him how quickly he got used to female companionship. And not just any companion, but a woman who seemed perfect for him. While she was here, riding, shooting, hunting, refurbishing her house, he realized they were made for each other. But the minute the call came from Hollywood he began to think he’d been ridiculous to imagine they had anything in common. It was so easy for her to pack up her cosmetics and dainties, board a fancy Lear and take off for another kind of life. “I ~ Robyn Carr,
722:Imagine a time when your mobile phone rang but you didn’t answer it. Why not? Perhaps the phone was buried in a bag, making it difficult to reach. In this case your inability to easily answer the call inhibited the action. Your ability was limited. Maybe you thought the caller was a telemarketer, someone you did not want to speak to. So, your lack of motivation influenced you to ignore the call. Or, maybe the call was important and within arm’s reach, but the ringer on your phone was silenced. Despite having both a strong motivation and easy access to answer the call, it was completely missed because you never heard it ring — in other words, no trigger was present. ~ Nir Eyal,
723:Let's say I will rip your life apart. Me and my banker friends."
How can he explain that to him? The world is not run from where he thinks. Not from border fortresses, not even from Whitehall. The world is run from Antwerp, from Florence, from places he has never imagined; from Lisbon, from where the ships with sails of silk drift west and are burned up in the sun. Not from the castle walls, but from counting houses, not be the call of the bugle, but by the click of the abacus, not by the grate and click of the mechanism of the gun but by the scrape of the pen on the page of the promissory note that pays for the gun and the gunsmith and the powder and shot. ~ Hilary Mantel,
724:Five days later, I'm on the same journey, edging down the turnpike with the scrim of sunset lowering in the west, passing through Florida City, strip malls and car dealerships, melting into swampland and fishing tackle shops, past Manatee Bay onto the Overseas Highway. It's drifter territory, where people go to forget and to be forgotten. I've come to think of this land as a second home. The prison motel; the familiar faces though few of us have exchanged names. Each of us serving our sentence, waiting, waiting, because prison has made us more patient than we ever knew we could be, until we get the call that it's time; the end of the sentence, or just the end. ~ Patricia Engel,
725:I don't see what great things Russia could offer these countries. You can certainly try to court members of the political elite. You can sound the call of the old Orthodox solidarity, as is being attempted in Moldova, Bulgaria, Serbia and also Greece. But Moscow cannot "save" Greece if it goes bankrupt, nor can Moscow draw the country permanently into its orbit. Intensive efforts are being made at cobbling together a network of old left-wing and new right-wing groups, platforms and media. There's also the phantom-like launch of the "Eurasia" project - as a counter to Europe's transatlantic relations. Politically, however, that's all largely destructive and hot air. ~ Anonymous,
726:Monadnock In Early Spring
Cloud-topped and splendid, dominating all
The little lesser hills which compass thee,
Thou standest, bright with April's buoyancy,
Yet holding Winter in some shaded wall
Of stern, steep rock; and startled by the call
Of Spring, thy trees flush with expectancy
And cast a cloud of crimson, silently,
Above thy snowy crevices where fall
Pale shrivelled oak leaves, while the snow beneath
Melts at their phantom touch. Another year
Is quick with import. Such each year has been.
Unmoved thou watchest all, and all bequeath
Some jewel to thy diadem of power,
Thou pledge of greater majesty unseen.
~ Amy Lowell,
727:After three years of undercover activism, a group of believers emerged stamped by a spirit of brotherhood and cooperation with one definite objective in their mind: propagating and deeply establishing the call unto Islam. For full three years Muhammad (May the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) had been content to teach within a rather narrow circle. The time, however, had come to preach the faith of the Lord openly. Then Revelation descended giving Allah’s Messenger (May the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) the duty of publicizing it for his people, to confront them, invalidate their falsehood, and crush down their idolatrous practices. ~ Safi ur Rahman al Mubarakpuri,
728:Tell me something," Xcor drawled.
"Yes?"
"Is his piggish head still attached to that weak little body of his?"
Assail chuckled. "No."
"Do you know that is among my favorite ways of killing?"
"A warming for me, Xcor?
...
"No," he declared. "Just something we have in common. Fare thee well, Assail, for what is left of this night."
"Yourself as well. And in the words of our mutual acquaintance, I must needs go. Afore I am forced to slaughter the doggen butler who is pounding, at this very instant, upon the door I have locked."
Xcor threw his head back and laughed as he ended the call.
"You know," he said to his fighters, "I rather like him. ~ J R Ward,
729:The Sunken Crown
Nothing will hold him longer—let him go;
Let him go down where others have gone down;
Little he cares whether we smile or frown,
Or if we know, or if we think we know.
The call is on him for his overthrow,
Say we; so let him rise, or let him drown.
Poor fool! He plunges for the sunken crown,
And we—we wait for what the plunge may show.
Well, we are safe enough. Why linger, then?
The watery chance was his, not ours. Poor fool!
Poor truant, poor Narcissus out of school;
Poor jest of Ascalon; poor king of men.—
The crown, if he be wearing it, may cool
His arrogance, and he may sleep again.
~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,
730:I’m gonna make race the basis of politics in this state, and I’m gonna make it the basis of politics in this country.” Later, at his inaugural, he proclaimed, “I have stood where once Jefferson Davis stood, and took an oath to my people. It is very appropriate then that from this cradle of the Confederacy, this very heart of the great Anglo-Saxon Southland, that today we sound the drum for freedom … Let us rise to the call of freedom-loving blood that is in us … In the name of the greatest people that have ever trod this earth, I draw the line in the dust and toss the gauntlet before the feet of tyranny. And I say, segregation today! Segregation tomorrow! Segregation forever! ~ Bill O Reilly,
731:One of the arguments that authoritarian governments use to ward off the call for greater political freedom is to argue that American-style democracy is no guarantee of good policy.... Over the years, I’ve grown used to these arguments, and my response has rarely wavered: Sure, we might make dumb choices sometimes, but we will defend, to the end, the right to make choices at all, because we believe that our collective conscience, freely expressed, will eventually lead us in the right direction. When it comes to guns, it is getting harder to muster that argument abroad. Every new shooting, every new failure of will and citizenship, slashes another hole in our credibility as a way of life. ~ Evan Osnos,
732:Last night I learned how to be a lover of God,
To live in this world and call nothing my own.

I looked inward
And the beauty of my own emptiness
filled me till dawn.
It enveloped me like a mine of rubies.
Its hue clothed me in red silk.

Within the cavern of my soul
I heard the voice of a lover crying,
“Drink now! Drink now!”—

I took a sip and saw the vast ocean—
Wave upon wave caressed my soul.
The lovers of God dance around
And the circle of their steps
becomes a ring of fire round my neck.

Heaven calls me with its rain and thunder—
a hundred thousand cries
yet I cannot hear.....

All I hear is the call of my Beloved. ~ Rumi,
733:Tiny threads of time are the warp and woof of God’s redemptive tapestry: a series of todays, used well or poorly. God has ordained that the physical universe be composed of atoms, so also has God ordained that history be composed of moments. Personal and world history is an accumulation of todays, and how they were spent. At death, our window of opportunity will be closed, our time on earth finished. We can no longer store up treasure in heaven. We can no longer lead people to Christ. We can no longer suffer gladly for Christ. The time for all these things will be past. The call to every Christian is to make the most of this short segment of time, to make every day count for eternity. ~ Andrew M Davis,
734:I consider it a dangerous misconception of mental hygiene to assume that what man needs in the first place is equilibrium or, as it is called in biology, "homeostasis," i.e., a tensionless state. What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwile goal, a freely chosen task. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. What man needs is not homeostasis but what I call "noö-dynamics," i.e. the existential dynamics in a polar field of tension where one pole is represented by a meaning that is to be fulfilled and the other pole by the man who has to fulfill it. ~ Viktor E Frankl,
735:Who will do the Kingdoms business?
Who will awake in might to the call?
One soul will bring joy to heaven;
Arise, oh men and women of God!
Mind the kingdoms business and do it well!

Christ the savior is calling, Jesus is calling!
Awake, somebody! Awake somebody!
Jesus is calling; Jesus is coming again!


Who will do the Kingdoms business?
Who will awake in might to the call?
Whose heart shall not be for the world, but for the Word?
And who shall save one soul in the world?
Arise oh men and women of God!

Christ the savior is calling, Jesus is calling!
Awake, somebody! Awake somebody!
Jesus is calling; Jesus is coming again! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
736:His phone rang just as he set his evidence kit on the ground. He glanced at the display and took the call. "Hey, Mom."
"I ran into Cindy Jenners at the store today."
"No."
"She's such a nice young woman."
"Not interested."
"Your sisters abandoned me."
"They didn't abandon you. They got married."
"They moved to other states. I don't have a single grandchild. within driving distance. How can they be so curel?" She gave a guilt-laden pause. "Mrs. Ottmann said she saw you talking to some blonde with Massachusetts license plates by the feed store yesterday."
Chase closed his eyes and brushed his thumb and forefinger over his eyelids. "I was giving her a speeding ticket... ~ Dana Marton,
737:McCandless read and reread The Call of the Wild, White Fang, “To Build a Fire,” “An Odyssey of the North,” “The Wit of Porportuk.” He was so enthralled by these tales, however, that he seemed to forget they were works of fiction, constructions of the imagination that had more to do with London’s romantic sensibilities than with the actualities of life in the subarctic wilderness. McCandless conveniently overlooked the fact that London himself had spent just a single winter in the North and that he’d died by his own hand on his California estate at the age of forty, a fatuous drunk, obese and pathetic, maintaining a sedentary existence that bore scant resemblance to the ideals he espoused in print. ~ Jon Krakauer,
738:So often when God places a call on one of His children, the ability to answer the call requires a separation between the old life and the new life. We are called away from the old in order to prepare our heart for what is to come. This can be a painful and difficult separation. Joseph was separated from his family. Jacob was sent to live with his uncle Laban. Moses was sent to the desert. Perhaps God has placed you in your own desert period. Perhaps you cannot make sense of the situation in which you find yourself. If you, like Paul, will get intimate with God during this time, He will reveal the purposes He has for you. The key is pressing into Him. Seek Him with a whole heart, and He will be found. ~ Os Hillman,
739:A comprehensive treatment plan for the heart’s diseases is to deny the self of its desires,        Enjoin hunger, keep worship vigilance in the night, be silent, and meditate in private;        Also keep company with good people who possess sincerity, those who are emulated in their states and statements;        And, finally, take refuge in the One unto whom all affairs return. That is the most beneficial treatment for all of the previous diseases.        This must be to the point in which you are like a man drowning or someone lost in a barren desert and see no source of succor        Except from the Guardian, possessor of the greatest power. He is the One who responds to the call of the distressed. ~ Hamza Yusuf,
740:Don’t think I ever spent a minute of any day wondering why I did this work, or whether it was worth it. The call to protect life—and not merely life but another’s identity; it is perhaps not too much to say another’s soul—was obvious in its sacredness. Before operating on a patient’s brain, I realized, I must first understand his mind: his identity, his values, what makes his life worth living, and what devastation makes it reasonable to let that life end. The cost of my dedication to succeed was high, and the ineluctable failures brought me nearly unbearable guilt. Those burdens are what make medicine holy and wholly impossible: in taking up another’s cross, one must sometimes get crushed by the weight. ~ Paul Kalanithi,
741:Genius In Beauty
Beauty like hers is genius. Not the call
Of Homer's or of Dante's heart sublime, -Not Michael's hand furrowing the zones of time, -Is more with compassed mysteries musical;
Nay, not in Spring's Summer's sweet footfall
More gathered gifts exuberant Life bequeaths
Than doth this sovereign face, whose love-spell breathes
Even from its shadowed contour on the wall.
As many men are poets in their youth,
But for one sweet-strung soul the wires prolong
Even through all change the indomitable song;
So in likewise the envenomed years, whose tooth
Rends shallower grace with ruin void of truth,
Upon this beauty's power shall wreak no wrong.
~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti,
742:There is only one way if you cannot exert your will - it is to call the Force; even the call only with the mind or the mental word is better than being extremely passive and submitted to the attack, - for although it may not succeed instantaneously, the mental call even ends by bringing the Force and opening up the consciousness again. For everything depends upon that. In the externalised consciousness obscurity and suffering can always be there; the more the internalised consciousness reigns, the more these things are pushed back and out, and with the full internalised consciousness they cannot remain
   - if they come, it is as outside touches unable to lodge themselves in the being. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - IV,
743:Decisions become good or bad in hindsight. We would like to believe that a decision is rational. More often than not, decisions are rationalized. Often in business we take decisions based on how we interpret the situation, not being sure of whether the call we have taken will work or not. When it works, we are often taken by surprise. But the world at large demands an explanation. We are expected to prove that our decisions were strategic, not simply a fluke. To say that a certain victory was a fluke makes us nervous. Corporations reject this. Once the numbers come, the manager has to spend hours creating a story rationalizing his action so that everything looks as if it were part of a pre-conceived plan. ~ Devdutt Pattanaik,
744:The Roman non Semitic domain on the world's stage allegedly -and yet of course more innocently than maliciously- strives for learning to be like Jesus in everyday life, becoming, thinking and acting like him; however, they formally ban his name from being given to babies! In the eyes of a Semite (i.e., pure Arab), either these people are mentally challenged, or they are cursed to the point where one observes the emergence of this testimonial outcry in their own domain against and in opposition to their own convictions. These are the nations who war Islam under the pretense of having a god with a name (i.e., JHWH) while failing miserably to follow the call to his son starting with the mere essence of his name. ~ Ibrahim Ibrahim,
745:The most recent time I spoke to Trump—and the first such occasion in nearly three decades—was July 14, 2016, shortly before The New Yorker published an article by Jane Mayer about my experience writing The Art of the Deal. Trump was just about to win the Republican nomination for president. I was driving in my car when my cell phone rang. It was Trump. He had just gotten off a call with a fact-checker for The New Yorker, and he didn’t mince words. “I just want to tell you that I think you’re very disloyal,” he started in. Then he berated and threatened me for a few minutes. I pushed back, gently but firmly. And then, suddenly, as abruptly as he began the call, he ended it. “Have a nice life,” he said, and hung up. ~ Bandy X Lee,
746:Sweet Love, Sweet Thorn, When Lightly To My Heart
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart
I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain,
And lie disheveled in the grass apart,
A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain,
While rainy evening drips to misty night,
And misty night to cloudy morning clears,
And clouds disperse across the gathering light,
And birds grow noisy, and the sun appears
Had I bethought me then, sweet love, sweet thorn,
How sharp an anguish even at the best,
When all's requited and the future sworn,
The happy Hour can leave within the breast,
I had not so come running at the call
Of one whoe loves me little, if at all.
~ Edna St. Vincent Millay,
747:Give up your attachment to comfortable ways of living - show yourself in the gymnasium (gymnos = 'naked'), prove that you are not indifferent to the difference between perfect and imperfect, demonstrate to us that achievement - excellence, arete, virtu - has not remained a foreign word to you, admit that you have motives for new endeavours! Above all: only grant the suspicion that sport is a pastime for the most stupid as much space as it deserves, do not misuse it as a pretext to drift further in your customary state of self-neglect, distrust the philistine in yourself who thinks you are just fine as you are! Hear the voice from the stone, do not resist the call to get in shape! Seize the chance to train with a god! ~ Peter Sloterdijk,
748:As a child dragged out of bed at 2 a.m. by my Carl Sagan–worshiping father, I would pick a section of sky and watch it closely, waiting for the meteors to move through it. Waiting for the meteors to come to me. I would frustrate myself, angry when my sisters gasped and squealed as they saw stars fall while my chosen sky remained static. One has to open oneself up, take in the whole canvas without choosing, without discriminating. Relinquish focus and choose expansion. That is the song of the call to prayer. It moves you upward and outward, works you out of three dimensions and into four. Widen your scope, it sings. Unfix yourself. Allow yourself to move endlessly. Why choose a fragment when you can have the whole night sky? ~ Jessa Crispin,
749:A call is an option to buy a stated amount of a certain stock at a fixed price—generally near the current market price—at any time during a stated period. Calls on most listed stocks are always on sale by dealers who specialize in them. The purchaser pays a generally rather moderate sum for his option; if the stock then goes up during the stated period, the rise can easily be converted into almost pure profit for him, while if the stock stays put or goes down, he simply tears up his call the way a horseplayer tears up a losing ticket, and loses nothing but the cost of the call. Therefore calls provide the cheapest possible way of gambling on the stock market, and the most convenient way of converting inside information into cash. ~ John Brooks,
750:Sonnet Xviii: Genius In Beauty
Beauty like hers is genius. Not the call
Of Homer's or of Dante's heart sublime,—
Not Michael's hand furrowing the zones of time,—
Is more with compassed mysteries musical;
Nay, not in Spring's or Summer's sweet footfall
More gathered gifts exuberant Life bequeaths
Than doth this sovereign face, whose love-spell breathes
Even from its shadowed contour on the wall.
As many men are poets in their youth,
But for one sweet-strung soul the wires prolong
Even through all change the indomitable song;
So in like wise the envenomed years, whose tooth
Rends shallower grace with ruin void of ruth,
Upon this beauty's power shall wreak no wrong.
~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti,
751:Toadstools

The toadstools are starting to come
up,
circular and dry.
Nothing will touch them,
Gophers or chipmunks, wasps or swallows.
They glow in the twilight like rooted will-o’-the-wisps.
Nothing will touch them.
As though little roundabouts from the bunched unburiable,
Powers, dominions,
As though orphans rode herd in the short grass,
as though they had heard the call,
They will always be with us,
transcenders of the world.
Someone will try to stick his beak into their otherworldly styrofoam.
Someone may try to taste a taste of forever.
For some it’s a refuge, for some a shady place to fall down.
Grief is a floating barge-boat,
who knows where it’s going to moor? ~ Charles Wright,
752:Your job as an EntreLeader is to make sure when your team member leaves your office they take their monkey with them. The first step is to give them some ideas for options and instruct them to come back with three good ways to solve the problem and a suggested course of action. The next step is to teach your team to come to your office with a problem only after they have found three or more possible solutions and a suggested course of action. That makes for some great discussions and teachable moments as you show them how you would make the call. After solving problems and making the call with your help several times, the best team members begin to see the pattern you use and can do what you do. The final step is very personally rewarding. ~ Dave Ramsey,
753:Even if Megan imagines differently, she [Jennifer] is not the tragic figure. Tommy is. Tommy always was. Nobody saw the tragedy in being the practical one. He was the one who fell painfully short of his potential, the one who even as he let his business flounder and drank too much and showed up late, continued to be though of as a *really great guy.* And he was a really great guy. ... And other people say that, the way he looked at her and all those other things. And so she was the villain. She was the one who didn't laugh at his joke, or looked pained when he gave in to the call to stay for another. She was the one who wanted to leave the party; he was the one who kept it going. The one who wants to leave the party is never the favored one. ~ Leah Stewart,
754:At last a woman who admits it! Who admits what? Something that women have always refused till now to admit (and today more than ever before). Something that men have always reproached them with: that they never cease obeying their nature, the call of their blood, that everything in them, even their minds, is sex. That they have constantly to be nourished, constantly washed and made up, constantly beaten. That all they need is a good master, one who is not too lax or kind: for the moment we make any show of tenderness they draw upon it, turning all the zest, joy, and character at their command to make others love them. In short, that we must, when we go to see them, take a whip along. Rare is the man who has not dreamed of possessing Justine. ~ Pauline R age,
755:The pseudonymous apostate Ibn Warraq makes an important distinction: there are moderate Muslims, but no moderate Islam. Millions of Muslims just want to get on with their lives, and there are--or were--remote corners of the world where, far from Mecca, Muslim practices reached accommodation with local customs. But all of the official schools of Islamic jurisprudence commend sharia and violent jihad. So a "moderate Muslim" can find no formal authority to support his moderation. And to be a "moderate Muslim" publicly means standing up to the leaders of your community, to men like Shaker Elsayed, leader of the Dar al Hijrah, one of America's largest mosques, who has told his core-ligionists in blunt terms: "The call to reform Islam is an alien call. ~ Anonymous,
756:They were a mile from Grant’s place at eight-fifteen. The day before, they’d spotted a diner with a strong and reliable Wi-Fi and no protection, with parking on the side and in back, out of sight from the street. Kidd signed on from a laptop and dialed up another laptop, which was hooked into his cell phone, back at the condo. His phone made a call to a friend who, at that moment, was playing a violin in a chamber quartet at the birthday party for a St. Paul surgeon’s wife. Kidd let the call ring through to the answering service, left a message that suggested handball on Friday. “Done,” he said, when he’d hung up. An alibi. Both of their desktop computers would be roaming websites all through the evening, and they’d send out a couple of e-mails. ~ John Sandford,
757:Heather? The 17th through 19th?” For a moment, Meyer thought the connection had broken. He shook his phone and was moments from tapping its surface to end the call and try again when he heard her voice: small, distant, and chillingly cold. “Meyer,” she said. “Are those dates still clear for you? Into LAX. I can get flights that arrive most of the day, but afternoon arrivals work best for me unless I have someone take them to the airport. I’d rather do it myself, though.” Heather said nothing. In the distance, Meyer could hear her television. That was another thing about living with Heather that had annoyed him to no end: the woman couldn’t abide silence. She always had noise on, and fell asleep with the TV blazing. “Heather?” “Meyer. Turn on the news. ~ Sean Platt,
758:This is how the call to spirituality comes to us. We ought to be spiritual in every aspect of our lives because our world is the spiritual one. It is what we are suited to. Thus Paul, from his profound grasp of human existence, counsels us, “To fill your mind with the visible, the ‘flesh,’ is death, but to fill your mind with the spirit is life and peace” (Rom. 8:6). As we increasingly integrate our life into the spiritual world of God, our life increasingly takes on the substance of the eternal. We are destined for a time when our life will be entirely sustained from spiritual realities and no longer dependent in any way upon the physical. Our dying, or “mortal” condition, will have been exchanged for an undying one and death absorbed in victory.20 ~ Dallas Willard,
759:There is the moment when the silence of the countryside gathers in the ear and breaks into a myriad of sounds:a croaking and squeaking, a swift rustle in the grass, a plop in the water, a pattering on earth and pebbles, and high above all, the call of the cicada, The sounds follow one another, and the ear eventually discerns more and more of them -just as fingers unwinding a ball of wool feel each fiber interwoven with progressively thinner and less palpable threads, The frogs continue croaking in the background without changing the flow of sounds, just as light does not vary from the continues winking of stars, But at every rise or fall of the wind every sound changes and is renewed. All that remains in the inner recess of the ear is a vague murmur: the sea. ~ Italo Calvino,
760:Selkie women are the women you don’t understand. They are the women who know that they belong to another tribe, in another element. And so they seem as though they don’t belong in yours – and they don’t. They are the women who live by other rules and values, because their rules and values are different from those of this world. They are the women who sometimes seem to be listening to other voices, or music you can’t hear, or the call of distant bells. There is a faraway look in their eyes.

Selkie women are the ones who look as though they came out of faerytales, because they did. The ones who look at the sea longingly, who look at the sky as their home. They do not fear death. They only fear imprisonment.

Selkie women are the ones you can’t keep. ~ Theodora Goss,
761:My dad is leaving tomorrow to drive my car with the rest of my belongings out here. One of the worst moments of my life was making the call to my dad to tell him I’m pregnant. He’s been doing great since his surgery and I didn’t want to send him into cardiac arrest with my revelation. The agonizing silence on the line after I told him lasted for an eternity. Then one of the best moments of my life followed. He said, “I love you and I’m here for you.” That’s all he said. At the moment it was my heart that was in danger. He offered me unconditional love and I cried harder and longer than if he would have yelled at me and expressed his utter disappointment in me. Sometimes I think my mom’s soul bonded to his when she died because he speaks in his voice with her heart. ~ Jewel E Ann,
762:Sandra, I need one of the IT guys to send me the feeds for all of Everly Jensen’s social media accounts.”

Wait. What?

“She’s a senior at Penn. Grew up in Ridgefield, Connecticut. You should be able to locate her easily enough.”

“What are you doing?” I interrupt, confused and annoyed.

“Facebook, Twitter, Instagram,” he rattles off. “And whatever other sites college girls are currently using to post selfies on the internet. That will be all, Sandra.” He ends the call with a tap to a control on the steering wheel.

“Hello, I’m sitting right here. Did you want me to friend-request you or something?” I wave the phone in my hand as I talk. “Because that”—I point in the direction of the speakers in the dashboard—“was a little melodramatic. ~ Jana Aston,
763:The call was already under way when Lauren walked into his office. Nick gestured toward his chair and got up so taht she could sit at his desk and take notes.Two minutes after Lauren sat down, he leaned over her from behind, braced his hands on the desk on either side of her and brushed his lips across her hair.
Lauren's self-control snapped. "Damn you, stop it!" she burst out.
"What?" "What?" "What?" three masculine voices chorused.
Nick leaned toward the speaker and drawled, "My secretary thinks you're talking too fast,and she'd like you to stop it so she can catch up."
"Well,all she had to do was ask," one offended male replied.
"I hope you're satisfied!" Lauren whispered furiously.
"I'm not," Nick chuckled in her ear. "But I'm going to be. ~ Judith McNaught,
764:The magician was coming alive. The illusionist, the eternal pacifier and eflector of ridicule, the dancer on eggshells and creator of impossible karma was answering the call of the footlights. The Oliver of the rain-swept bus shelters, children's hospitals and Salvation Army hostels was performing for his life and Tiger's, while Tinatin cooked, and Yevgeny half-listened and counted his misfortunes in the flames, and Hoban and his fellow devils dreamed their sour mischief and pondered their dwindling options. And Oliver knew his audience. He empathized with its disarray, its stunned senses and confused allegiances. He knew how often in his own life, at its absolutely lowest moments, he would have given everything he had for one lousy conjurer with a stuffed raccoon. ~ John le Carr,
765:Have you ever met someone and felt . . . I don't know how to describe it, felt a chance at having something that eluded you? I don't know . . . Forget I said anything."
I knew what he meant. He was describing that moment when you realize that you are lonely. For a time you can be alone and doing fine and never give a thought to living any other way and then you meet someone and suddenly you become lonely. It stabs at you, almost like a physical pain, and you feel both deprived and angry, deprived because you wish to be with that person and angry, because their absence brings you misery. It's a strange feeling, akin to desperation, a feeling that makes you wait by the phone even though you know that the call is an hour away. I was not going to lose my balance. Not yet. ~ Ilona Andrews,
766:Afterward, Hayes settled down in an armchair to read for a while. In banking circles, he is thought of as a scholarly, intellectual type, and, indeed, he is scholarly and intellectual in comparison with most bankers; even so, his extra-banking reading tends to be not constant and all-embracing, as his wife’s is, but sporadic, capricious, and intensive—everything about Napoleon for a while, perhaps, then a dry period, then a binge on, say, the Civil War. Just then, he was concentrating on the island of Corfu, where he and Mrs. Hayes were planning to spend some time. But before he had got very far into his latest Corfu book he was called to the telephone. The call was from the bank. There were new developments, which Coombs thought President Hayes ought to be kept abreast of. ~ John Brooks,
767:The new situation must be created, in which it is possible to believe on Jesus as God incarnate; that is the impossible situation in which everything is staked solely on the word of Jesus. Peter had to leave the ship and risk his life on the sea, in order to learn both his own weakness and the almighty power of his Lord. If Peter had not taken the risk, he would never have learnt the meaning of faith. Before he can believe, the utterly impossible and ethically irresponsible situation on the waves of the sea must be displayed. The road to faith passes through obedience to the call of Jesus. Unless a definite step is demanded, the call vanishes into thin air, and if men imagine that they can follow Jesus without taking this step, they are deluding themselves like fanatics. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
768:Out of the city and over the hill,
Into the spaces where Time stands still,
Under the tall trees, touching old wood,
Taking the way where warriors once stood;
Crossing the little bridge, losing my way,
But finding a friendly place where I can stay.
Those were the days, friend, when we were strong
And strode down the road to an old marching song
When the dew on the grass was fresh every morn,
And we woke to the call of the ring-dove at dawn.
The years have gone by, and sometimes I falter,
But still I set out for a stroll or a saunter,
For the wind is as fresh as it was in my youth,
And the peach and the pear, still the sweetest of fruit,
So cast away care and come roaming with me,
Where the grass is still green and the air is still free. ~ Ruskin Bond,
769:Sometimes at midnight, in the great silence of the sleep bound town, the doctor turned on his radio before going to bed for the few hours' sleep he allowed himself. And from the ends of the earth, across thousands of miles of land and sea, kindly, well-meaning speakers tried to voice their fellow-feeling, and indeed did so, but at the same time proved the utter incapacity of every man truly to share in the suffering that he cannot see. "Oran! Oran!" In vain the call rang over oceans, in vain Rieux listened hopefully; always the tide of eloquence began to flow, bringing home still more the unbridgeable gulf that lay between Grand and the speaker. "Oran, we're with you!" they called emotionally. But not, the doctor told himself, to love or to die together-- and that's the only way... ~ Albert Camus,
770:There is a spate of prime-time documentaries about "psychological weapons." One is The Call of the Void. It features secret service men who inform the audience about the psychic weapons they have developed. The Russian military has "sleepers," psychics who can go into a trance and enter the world's collective uncounscious, its deeper soul, and from thence penetrate the minds of foreign statesmen to uncover their nefarious designs. One has entered the mind of the US president and then reconfigured the intentions of one of his advisers so that whatever hideous plan the US had hatched has failed to come off. The message is clear: if the secret services can see into the US president's mind, they could definitely see into yours; the state is everywhere, watching your every thought. ~ Peter Pomerantsev,
771:Historians usually focus their attention on the past of countries that still exist, writing hundreds and thousands of books on British history, French history, German history, Russian history, American history, Chinese history, Indian history, Brazilian history or whatever. Whether consciously or not, they are seeking the roots of the present, thereby putting themselves in danger of reading history backwards. As soon as great powers arise, whether the United States in the twentieth century or China in the twenty-first, the call goes out for offerings on American History or Chinese History, and siren voices sing that today’s important countries are also those whose past is most deserving of examination, that a more comprehensive spectrum of historical knowledge can be safely ignored. ~ Norman Davies,
772:He didn’t mind it in the beginning, this slowness. It left him alone with himself while he fished and listened to the call of the herons, and taught Anthony to row a boat and to play baseball and soccer, while Anthony read to him from his children’s books as Alexander held the fishing line. The soul was repairing itself little by little. And it was on Bethel Island, with his mother and father twenty-four hours by his side, watching over him, talking to him, playing with him, that Anthony stopped waking up with nightmares in the middle of the night and settled down to silence inside himself. And it was on Bethel Island that Alexander stopped needing ice cold baths at three in the morning—the hot sudsy dimly lit baths with her soapy hands and soapy body in the late evening sufficing. ~ Paullina Simons,
773:That night, after having lived with the news for mere hours, Marlboro Man couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted to tell our families. Forget waiting until the end of the first trimester; forget sleeping on it a couple of nights. Something important had happened. He saw no need to keep it a secret.
“Hey,” he said when his mom answered the phone. I could hear her bright voice in the receiver. “Ree’s pregnant,” he blurted out, as open as he’d been in the first weeks of our relationship.
“Yep,” he continued, answering his mom’s questions. “We’re pretty excited.” He and his mom continued chatting. I could hear her excitement, too.
When the call ended, he handed me the portable phone. “Do you want to call your folks?” he asked. He would have called the newspaper if it had been open. ~ Ree Drummond,
774:People everywhere, enjoying life, smiling, and just slowing down to let the world take care of itself for a few hours.
The feeling was contagious. Especially when I stepped into McPherson's Pub to grab a bite of the special and listen to some traditional Irish music. The fiddle made me want to dance with myself, and many did. The drum beat like my very own heart. And some little flute that looked no wider than a pencil reminded me of the Aran Islands floating not too far from Abbeyglen.
God was here tonight. In the strings of the guitar and the call of the singer's voice. I realize how often I overlook him back at home.
And I know I don't want to do that anymore.
The LORD will send His faithful love by day; His song will be with me in the night a prayer to the Gid of my life. ~ Jenny B Jones,
775:Will looked at him curiously. “Do you think you will see me again?” At the change in Jem’s expression, he added, “I mean, is there a chance for me? To have another life after this, a better one?”
As Jem opened his mouth to answer, a rustling came from beneath their feet. Just as they both looked down, a tentacle shot from the surface of the river, wrapped itself around Jem’s ankle, and yanked him beneath the surface of the water. Will bolted to his feet with his blade in hand; the water was still boiling where the creature’s tentacles were thrashing wildly, indicating that Jem was getting some good blows in. Will’s heart pounded, firing blood and the call of battle through his veins.
“Hell,” he said. “Just when it was getting interesting, too,” and he leaped into the water after his friend. ~ Cassandra Clare,
776:We heard you were bringing in precious cargo," Ben said to Lorcan.

"Amelia needs Quinn, and Keelan... I don't think anything can be done for him. But I promised Aiden we'd try," Lorcan said.

The blond pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Gamma Kitten One, this is Adonis, have Foxy Boy on standby to receive Big Sister-Cousin, over."

"I really fucking hate that you got Adonis and I got Gamma Kitten One!" a male voice complained.

"Take it up with management," the blond said flippantly. "Over and out."

"Ben, who's Foxy Boy?" Lorcan asked as they ran.

"Quinn, that's the name Meryn gave him because his last name Foxglove."

"Gods, I can't imagine the call sign she's given me," Lorcan said.

"Lorelei," Ben said with a grin.

Lorcan grimaced. "I had to ask. ~ Alanea Alder,
777:Being with patients in these moments certainly had its emotional cost, but it also had its rewards. I don’t think I ever spent a minute of any day wondering why I did this work, or whether it was worth it. The call to protect life—and not merely life but another’s identity; it is perhaps not too much to say another’s soul—was obvious in its sacredness. Before operating on a patient’s brain, I realized, I must first understand his mind: his identity, his values, what makes his life worth living, and what devastation makes it reasonable to let that life end. The cost of my dedication to succeed was high, and the ineluctable failures brought me nearly unbearable guilt. Those burdens are what make medicine holy and wholly impossible: in taking up another’s cross, one must sometimes get crushed by the weight. ~ Paul Kalanithi,
778:Do not criticise others, for all doctrines and all dogmas are good; but show them by your lives that religion is no matter of books and beliefs, but of spiritual realisation. Only those who have seen it will understand this; but such spirituality can be given to others, even though they be unconscious of the gift. Only those who have attained to this power are amongst the great teachers of mankind. They are the powers of light. The more of such men any country produces, the higher is that country raised. That land where no such men exist, is doomed. Nothing can save it. Therefore my Master’s message to the world is, “Be ye all spiritual! Get ye first realisation!” You have talked of the love of man, till the thing is in danger of becoming words alone. The time is come to act. The call now is, Do! Leap ~ Swami Vivekananda,
779:Good morning, Mona. What can I do for you?” It was Him. He knew it was me on the phone demanding to speak with him, and he still thought it was a good morning. The sound of his voice uttering my name made me regret that I wasn’t taping the call for repeated replay later. His sound was warm and deep with the slightest undercurrent of sleepy crackle, like a thunderstorm. And he wanted to know what he could do for me. Marry me. Love me forever. Enter my Christmas scene proclaiming that, with me, it’s a wonderful life. See the world with me. Father children with me. Grow old with me. Be devastated when I die at 106 and follow me three days later, so our great grandchildren can tell future generations about the greatest love story ever. But first, forgive me for being such a bitch to your receptionist. “Good ~ Jennifer Coburn,
780:That is my window. Just now
I have so softly wakened.
I thought that I would float.
How far does my life reach,
and where does the night begin

I could think that everything
was still me all around;
transparent like a crystal's
depths, darkened, mute.

I could keep even the stars
within me; so immense
my heart seems to me; so willingly
it let him go again.

whom I began perhaps to love, perhaps to hold.
Like something strange, undreamt-of,
my fate now gazes at me.

For what, then, am I stretched out
beneath this endlessness,
exuding fragrance like a meadow,
swayed this way and that,

calling out and frightened
that someone will hear the call,
and destined to disappear
inside some other life.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Woman in Love
,
781:Mitch fought the urge to jump out of the car and break every bone in the guy’s body. Possessive, almost feral, jealousy unlike anything he’d ever experienced before in his life locked around his throat and wouldn’t let go. Jesus. He was going to lose her. The reality of the situation was like a punch in the gut. She was only his until she wanted to leave. He had no claim on her—nothing real. The fiancé turned away. Maddie watched him with an indescribable expression on her face as he walked around the corner and disappeared. Despite the cold air blasting at him from the vents, Mitch’s brow beaded with sweat. As soon as he’d gotten the call from Charlie, he’d rushed to the diner like a bat out of hell with the notion of rescuing her. Now he wasn’t sure she’d welcome the intrusion. He wasn’t sure if she’d want him. The ~ Jennifer Dawson,
782:Jakub and I, our contract declared that we were meant to knock around this world together, explore it, make it better or ruin it, live young for as long as we could. But then he left, and now every minute of my day I expect the call to let me know he is gone. Even if he returns, what kind of man will he be? The things he’s seeing, the loneliness, the sickness… you see, Jakub chose to become forever someone else. That is his right as a person, but it does not bode well for contracts. He’s the one flying away from me, but sometimes? Sometimes it feels like I’m in a spaceship too, and I’m soaring in the opposite direction. And there’s no chance we will ever collide again, not unless the universe is a loop, and that, Dr. Kuřák, is why I wake up standing next to my bed, arms limp by my sides. Like some sleepwalker of grief. ~ Jaroslav Kalfar,
783:There are churches all across the States, though," said Shadow.

"In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists' offices. No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they've never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat-house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that. ~ Neil Gaiman,
784:I’d planned to stay all week. Now I’ll have to reschedule, try to get a flight out sometime tomorrow.” He dragged out his cell phone, started to punch in numbers.
“Um, I’m afraid that won’t work. You’ll have to walk up the hill a little to get any sort of reception.”
He gave her a look that said What the hell kind of place is this? Making his way outside, he climbed up the hill to make the call and came back a few minutes later.
Charity couldn’t help thinking that for a man who was supposed to be madly in love, he was taking this very well.
“I was able to make connections tomorrow,” he said. “You don’t mind if I spend the night, do you?”
Of course she minded! Having Jeremy as a houseguest was the last thing she wanted. But hey, the man had come all this way to propose. She could hardly toss him out on his ear. ~ Kat Martin,
785:The Prodigal Son

They gave the deep end of their heart--a hue of crimson red,
They whispered their desire and offered up their bed,
Yet he prayed for the spirit in the wind and God’s mysteries to find,
And in the end it was her transparent heart that stole his restless mind,
It really was no contest, not a question or even a doubt,
But that is not where love ends or even what true love is all about,
You see there was one other that rose above the rest,
She was not like these women but still she was God’s very best,
So the moral goes: A child answered the call to this man's wandering heart,
And that is how the story ends you see... she became his favorite part,
And what happened to the virtuous woman who put his mind in hell,
She became the whisper in his music and a mystery to tell. ~ Shannon L Alder,
786:Dynamiter
I sat with a dynamiter at supper in a German saloon eating steak and onions.
And he laughed and told stories of his wife and children and the cause of labor
and the working class.
It was laughter of an unshakable man knowing life to be a rich and red-blooded
thing.
Yes, his laugh rang like the call of gray birds filled with a glory of joy ramming
their winged flight through a rain storm.
His name was in many newspapers as an enemy of the nation and few keepers of
churches or schools would open their doors to him.
Over the steak and onions not a word was said of his deep days and nights as a
dynamiter.
Only I always remember him as a lover of life, a lover of children, a lover of all
free, reckless laughter everywhere—lover of red hearts and red blood the world
over.
~ Carl Sandburg,
787:A beautiful game plan. If indeed we lived a life in imitation of his, our witness would be irresistible. If we dared to live beyond our self-concern; if we refused to shrink from being vulnerable; if we took nothing but a compassionate attitude toward the world; if we were a counterculture to our nation’s lunatic lust for pride of place, power, and possessions; if we preferred to be faithful rather than successful, the walls of indifference to Jesus Christ would crumble. A handful of us could be ignored by society; but hundreds, thousands, millions of such servants would overwhelm the world. Christians filled with the authenticity, commitment, and generosity of Jesus would be the most spectacular sign in the history of the human race. The call of Jesus is revolutionary. If we implemented it, we would change the world in a few months. ~ Brennan Manning,
788:Poisonous people do not deserve your time. To think otherwise is masochistic. The best way to approach a potential break is simple: Confide in them honestly but tactfully and explain your concerns. If they bite back, your conclusions have been confirmed. Drop them like any other bad habit. If they promise to change, first spend at least two weeks apart to develop other positive influences in your life and diminish psychological dependency. The next trial period should have a set duration and consist of pass-or-fail criteria. If this approach is too confrontational for you, just politely refuse to interact with them. Be in the middle of something when the call comes, and have a prior commitment when the invitation to hang out comes. Once you see the benefits of decreased time with these people, it will be easier to stop communication altogether. ~ Timothy Ferriss,
789:2. Refusal of the Call:Often in actual life, and not infrequently in the myths and popular tales, we encounter the dull case of the call unanswered; for it is always possible to turn the ear to other interests. Refusal of the summons converts the adventure into its negative. Walled in boredom, hard work, or 'culture,' the subject loses the power of significant affirmative action and becomes a victim to be saved. His flowering world becomes a wasteland of dry stones and his life feels meaningless-even though, like King Minos, he may through titanic effort succeed in building an empire or renown. Whatever house he builds, it will be a house of death: a labyrinth of cyclopean walls to hide from him his minotaur. All he can do is create new problems for himself and await the gradual approach of his disintegration. ~ Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces,
790:It is also said that the sheep heed the Shepherd, because they know his voice. Is it true that men recognize Christ's call and respond to it? In one sense it must be, for he has said so; yet much in me qualifies the statement. Actually I respond much more readily to the call of 'the others'; I neither really understand Christ's summons nor follow it. Therefore, in order that I may hear, he must not only speak, but also open my ears to his voice. Part of me, the profoundest part, listens to it, but superficial, loud contradiction often overpowers it. The opponents with whom God must struggle in order to win us are not primarily ‘the others,’ but ourselves; we bar his way. The wolf who puts the hireling to flight is not only outside; he is also within. We are the arch-enemy of our own salvation, and the Shepherd must fight first of all with us – for us. ~ Romano Guardini,
791:Sunrise On The Coast
Grey dawn on the sand-hills -- the night wind has drifted
All night from the rollers a scent of the sea;
With the dawn the grey fog his battalions has lifted,
At the call of the morning they scatter and flee.
Like mariners calling the roll of their number
The sea-fowl put out to the infinite deep.
And far overhead -- sinking softly to slumber -Worn out by their watching the stars fall asleep.
To eastward, where rests the broad dome of the skies on
The sea-line, stirs softly the curtain of night;
And far from behind the enshrouded horizon
Comes the voice of a God saying "Let there be light."
And lo, there is light! Evanescent and tender,
It glows ruby-red where 'twas now ashen-grey;
And purple and scarlet and gold in its splendour -Behold, 'tis that marvel, the birth of a day!
~ Banjo Paterson,
792:Bei Hennef
The little river twittering in the twilght,
The wan, wandering look of the pale sky.
This is almost bliss.
And everything shut up and gone to sleep,
All the troubles and anxieties and pain
Gone under the twilight.
Only the twilight now, and the soft 'Sh! ' of the river
That will last for ever.
And at last I know my love for you is here;
I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight,
It is large, so large, I could not see it before,
Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions,
Troubles, anxieties and pains.
You are the call and I am the answer.
You are the wish, and I the fufilment.
You are the night, and I the day.
What else? It is perfect enough.
It is perfectly complete,
You and I,
What more--?
Strange how we suffer in spite of this.
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
793:Every time you close your eyes, regardless of where I am or where you are, I want you to remember this.” His fingers laced with mine and then he pressed my hand against my own chest. “Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, alive or dead, young or old, my heart will always be with yours. Every beat you feel against your fingertips…” His finger tapped against my chest, once, twice. “…is me calling out to you. It’s you returning the call. It’s us talking, communicating, bonding, sharing. Living — Kiersten, it’s us living. There may come a time in your life when your heart will have to beat for mine… but you’ll have to carry on if I can’t. Just like there may come a time when I have to do the same for you. But in the end, one of us will always carry on this.” He tapped again. “So there’s never a reason to be afraid of running out of time — because we keep our own. ~ Rachel Van Dyken,
794:There was more than getting justice for a wronged woman,” Michael added. “I also met you. One of the most extraordinary experiences in my life.” Nothing had been the same for him since.

“Not much remarkable about that,” she demurred.

“You sought out Nemesis not for yourself, but for your friend. It was bloody amazing what you did during that job. When Nemesis needed your help again, you answered the call. Just tonight, you’d been afraid but willing to make the climb down the side of Covington Hall. Damned extraordinary.” Thank God he’d been too distracted by climbing to think about the fact that she’d had her arms and legs wrapped around him, her body tight against his.

A corner of her mouth turned up. “Oh, when you put it like that, maybe I am rather special.”

“Sodding right.” A silence fell. But he wasn’t willing to let it linger ~ Zoe Archer,
795:Wahhab set out to extinguish all Islamic practices that he considered not to have come from either source: thus Wahhabi mosques lack minarets—the towers that the caller to prayer, the muezzin, climbs in order to chant the azan, the call to prayer. Wahhab also rejected the veneration of Muslim saints and prayers at their shrines, a practice that had become widespread by the eighteenth century. Wahhab pointed to hadiths in which Muhammad himself condemned this practice, calling it shirk, the combination of idolatry and polytheism that is the worst sin of all in Islam: associating partners with Allah in worship. The Wahhabis were often just as brutal as the Islamic State is today. In an 1803 attack that could have come from today’s headlines about ISIS, the Wahhabis entered Ta’if, a city near Mecca, massacred all the men, and enslaved all the women and children. ~ Robert Spencer,
796:After an hour my senses begin to vibrate in a definite rhythm, I tune into the great stillness, I tune in. I gaze at the crescent moon sitting like a white shell in the sky, and I have a feeling of love for it, I feel I’m blushing. It’s the moon, I say softly and passionately, it’s the moon! And my heart beats toward it with a gentle throbbing. It lasts for several minutes. It blows a little, a strange wind is coming, an unusual blast of air. What is it? I look around and see no one. The wind calls me and my soul bows in answer to the call,37 I feel myself lifted out of my sphere, pressed to an invisible breast, my eyes are moist with tears, I tremble—God is somewhere near looking at me. This lasts for another few minutes. I turn my head, the strange blast of air is gone, and I see something like the back of a spirit wandering soundlessly through the forest. . . . ~ Knut Hamsun,
797:I was young at Myna, that first time. When had the change come? He had retreated to here, to Collegium, to spin his awkward webs of intrigue and to lecture at the College. Then, years on, the call had come for action. He had gone to that chest in which he stored his youth and found that, like some armour long unworn, it had rusted away.

He tried to tell himself that this was not like the grumbling of any other man who finds the prime of his life behind him. I need my youth and strength now, as never before. A shame that one could no husband time until one needed it. All his thoughts rang hollow. He was past his best and that was the thorn that would not be plucked from his side. He was no different from any tradesman or scholar who, during a life of indolence, pauses partway up the stairs to think, This was not so hard, yesterday. ~ Adrian Tchaikovsky,
798:Nowhere was the airport’s charm more concentrated than on the screens placed at intervals across the terminal which announced, in deliberately workmanlike fonts, the itineraries of aircraft about to take to the skies. These screens implied a feeling of infinite and immediate possibility: they suggested the ease with which we might impulsively approach a ticket desk and, within a few hours, embark for a country where the call to prayer rang out over shuttered whitewashed houses, where we understood nothing of the language and where no one knew our identities. The lack of detail about the destinations served only to stir unfocused images of nostalgia and longing: Tel Aviv, Tripoli, St Petersburg, Miami, Muscat via Abu Dhabi, Algiers, Grand Cayman via Nassau … all of these promises of alternative lives, to which we might appeal at moments of claustrophobia and stagnation. ~ Alain de Botton,
799:If we say that the biblical command to love has only to do with the will and not the feelings, we make it a very narrow and somewhat insipid command since it has little, then, to do with the usual way of relating to other people. I think, rather, that the command to love is a call to the deepest and most thoroughgoing sanctification. The call is not merely to the will but to the stuff which fills the unconscious. It is a call for a transformation which only God himself can accomplish. And it is not accomplished overnight. We move from one degree of glory to another. But we should not try to squirm out of the totality of the call because we fail so badly. That is part of the process: our failure is to throw us back onto the only one who can accomplish our salvation now and in the future.

Desiring God.org
-On the Possibility of Saying “I Love You, But I Don’t Like You ~ John Piper,
800:Xas sighed. "But I don't want to talk about God. Why do I? Sometimes I feel God is all over me like a pollen and I go about pollinating things with God."
Sobran opened his eyes and Xas smiled at him. Soban said, "I did think that you talked about God to persuade me you weren't evil. But I've decided that, for you, everything is somehow to the glory of God, whether you like it or not."
"I feel that, yes. My imagination was first formed in God's glory. But I think God didn't make the world, so I think my feelings are mistaken."
This was the heresy for which Xas was thrown out of Heaven. Sobran was happy it had finally appeared. It was like a clearing. Sobran could almost see this clearing - a silent, sunny, green space into which not a thing was falling, not even the call of a cuckoo. Xas thought the world was like this, an empty clearing into which God had wandered. ~ Elizabeth Knox,
801:Bei Hennef

The little river twittering in the twilight,
The wan, wondering look of the pale sky,
This is almost bliss.



And everything shut up and gone to sleep,
All the troubles and anxieties and pain
Gone under the twilight.



Only the twilight now, and the soft “Sh!” of the river
That will last forever.



And at last I know my love for you is here,
I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight,
It is large, so large, I could not see it before
Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions,
Troubles, anxieties, and pains.



You are the call and I am the answer,
You are the wish, and I the fulfillment,
You are the night, and I the day.
What else—it is perfect enough,
It is perfectly complete,
You and I.
Strange, how we suffer in spite of this! ~ D H Lawrence,
802:The need is not the call. This piece of wisdom has saved the lives of many a missionary, especially in Africa, where the needs are so great that they can pull you to pieces. A missionary can put out so many fires trying to meet needs around him that he suffers burnout. I have known missionary friends who said, “I hear the cry of lost souls calling me into the mission field.” These workers are headed for the missionary bone yard. They have responded to the call of the need rather than the call of God. We must go where God sends us, speak what He gives us to speak, hear His voice and obey it – this is our best protection from burnout. It will also guide us to the very best strategy for accomplishing His mission. For everything a man does to follow the call of God, there are ten things he does not do. We cannot do everything. We must focus on the call and not simply the needs. ~ Reinhard Bonnke,
803:And even though they fail us every bit as readily as we fail ourselves, even though they prove just as incapable of fulfilling us as all the other people do in our lives, we still keep pushing that gimme button like blasted morons, fully expecting that the next time we snag whatever comes out of it will be the time when the satisfaction finally takes hold, when the good feelings finally stick around and stay. And so like clockwork, we go down in flames again and again to our alcohol abuse or our sexual lust or our sweet tooth or our credit line—whatever particular desire is so powerful and predictable at deceiving us. We grab for things that have never failed to disappoint us in the past, thinking that what we must need more than anything is more of it . . . more of the same thing that’s never been able to satisfy us before. That’s the call of the world for you. And it’s madness. ~ Matt Chandler,
804:At the end of a life spent in the pursuit of knowledge Faust has to confess:

"I now see that we can nothing know."

That is the answer to a sum, it is the outcome of a long experience. But as Kierkegaard observed, it is quite a different thing when a freshman comes up to the university and uses the same sentiment to justify his indolence. As the answer to a sum it is perfectly true, but as the initial data it is a piece of self-deception. For acquired knowledge cannot be divorced from the existence in which it is acquired. The only man who has the right to say that he is justified by grace alone is the man who has left all to follow Christ. Such a man knows that the call to discipleship is a gift of grace, and that the call is inseparable from the grace. But those who try to use this grace as a dispensation from following Christ are simply deceiving themselves. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
805:Relway mused, “Now that it’s happened I’m not so sure I’m happy with the outcome. Spared their racial theories The Call would’ve been good for TunFaire.” He would appreciate their interest in law and order and proper behavior. “Here’s a challenge you still need to meet. Glory Mooncalled. He’s weak now but he’s still out there somewhere. If you don’t get him now he’ll try to put something back together someday. He can’t help himself.” “It’s still great day for TunFaire, Garrett. One of pure triumph.” I don’t know if he meant that or was being sarcastic. You never quite know anything with Relway. And he wants it that way. “I liked the way you put it, Garrett. Faded steel heat.” I’d mentioned that to him the night he’d discovered the tanks in the old Lamp brewery. “But the war goes on.” “The war never ends. Tell you what. Send me a note when you do decide to roast that pigeon. I’ve got dibs on a drumstick. ~ Glen Cook,
806:Good-Night
The skylarks are far behind that sang over the down;
I can hear no more those suburb nightingales;
Thrushes and blackbirds sing in the gardens of the town
In vain: the noise of man, beast, and machine prevails.
But the call of children in the unfamiliar streets
That echo with a familiar twilight echoing,
Sweet as the voice of nightingale or lark, completes
A magic of strange welcome, so that I seem a king
Among men, beast, machine, bird, child, and the ghost
That in the echo lives and with the echo dies.
The friendless town is friendly; homeless, I am not lost;
Though I know none of these doors, and meet but strangers' eyes.
Never again, perhaps, after to-morrow, shall
I see these homely streets, these church windows alight,
Not a man or woman or child among them all:
But it is All Friends' Night, a traveller's good-night.
~ Edward Thomas,
807:After the call he dragged himself to the communal bathroom on the landing. He shared it with an ageing prostitute named Martha, a corpulent old crone who now made ends meet by selling seeds to feed the pigeons in Trafalgar Square. She had once confessed to Wolf that the seeds were poisoned. In her own small way Martha was a mass murderer, working in secret and without need for fame or acknowledgement of her deeds. She sold the seeds, the visitors to the capital fed the birds, and she watched them die with a sense of quiet achievement. 'One day,' she said to Wolf, 'there will be no more pigeons in London, then the world. Then at last we will all be free.' Wolf never knew what she had against the pigeons, which she seemed to view with the same hostility and suspicion as she did people who lived south of the river, immigrants, sailors, stone angels, moss and Wolf himself. He tended to avoid her after that. ~ Lavie Tidhar,
808:Once upon a time, there was a man named Jack Gilbert, who was not related to me—unfortunately for me. Jack Gilbert was a great poet, but if you’ve never heard of him, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. He never much cared about being known. But I knew about him, and I loved him dearly from a respectful distance, so let me tell you about him. Jack Gilbert was born in Pittsburgh in 1925 and grew up in the midst of that city’s smoke, noise, and industry. He worked in factories and steel mills as a young man, but was called from an early age to write poetry. He answered the call without hesitation. He became a poet the way other men become monks: as a devotional practice, as an act of love, and as a lifelong commitment to the search for grace and transcendence. I think this is probably a very good way to become a poet. Or to become anything, really, that calls to your heart and brings you to life. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,
809:Jacob Goodpasture
When Fort Sumter fell and the war came
I cried out in bitterness of soul:
"O glorious republic now no more!"
When they buried my soldier son
To the call of trumpets and the sound of drums
My heart broke beneath the weight
Of eighty years, and I cried:
"Oh, son who died in a cause unjust!
In the strife of Freedom slain!"
And I crept here under the grass.
And now from the battlements of time, behold:
Thrice thirty million souls being bound together
In the love of larger truth,
Rapt in the expectation of the birth
Of a new Beauty,
Sprung from Brotherhood and Wisdom.
I with eyes of spirit see the Transfiguration
Before you see it.
But ye infinite brood of golden eagles nesting ever higher,
Wheeling ever higher, the sun-light wooing
Of lofty places of Thought,
Forgive the blindness of the departed owl.
~ Edgar Lee Masters,
810:2 tn The call of Abram begins with an imperative לֶךְ־לְךָ (lekh-lekha, “go out”) followed by three cohortatives (v. 2a) indicating purpose or consequence (“that I may” or “then I will”). If Abram leaves, then God will do these three things. The second imperative (v. 2b, literally “and be a blessing”) is subordinated to the preceding cohortatives and indicates God’s ultimate purpose in calling and blessing Abram. On the syntactical structure of vv. 1-2 see R. B. Chisholm, “Evidence from Genesis,” A Case for Premillennialism, 37. For a similar sequence of volitive forms see Gen 45:18. sn It would be hard to overestimate the value of this call and this divine plan for the theology of the Bible. Here begins God’s plan to bring redemption to the world. The promises to Abram will be turned into a covenant in Gen 15 and 22 (here it is a call with conditional promises) and will then lead through the Bible to the work of the Messiah. ~ Anonymous,
811:Unlike men in the same position, women leaders have to continue to walk the fine line between appearing incompetent and nice and competent but cold. Experimental studies find that, unlike men, when they try to negotiate greater compensation they are disliked. When they try out intimidation tactics they are disliked. When they succeed in a male occupation they are disliked. When they fail to perform the altruistic acts that are optional for men, they are disliked. When they do go beyond the call of duty they are not, as men are, liked more for it. When they criticize, they are disparaged . Even when they merely offer an opinion, people look displeased. The perceptive reader will notice a certain pattern emerging. The same behavior that enhances his status simply makes her less popular. It’s not hard to see that this makes the goal of getting ahead in the workplace distinctly more challenging for a woman. ~ Cordelia Fine,
812:Chasers
THE SEA at its worst drives a white foam up,
The same sea sometimes so easy and rocking with green mirrors.
So you were there when the white foam was up
And the salt spatter and the rack and the dulseYou were done fingering these, and high, higher and higher
Your feet went and it was your voice went, 'Hai, hai, hai,'
Up where the rocks let nothing live and the grass was gone,
Not even a hank nor a wisp of sea moss hoping.
Here your feet and your same singing, 'Hai, hai, hai.'
Was there anything else to answer than, 'Hai, hai, hai,'?
Did I go up those same crags yesterday and the day before
Scruffing my shoe leather and scraping the tough gnomic stuff
Of stones woven on a cold criss-cross so long ago?
Have I not sat there ... watching the white foam up,
The hoarse white lines coming to curve, foam, slip back?
Didn't I learn then how the call comes, 'Hai, hai, hai'?
~ Carl Sandburg,
813:In one experiment, for example, Latane and Darley
had a student alone in a room stage an epileptic fit. When
there was just one person nest door, listening, that person
rushed to the student's aid 85 percent of the time. But
when subjects thought that there were four others also
overhearing the seizure, they came to the student's aid only
31 percent of the time. In another experiment, people who
saw smoke seeping out from under a doorway would report
it 75 percent of the time when they were on their own, but
the incident would be reported only 38 percent of the time
when they were in a group. When people are in a group, in
other words, responsibility for acting is diffused. They
assume that someone else will make the call, or they assume
that because no one else is acting, the apparent problem —
the seizure-like sounds from the other room, the smoke
from the door — isn't really a problem ~ Malcolm Gladwell,
814:The Call
From our low seat beside the fire
Where we have dozed and dreamed and watched the glow
Or raked the ashes, stopping so
We scarcely saw the sun or rain
Above, or looked much higher
Than this same quiet red or burned-out fire.
To-night we heard a call,
A rattle on the window-pane,
A voice on the sharp air,
And felt a breath stirring our hair,
A flame within us: Something swift and tall
Swept in and out and that was all.
Was it a bright or a dark angel? Who can know?
It left no mark upon the snow,
But suddenly it snapped the chain
Unbarred, flung wide the door
Which will not shut again;
And so we cannot sit here any more.
We must arise and go:
The world is cold without
And dark and hedged about
With mystery and enmity and doubt,
But we must go
Though yet we do not know
Who called, or what marks we shall leave upon the snow.
~ Charlotte Mary Mew,
815:Below us the country looked like a black lake. Nowhere was there a glimmer of light. Nowhere, so far as the eye could range, was there a living creature except here in this group of holy buildings. With the going down of the sun, the night wind rose and set about the business of the gods, the dusting of the corners of Earth. As it swept along the valley below, it was trapped by the mountainside and was channeled up through faults in the rock, to emerge into our upper air with a dull moaning boom, like a giant conch calling one to service. Around us there was the creaking and crackling of rocks moving and contracting now that the greater heat of the day had gone. Above us the stars were vivid in the dark night sky. The Old People used to say that Kesar’s Legions had dropped their spears on the Floor of Heaven at the call of Buddha, and the stars were but the reflections of the lights of the Heavenly Room shining through the holes. ~ Tuesday Lobsang Rampa,
816:Ever I am restless
I am athirst for the far.
My time passes by
And in an absent mind
I keep waiting at my window
Hoping and hoping you will come.
O how my entire being
Is eager for your intimate touch!
O you far, O you boundless far
So irresistible is the call of your flute
But I forget I have no wings
I am bound to one place.
I am listless, I am indifferent.
At the sun-tinged lazy midday
Among the rustling of the trees
In the play of light and shade
In the blue of the sky
I get a glimpse of your fugitive form.
O you far, O you boundless far
So irresistible is the call of your flute
But I forget my doors are barred.
Transcreation of perhaps the most romantic song Ami chanchal he, ami sudurer piyasi by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.A recording of this song by Debabrata Biswas is available.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Call Of The Far
,
817:Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love
Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother's heart above
Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of passion wakes,
And glimmering on the conscious eyethe world in glory breaks?

And hast thou seen the mother there her anxious vigil keep?
Buying with love that never sleeps the darling's happy sleep?
With her own life she fans and feeds that weak life's trembling rays,
And with the sweetness of the care, the care itself repays.

And dost thou Nature then blasphemethat both the child and mother
Each unto each unites, the while the one doth need the other?
All self-sufficing wilt thou from that lovely circle stand
That creature still to creature links in faith's familiar band?

Ah! dar'st thou, poor one, from the rest thy lonely self estrange?
Eternal power itself is but all powers in interchange!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Philosophical Egotist
,
818:Three Voices [together]. Hurry to bless the hands that play,
The mouths that speak, the notes and strings,
O masters of the glittering town!
O! lay the shrilly trumpet down,
Though drunken with the flags that sway
Over the ramparts and the towers,
And with the waving of your wings.

First Voice. Maybe they linger by the way.
One gathers up his purple gown;
One leans and mutters by the wall -
He dreads the weight of mortal hours.

Second Voice. O no, O no! they hurry down
Like plovers that have heard the call.

Third Voice. O kinsmen of the Three in One,
O kinsmen, bless the hands that play.
The notes they waken shall live on
When all this heavy history's done;
Our hands, our hands must ebb away.

Three Voices [together]. The proud and careless notes live on,
But bless our hands that ebb away.

~ William Butler Yeats, The Players Ask For A Blessing On The Psalteries And On Themselves
,
819:Thus it can be seen that mental health is based on a certain degree of tension, the tension between what one has already achieved and what one still ought to accomplish, or the gap between what one is and what one should become. Such a tension is inherent in the human being and therefore is indispensable to mental well-being. We should not, then, be hesitant about challenging man with a potential meaning for him to fulfill. It is only thus that we evoke his will to meaning from its state of latency. I consider it a dangerous misconception of mental hygiene to assume that what man needs in the first place is equilibrium or, as it is called in biology "homeostasis", i.e., a tensionless state. What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. ~ Viktor E Frankl,
820:The third gentleman now stepped forth.  A mighty man at cutting and drying, he was; a government officer; in his way (and in most other people’s too), a professed pugilist; always in training, always with a system to force down the general throat like a bolus, always to be heard of at the bar of his little Public-office, ready to fight all England.  To continue in fistic phraseology, he had a genius for coming up to the scratch, wherever and whatever it was, and proving himself an ugly customer.  He would go in and damage any subject whatever with his right, follow up with his left, stop, exchange, counter, bore his opponent (he always fought All England) to the ropes, and fall upon him neatly.  He was certain to knock the wind out of common sense, and render that unlucky adversary deaf to the call of time.  And he had it in charge from high authority to bring about the great public-office Millennium, when Commissioners should reign upon earth.   ‘Very ~ Charles Dickens,
821:The wind was blowing from the east and the cedars bent before it,—blowing from the east like the breath of the war god. And Fred and Stanley were waving their hats gayly back to her, while the cedars bent and the wind blew from the east. They were like her own boys marching off to war. Children of her children, she loved them as she had loved their parents. Did a woman never get over loving? Deep love brought relatively deep heartaches. Why could not a woman of her age, whose family was raised, relinquish the hold upon her emotions? Why could she not have a peaceful old age, wherein there entered neither great affection nor its comrade, great sorrow? She had seen old women who seemed not to care as she was caring, whose emotions seemed to have died with their youth. Could she not be one of them? For a long time she stood in the window and looked at the cedars twisting before the east wind, like so many helpless women under the call from the east. ~ Bess Streeter Aldrich,
822:The call of Jesus teaches us that our relation to the world has been built on an illusion. All the time we thought was had enjoyed a direct relation with men and things. This is what had hindered us from faith and obedience. Now we learn that in the most intimate relationships of life, in our kinship with father and mother, brothers and sisters, in married love, and in our duty to the community, direct relationships are impossible. Since the coming of Christ, his followers have no more immediate realities of their own, not in their family relationships nor in the ties with their nation nor in the relationships formed in the process of living. Between father and son, husband and wife, the individual and the nation, stands Christ the Mediator, whether they are able to recognize him or not. We cannot establish direct contact outside ourselves except through him, through his word, and through our following of him. To think otherwise is to deceive ourselves. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
823:Once, on a walk by a river- Eskdale in low reddish sunlight, with a dusting of snow- his daughter quoted to him an opening verse by her favourite poet. Apparently, not many young women loved Phillip Larkin the way she did. 'If I were to construct a religion/ I should make use of water.' She said she liked the laconic use of 'called in'- as if he would be, as if anyone ever is. They stopped to drink coffee from a flask, and Perowne, tracing a line of lichen with a finger, said that if he ever got the call, he'd make us of evolution. What better creation myth? An unimaginable sweep of time, numberless generations spawning by infinitesimal steps complex living beauty out of inert matter, driven on by the blind furies of random mutation, natural selection and environmental change, with the tragedy of forms continually dying, and lately the wonder of minds emerging and with them morality, love, art, cities- and the unprecedented bonus of this story happening to be demonstrably true. ~ Ian McEwan,
824:His conversion (tawbat) was begun by Ḥasan of Baṣra. Ạt first he was a usurer and committed all sorts of wickedness, but God gave him a sincere repentance, and he learned from Ḥasan something of the theory and practice of religion. His native tongue was Persian (‘ajamí), and he could not speak Arabic correctly. One evening Ḥasan of Baṣra passed by the door of his cell. Ḥabíb had uttered the call to prayer and was standing, engaged in devotion. Ḥasan came in, but would not pray under his leadership, because Ḥabíb was unable to speak Arabic fluently or recite the Koran correctly. The same night, Ḥasan dreamed that he saw God and said to Him: “O Lord, wherein does Thy good pleasure consist?” and that God answered: “O Ḥasan, you found My good pleasure, but did not know its value: if yesternight you had said your prayers after Ḥabíb, and if the rightness of his intention had restrained you from taking offence at his pronunciation, I should have been well pleased with you. ~ Reynold Alleyne Nicholson,
825:He’d watched the old man live his life “by the signs.” Whether a moon waxed or waned decided when the crops were planted and harvested, the hogs slaughtered and the timber cut, even when a hole was best dug. A red sunrise meant coming rain, as did the call of a raincrow. Other signs that were harbingers of a new life, or a life about to end. Boyd was fourteen when he heard the corpse bird in the woods behind the barn. His grandfather had been sick for months but recently rallied, gaining enough strength to leave his bed and take short walks around the farm. The old man had heard the owl as well, and it was a sound of reckoning to him as final as the thump of dirt clods on his coffin. It’s come to fetch me, the old man had said, and Boyd hadn’t the slightest doubt it was true. Three nights the bird called from the woods behind the barn. Boyd had been in his grandfather’s room those nights, had been there when his grandfather let go of his life and followed the corpse bird into the darkness. ~ Ron Rash,
826:Who taught you to shoot?” he asked when she was standing beside him.
“Our coachman.”
“Better the coachman than your brother,” Ian mocked, handing her the loaded gun. “The target’s that bare twig over there—the one with the leaf hanging off the middle of it.”
Elizabeth flinched at his sarcastic reference to his duel with Robert. “I’m truly sorry about that duel,” she said, then she concentrated all her attention for the moment on the small twig.
Propping his shoulder against the tree trunk, Ian watched with amusement as she grasped the heavy gun in both her hands and raised it, biting her lip in concentration. “Your brother was a very poor shot,” he remarked.
She fired, nicking the leaf at its stem.
“I’m not,” she said with a jaunty sidewise smile. And then, because the duel was finally out in the open and he seemed to want to joke about it, she tried to follow suit: “If I’d been there, I daresay I would have—”
His brows lifted. “Waited for the call to fire, I hope? ~ Judith McNaught,
827:The simplistic way of not conforming is to see what is in style in our culture and then do the opposite. If short hair is in vogue, the nonconformist wears long hair. If going to the movies is popular, then Christians avoid movies as “worldly.” The extreme case of this may be seen in groups that refuse to wear buttons or use electricity because such things, too, are worldly.

A superficial style of nonconformity is the classical pharisaical trap. The kingdom of God is not about buttons, movies, or dancing. The concern of God is not focused on what we eat or what we drink. The call of nonconformity is a call to a deeper level of righteousness, that goes beyond externals. When piety is defined exclusively in terms of externals, the whole point of the apostle’s teaching has been lost. Somehow we have failed to hear Jesus’ words that it is not what goes into a person’s mouth that deflies a person, but what comes out of that mouth. We still want to make the kingdom a matter of eating and drinking. ~ R C Sproul,
828:Middle Aged Lovers, Ii
You open to me
a little,
then grow afraid
and close again,
a small boy
fearing to be hurt,
a toe stubbed
in the dark,
a finger cut
on paper.
I think I am free
of fears,
enraptured, abandoned
to the call
of the Bacchae,
my own siren,
tied to my own
mast,
both Circe
and her swine.
But I too
am afraid:
I know where
life leads.
The impulse
to join,
to confess all,
is followed
by the impulse
to renounce,
and love-imperishable love-must die,
in order
to be reborn.
126
We come
to each other
tentatively,
veterans of other
wars,
divorce warrants
in our hands
which we would beat
into blossoms.
But blossoms
will not withstand
our beatings.
We come
to each other
with hope
in our hands-the very thing
Pandora kept
in her casket
when all the ills
and woes of the world
escaped.
~ Erica Jong,
829:Why, I wondered, were all these people here? Why would they layer on extra socks and stand for hours in the cold? I could imagine people bundling up and waiting to hear a band whose every lyric they could sing or enduring a snowy Super Bowl for a team they’d followed since childhood. But politics? This was unlike anything I’d experienced before.
It began dawning on me that we were the band. We were the team about to take the field. What I felt more than anything was a sudden sense of responsibility. We owed something to each one of these people. We were asking for an investment of their faith, and now we had to deliver on what they’d brought us, carrying that enthusiasm through twenty months and fifty states and right into the White House. I hadn’t believed it was possible, but maybe now I did. This was the call-and-response of democracy, I realized, a contract forged person by person. You show up for us, and we’ll show up for you. I had fifteen thousand more reasons to want Barack to win. ~ Michelle Obama,
830:In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with the hour for loving. Nature does not often say "See!" to her poor creature at a time when seeing can lead to happy doing; or reply "Here!" to a body's cry of "Where?" till the hide-and-seek has become an irksome, outworn game. We may wonder whether at the acme and summit of the human progress these anachronisms will be corrected by a finer intuition, a close interaction of the social machinery than that which now jolts us round and along; but such completeness is not to be prophesied, or even conceived as possible. Enough that in the present case, as in millions, it was not the two halves of a perfect whole that confronted each other at the perfect moment; a missing counterpart wandered independently about the earth waiting in crass obtuseness till the late time came. Out of which maladroit delay sprang anxieties,disappointments, shocks, catastrophes, and passing-strange destinies. ~ Thomas Hardy,
831:Like many biblical terms we see in scripture, the word "holy" and the call to be holy have often been co-opted by various tribes and adjusted to suit their particular agendas. In my experience, and perhaps this is true for you, too, the call to be holy has been a call to conform. Preachers...then prescribe for us all of the changes we need to make in our lives so that we'll conform to the image and likeness of their particular brand of Christianity. "Holy living," then, becomes a call to conform to the beliefs and practices of a particular group or tribe as evidence that we are truly walking with God.

Although we are called to be imitators of Christ, and to conform to his image and likeness, we must remember that his image and likeness do not conform to any of the various paradigms we like to use to box God in. Holy living, then, becomes conformity with Christ, but radical nonconformity with all those Christian tribes or labels that try to neatly create a limited space where God supposedly lives and works. ~ Benjamin L Corey,
832:BECAUSE we love bare hills and stunted trees
And were the last to choose the settled ground,
Its boredom of the desk or of the spade, because
So many years companioned by a hound,
Our voices carry; and though slumber-bound,
Some few half wake and half renew their choice,
Give tongue, proclaim their hidden name "Hound Voice."

The women that I picked spoke sweet and low
And yet gave tongue. "Hound Voices' were they all.
We picked each other from afar and knew
What hour of terror comes to test the soul,
And in that terror's name obeyed the call,
And understood, what none have understood,
Those images that waken in the blood.
Some day we shall get up before the dawn
And find our ancient hounds before the door,
And wide awake know that the hunt is on;
Stumbling upon the blood-dark track once more,
Then stumbling to the kill beside the shore;
Then cleaning out and bandaging of wounds,
And chantS of victory amid the encircling hounds.

~ William Butler Yeats, Hound Voice
,
833:The Fever Bird

The fever bird sand out last night.
I could not sleep, try as I might.

My brain was split, my spirit raw.
I looked into the garden, saw

The shadow of the amaltas
Shake slightly on the moonlit grass

Unseen, the bird cried out its grief,
Its lunacy, without relief:

Three notes repeated closer, higher,
Soaring, then sinking down like fire

Only to breathe the night and soar,
As crazed, as desperate, as before.

I shivered in the midnight heat
And smelt the sweat that soaked my sheet.

And now tonight I hear again
The call that skewers though my brain,

The call, the brain-sick triple note--
A cone of pain stuck inits throat.

I am so tired I could weep.
Mad bird, for God's sake let me sleep

Why do you cry like one possessed?
When will you rest? When will you rest?

Why wait each night till all but I
Lie sleeping in the house, then cry?

Why do you scream into my ear
What no one else but I can hear? ~ Vikram Seth,
834:(I) went to see the noble knights of Holy Anocracy.
By the time they assembled, the inn finished assimilating the new gaming consoles. I waved my hand and three huge flat screen opened in the stone walls of the vampire quarters. Wall spat out sets of controllers.
“Greetings,” I said. “House Krah, House Sabla and House Vorga, may I present Call of Duty.”
The three screens ignited simultaneously, playing the opening of the Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare. Soldiers in high tech armor shot at target, flew across the screen from bomb impacts, and walked dramatically in slow motion. Vehicles roared, Marines roared louder, and Kevin Spacey informed us that politicians didn’t know how to solve problems but he did.
The vampires stared at the screens.
“This is a game of cooperative action,” I said, “Where a small elite force can triumph against overwhelming odds.”
At the word elite, they perked up like wild dogs who heard a rabbit cry.
“The game will teach you how to play it. May the best House triumph over their opponents. ~ Ilona Andrews,
835:I’ve got two investor meetings in L.A.—”

“And you want me to be there.”

“Yeah.”

He sat back in his leather chair and crossed his thick arms. “Done.”

“You don’t even know when they are,” I pointed out. I reached forward and took hold of my mouse to double-check the timing, but he didn’t wait.

“For you, my love, no time is a bad time.” He blew me a kiss.

“Why do I put up with you?” I asked, sitting back again and raking a hand through my hair.

His response was immediate. “I personally think it’s because you like a reminder of the fine male specimen you’ll never live up to.”

I shook my head and smirked, knowing I’d never be the six-foot-five monster he was and not struggling to swallow it even one little bit. My leaner but no less toned six-foot package hadn’t failed me yet.

“I’ll see you in L.A. tomorrow night, Adonis.”

“No way. I’ll see you here, at the airport, so you can hold my hand during—”

Raising my middle finger in salute, I clicked the button to end the call. ~ Max Monroe,
836:The Call
I must get out to the woods again, to the whispering tree, and the birds a-wing,
Away from the haunts of pale-faced men, to the spaces wide where strength is
king;
I must get out where the skies are blue and the air is clean and the rest is sweet,
Out where there's never a task to do or a goal to reach or a foe to meet.
I must get out on the trails once more that wind through shadowy haunts and
cool,
Away from the presence of wall and door, and see myself in a crystal pool;
I must get out with the silent things, where neither laughter nor hate is heard,
Where malice never the humblest stings and no one is hurt by a spoken word.
Oh, I've heard the call of the tall white pine, and heard the call of the running
brook;
I'm tired of the tasks which each day are mine, I'm weary of reading a printed
book;
I want to get out of the din and strife, the clang and clamor of turning wheel,
And walk for a day where life is life, and the joys are true and the pictures real.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
837:Do we suppose that they can do Him any good or fear, like the chorus in MIlton, that human irreverence can bring about. His glory's diminution? A man can no more diminish God's glory be refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word darkness on the walls of his cell. But God wills our good and our good is to love Him (with that responsive love proper to creatives) and to love Hi we must know Him: and if we know Him, we shall in fact fall on our faces. If we do not, that only shows that what we are trying to love is nearest approximation to God which our thought and fantasy can attain. Yet the call is not only to prostration and awe; it is to a reflection of the Divine live, a creaturely participation in the Divine attributes which is far beyond our present desires. We are bidden to put on Christ, to become like God. That is, whether we like it or not, God intends to give us what we need not what we now think we want. Once more, we are embarrassed by the intolerable compliment, by too much love, not too little. ~ C S Lewis,
838:It Is Not Seemly To Be Famous...
It is not seemly to be famous:
Celebrity does not exalt;
There is no need to hoard your writings
And to preserve them in a vault.
To give your all-this is creation,
And not-to deafen and eclipse.
How shameful, when you have no meaning,
To be on everybody's lips!
Try not to live as a pretender,
But so to manage your affairs
That you are loved by wide expanses,
And hear the call of future years.
Leave blanks in life, not in your papers,
And do not ever hesitate
To pencil out whole chunks, whole chapters
Of your existence, of your fate.
Into obscurity retiring
Try your development to hide,
As autumn mist on early mornings
Conceals the dreaming countryside.
Another, step by step, will follow
The living imprint of your feet;
But you yourself must not distinguish
Your victory from your defeat.
And never for a single moment
Betray your credo or pretend,
But be alive-this only mattersAlive and burning to the end.
~ Boris Pasternak,
839:Carrie could not remember how long it was since some other person had cherished her. Had said, 'You look tired.' And, 'How about a little rest?' She had spent too many years being strong, looking after others and their problems...The day progressed, and through her window Carrie watched the weather and was glad she did not have to be out in it. Snow showers came and went; the sky was grey. From time to time she heard the faint keening of wind, whining around the old house. It was all rather cosy. She remembered as a child being ill, and in bed, and the awareness of others getting on with the business of day-to-day life without herself having to participate in any sort of way. Telephones rang, and someone else hurried to answer the call. Footsteps came and went; from behind the closed door, voices called and answered. Doors opened and shut. Towards noon, there came smells of cooking. Onions frying, or perhaps a pot of soup on the boil. The luxuries of self-indulgence, idleness, and total irresponsibility were all things that Carrie had long forgotten. ~ Rosamunde Pilcher,
840:By the way,” Arabella said, “you might get a call from school. I forgot to mention it before.”
Mother paused. “Why?”
“Well, we were playing basketball and I guess I pulled on Diego’s jersey. I don’t even remember doing it. And Valerie decided it would be a good idea to snitch on me. I mean, I saw her walk over to the coach and pull on his sleeve like she was five or something. I even asked Diego if he cared, and he said he didn’t even notice. It’s a sport! I was into it.”
“Aha,” Mother said. “Get to the call-from-school part.”
“I told her that snitches get stitches. And Coach said that I made a terrorist threat.”
“That’s stupid,” Lina said, pushing back her dark hair. “It’s not a threat, it’s just a thing people say.”
“Snitches do get stitches.” Bern shrugged.
“Your school is stupid,” Grandma Frida said.
“So he said I had to apologize and I refused, since she snitched on me, so I got sent to the office. I’m not in trouble, but they want to move me to third-period PE now.”
Well, it could’ve been worse. At least she didn’t hurt anybody. ~ Ilona Andrews,
841:Mark but this Flea, and mark in this, How little that which thou deniest me is; It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be. Taylor recognized that one. John Donne, a poem known as “The Flea.” Easy enough, it had been a hit in high school. The whole sucking business had every guy in her English class beet red when their teacher, a comely young woman, had read the poem aloud. Well, Baldwin said the poems are some of the classics. Now they just needed to figure out what they meant to Whitney and the man who was sending them to her. Taylor pulled her cell phone out of its holster and dialed Baldwin’s number. She got his voice mail and left a message for him to call her as soon as he got the call. That was the best she could do for now. She carried the laptop out to her truck, then went back in to make sure she hadn’t left anything. Satisfied that she wouldn’t need to make another return trip, she left, locking the door behind her and placing the key under the mat, just as it had been that first day when she and Quinn had come over. “I ~ J T Ellison,
842:The Call Of The Woods
I must get out to the woods again, to the whispering trees and the birds
awing,
Away from the haunts of pale-faced men, to the spaces wide where strength
is king;
I must get out where the skies are blue and the air is clean and the rest
is sweet,
Out where there's never a task to do or a goal to reach or a foe to meet.
I must get out on the trails once more that wind through shadowy haunts and
cool,
Away from the presence of wall and door, and see myself in a crystal pool;
I must get out with the silent things, where neither laughter nor hate is
heard,
Where malice never the humblest stings and no one is hurt by a spoken word.
Oh, I've heard the call of the tall white pine, and heard the call of the
running brook;
I'm tired of the tasks which each day are mine; I'm weary of reading a
printed book.
I want to get out of the din and strife, the clang and clamor of turning
wheel,
And walk for a day where life is life, and the joys are true and the
pictures real.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
843:ALL YOGA is in its nature a new birth; it is a birth out of the ordinary, the mentalised material life of man into a higher spiritual consciousness and a greater and diviner being. No Yoga can be successfully undertaken and followed unless there is a strong awakening to the necessity of that larger spiritual existence. The soul that is called to this deep and vast inward change, may arrive in different ways to the initial departure. It may come to it by its own natural development which has been leading it unconsciously towards the awakening; it may reach it through the influence of a religion or the attraction of a philosophy; it may approach it by a slow illumination or leap to it by a sudden touch or shock; it may be pushed or led to it by the pressure of outward circumstances or by an inward necessity, by a single word that breaks the seals of the mind or by long reflection, by the distant example of one who has trod the path or by contact and daily influence. According to the nature and the circumstances the call will come.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, Self-Consecration,
844:Never was there so much magic over things as when you spoke, and never were words so powerful. You could make speech flare up, become muddled or mighty. You did everything with words and sentences, came to an understanding with them or transmuted them, gave things a new name; and objects which understand neither the straight nor the crooked words, almost took their being from your words.

Oh, nobody was ever able to play so well, you monsters! You invented all games, number games and word games, dream games and love games.

Never did anyone speak of himself like that. Almost truthfully. Almost murderously truthfully. Bent over the water, almost abandoned. The world is already dark and I cannot put on the necklace of shells. There will be no clearing. You different from all the others. I am under water. Am under water.

And now someone is walking up above and hates water and hates green and does not understand, will never understand. As I have never understood.

Almost mute,
almost still
hearing
the call.

Come. Just once.
Come. ~ Ingeborg Bachmann,
845:We all face a fundamental choice in our lives. Do we take the path prescribed by our “now you’re supposed to” society, or do we take our own path to toward the life we feel we ought to be living? Do we choose our life’s work based on the U.S. Department of Labor’s list of highest-paying jobs, or do we follow our bliss? Do we heed the call to conformity, or the call to adventure? Every day we see how people have answered these questions, whether consciously or otherwise. We’re constantly confronted with the lazy, the apathetic, the immoral, the indifferent, the irresponsible, and the disconnected—the signs of a decaying culture. “What does it all mean?” many wonder while chasing purposes they’re told are worthwhile, but which feel empty. “What is the purpose of this life?” humans have wondered for millennia, contemplating how insignificant we are in the great cosmic symphony. Well, as the preeminent mythologist Joseph Campbell said, deep down inside, we don’t seek the meaning of life, but the experience of being alive. And that’s what the nature of genius is ultimately about. ~ Sean Patrick,
846:she’d posed for her wedding photo. The only thing missing was her father. She still remembered how gently Brian had told her he wouldn’t be coming. How he’d held her while she cried. She remembered how he’d whispered over and over that he’d never leave. The way that Brian cherished her was already changing the way she felt about the world. Her father might not be here today, nor her mother, but she was still surrounded by family. Friends. A community she was proud to be a part of. Cass swallowed hard. She was happy. So happy. The music swelled. Wye and her sisters straightened and got in line. “Ready?” Jo asked. Cass’s phone erupted from the side table in a burst of tinny music, and she wondered who on earth could be calling now. Everyone she knew in the world was sitting outside waiting for her. “Ignore it,” Lena urged her. “We have to go.” Something made Cass reach for it, though, and when she saw who it was, her heart skipped a beat. “It’s the General.” Her sisters stared back at her. “Answer it,” Wye said. She grabbed it from Cass’s hand, swiped to accept the call and held it to Cass’s ear. ~ Cora Seton,
847:Then a spotlight came on over a table near the front of the room. It had a white tablecloth and there was a single red rose in a vase with a yellow ribbon tied around the top. A place setting with an upside down glass, a single candle, and an empty chair completed the setup. The lights dimmed and a man at the front of the room began to speak. “The cloth is white—symbolizing the purity of their motives when answering the call to serve. The single red rose reminds us of the lives of these Americans…and their loved ones and friends who keep the faith, while seeking answers. The yellow ribbon symbolizes our continued uncertainty, hope for their return and determination to account for them. A slice of lemon reminds us of their bitter fate, captured and missing in a foreign land. A pinch of salt symbolizes the tears of our missing and their families—who long for answers after decades of uncertainty. The lighted candle reflects our hope for their return—alive or dead. The glass is inverted—to symbolize their inability to share a toast. The chair is empty—they are missing. A moment of silence for the lost heroes. ~ Susan Stoker,
848:Excessive application during four days of the week is frequently the real cause of the idleness of the other three, so much and so loudly complained of. Great labour, either of mind or body, continued for several days together, is in most men naturally followed by a great desire of relaxation, which, if not restrained by force or by some strong necessity, is almost irresistible. It is the call of nature, which requires to be relieved by some indulgence, sometimes of ease only, but sometimes, too, of dissipation and diversion. If it is not complied with, the consequences are often dangerous, and sometimes fatal, and such as almost always, sooner or later, brings on the peculiar infirmity of the trade. If masters would always listen to the dictates of reason and humanity, they have frequently occasion rather to moderate than to animate the application of many of their workmen. It will be found, I believe, in every sort of trade, that the man who works so moderately as to be able to work constantly not only preserves his health the longest, but, in the course of the year, executes the greatest quantity of work. ~ Adam Smith,
849:No difference of rank, position, or birth is so great as the gulf that spearates the countless millions who use their head only in the service of their belly, in other words, look upon it as an instrument of the will, and those very few and rare persons who have the courage to say: No! It is too good for that; my head shall be active only in its own service; it shall try to comprehend the wondrous and varied spectacle of this world, and then reproduce it in some form, whether as art or as literature, that may answer to my character as an individual. These are the truly noble, the real noblesse of the world. The others are serfs and go with the soil. Of course, I am here referring to those who have not only the courage, but also the call, and therfore the right, to order the head to quit the service of the will; with a result that proves the sacrifice to have been worth the making. In the case of those to whom all this can only partially apply, the gulf is not so wide; but even though their talent be small, so long as it is real, there will always be a sharp line of demarcation between them and the millions. ~ Arthur Schopenhauer,
850:The moderate person contains opposing capacities to the nth degree. A moderate person can start out hot on both ends, both fervent in a capacity for rage and fervent in a desire for order, both Apollonian at work and Dionysian at play, both strong in faith and deeply doubtful, both Adam I and Adam II. A moderate person can start out with these divisions and rival tendencies, but to live a coherent life, the moderate must find a series of balances and proportions. The moderate is forever seeking a series of temporary arrangements, embedded in the specific situation of the moment, that will help him or her balance the desire for security with the desire for risk, the call of liberty with the need for restraint. The moderate knows there is no ultimate resolution to these tensions. Great matters cannot be settled by taking into account just one principle or one viewpoint. Governing is more like sailing in a storm: shift your weight one way when the boat tilts to starboard, shift your weight the other way when it tilts to port—adjust and adjust and adjust to circumstances to keep the semblance and equanimity of an even keel. ~ David Brooks,
851:There is another call, the one that arrives the day when what once worked no longer does. Sometimes people need a shock; sometimes a tocsin call. It is time for a wake-up call. A man is fired from a job; a child runs away from home; ulcers overtake the body. The ancients called this “soul loss.” Today, the equivalent is the loss of meaning or purpose in our lives. There is a void where there should be what Gerard Manley Hopkins calls “juice and joy.” The heart grows cold; life loses its vitality. Our accomplishments seem meaningless. As Tolstoy wrote in his Confessions, “Nothing ahead except ruins.” We seem to be in the thick of the forest without a road. “What, then, must we do?” The long line of myths, legends, poetry, and stories throughout the world tell us that it is at that moment of darkness that the call comes. It arrives in various forms—an itch, a fever, an offer, a ringing, an inspiration, an idea, a voice, words in a book that seem to have been written just for us—or a knock. THE KNOCK The truth knocks on the door and you say, “Go away. I'm looking for the truth,” and so it goes away. Puzzling. —Robert Pirsig ~ Phil Cousineau,
852:DEL, SHRAKE, AND JENKINS watched Lucas make notes, and five minutes later call Carver. Carver came up on the phone almost instantly. He said, “Yeah.” “This is Davenport, the cop that’s been following you around.” “How’d you get this number?” “I’m a cop,” Lucas said. “I need to talk to you. I need to talk to you right away, and somewhere private, where Dannon and Grant aren’t around.” “I don’t think I want to do that,” Carver said, and the line went dead. “Well, shit,” Lucas said. “You’re a smooth talker,” Del said. “I wonder if he’s got a smartphone,” Lucas said. He sent a text: “Six executed in Afghanistan. Want to hear the governor talking about it on TV? Take the call.” He sent it, and got back “delivered” a second later. Ten seconds after that, Carver took the second voice call and said, “What kind of bullshit is this?” “You know what kind of bullshit it is. It’s Leavenworth bullshit,” Lucas said. “Now, you need to take a little time off this afternoon, go out for a cup of coffee. There’s an obscure Caribou Coffee a couple miles from Grant’s house. Give me a time.” After a moment of silence, Carver said, “Three o’clock. ~ John Sandford,
853:Cases of typhoid take the following course:
When the fever is at its height, life calls out to the patient: calls out to him as he wanders in his distant dream, and summons him in no uncertain voice. The harsh, imperious call reaches the spirit on that remote path that leads into the shadows, the coolness and peace. He hears the call of life, the clear, fresh, mocking summons to return to that distant scene which he had already left so far behind him, and already forgotten. And there may well up in him something like a feeling of same for a neglected duty; a sense of renewed energy, courage, and hope; he may recognize a bond existing still between him and that stirring, colourful, callous existence which he thought he had left so far behind him. Then, how far he may have wandered on his distant path, he will turn back--and live. But if he shudders when he hears life's voice, if the memory of that vanished scene and the sound of that lusty summons make him shake his head, make him put out his hand to ward off as he flies forward in the way of escape that has opened to him--then it is clear that the patient will die.
" Buddenbrooks ~ Thomas Mann,
854:The morning after the 9/11 attacks...we began talking about the Twin Towers attack. Ruud shook his head sadly about it all. He said, "It's so weird, isn't it, all these people saying this has to do with Islam?"
I couldn't help myself...I blurted out, "But it *is* about Islam. This is based in belief. This is Islam."
Ruud said, "Ayaan, of course these people may have been Muslims, but they are a lunatic fringe. We have extremist Christians, too, who interpret the bible literally. Most Muslims do not believe these things. To say so is to disparage a faith which is the second largest religion in the world, and which is civilized, and peaceful."
I walked into the office thinking, "I have to wake these people up."...The Dutch had forgotten that it was possible for people to stand up and wage war, destroy property, imprison, kill, impose laws of virtue because of the call of God. That kind of religion hadn't been present in Holland for centuries. It was not a lunatic fringe who felt this way about America and the West. I knew that a vast mass of Muslims would see the attacks as justified retaliation against the infidel enemies of Islam. ~ Ayaan Hirsi Ali,
855:Award for poetry and one-act plays and there is also an annual National Book
Council Banjo Award.
"Ave Ceasar"
Long ago the Gladiators,
When the call to combat came,
Marching past the massed spectators,
Hailed the Emp'ror with acclaim!
Voices ringing with the fury
Of the strife so soon to be,
Cried, "O Caesar, morituri
salutamus te!"
Nowadays the massed spectators
See the unaccustomed sight -Legislative gladiators
Marching to their last great fight;
Young and old, obscure and famous,
Hand to hand and knee to knee -Hear the war-cry, "Salutamus
morituri te!"
Fight! Nor be the fight suspended
Till the corpses strew the plain.
Ere the grisly strife be ended
Five and thirty must be slain.
Slay and spare not, lest another
Haply may discomfit thee:
Brother now must war with brother -"Salutamus te!"
War-torn vet'ran, skilled debater,
Trickster famed of bridge and road,
Now for each grim gladiator
Gapes Oblivion's drear abode.
Should the last great final jury
Turn their thumbs down -- it must be!
"Ave, Caesar, morituri
salutamus te!"
~ Banjo Paterson,
856:Blue pencils, blue noses, blue movies, laws, blue legs and stockings, the language of birds, bees and flowers as sung by longshoremen, that lead-like look the skin has when affected by cold, contusion, sickness, fear; the rotten rum or gin they call blue ruin and the blue devils of its delirium; Russian cats and oysters, a withheld or imprisoned breath, the blue they say that diamonds have, deep holes in the ocean and the blazers which English athletes earn that gentlemen may wear; afflictions of the spirit--dumps, mopes, Mondays--all that's dismal--low-down gloomy music, Nova Scotians, cyanosis, hair rinse, bluing, bleach; the rare blue dahlia like the blue moon shrewd things happen only once in, or the call for trumps in whist (but who remembers whist or what the death of unplayed games is like?), and correspondingly the flag, Blue Peter, which is our signal for getting under way; a swift pitch, Confederate money, the shaded slopes of clouds and mountains, and so the constantly increasing absentness of Heaven (ins Blaue hinein, the Germans say), consequently the color of everything that's empty: blue bottles, bank accounts, and compliments, for instance. ~ William H Gass,
857:The next morning, two others returned to the two stricken climbers’ position. After chipping blocks of ice off their faces, they reported them to be breathing, but severely frostbitten and ‘as close to death as a human being can be’.

The call once again was made to leave them for dead. The climbers trudged back to camp and reported the deaths.

But then something incredible happened. Beck Weathers opened his eyes.

Beck says he saw his wife and kids standing in front of him, calling out to him.

This was the ember.

He slowly dragged himself to his feet and started stumbling forward.

He was completely blind in one eye, which was frozen shut by the cold, and had a visibility range of barely two feet in the other eye. His entire body was like ice, and he was crippled by altitude sickness. Yet he kept stumbling on.

Finally, against all odds, Beck Weathers lurched into camp.

Beck lost both his hands and his nose to frostbite, yet that tiny ember that burnt within him, that ember of hope from his family, was all he needed to get up and to move.

That ember saved his life.

Never underestimate the human spirit. ~ Bear Grylls,
858:Sooner or later something seems to call us onto a particular path. You may remember this “something” as a signal calling in childhood when an urge out of nowhere, a fascination, a peculiar turn of events struck like an annunciation: This is what I must do, this is what I’ve got to have. This is who I am…If not this vivid and sure, the call may have been more like gentle pushings in the stream in which you drifted unknowingly to a particular spot on the bank. Looking back, you sense that fate had a hand in it…. A calling may be postponed, avoided, intermittently missed. It may also possess you completely. Whatever; eventually it will out. It makes its claim…. Extraordinary people display calling most evidently. Perhaps that’s why they fascinate. Perhaps, too, they are extraordinary because their calling comes through so clearly and they are so loyal to it…. Extraordinary people bear the better witness because they show what ordinary mortals simply can’t. We seem to have less motivation and more distraction. Yet our destiny is driven by the same universal engine. Extraordinary people are not a different category; the workings of this engine in them are simply more transparent…. —JAMES HILLMAN ~ Anonymous,
859:3. Meeting the Mentor:For those who have not refused the call, the first encounter of the hero journey is with a protective figure (often a little old crone or old man) who provides the adventurer with amulets against the dragon forces he is about to pass. What such a figure represents is the benign, protecting power of destiny. The fantasy is a reassurance-promise that the peace of Paradise, which was known first within the mother womb, is not to be lost; that it supports the present and stands in the future as well as in the past (is omega as well as alpha); that though omnipotence may seem to be endangered by the threshold passages and life awakenings, protective power is always and ever present within or just behind the unfamiliar features of the world. One has only to know and trust, and the ageless guardians will appear. Having responded to his own call, and continuing to follow courageously as the consequences unfold, the hero finds all the forces of the unconscious at his side. Mother Nature herself supports the mighty task. And in so far as the hero's act coincides with that for which his society is ready, he seems to ride on the great rhythm of the historical process. ~ Joseph Campbell,
860:A book about a lady knight with purple eyes and a passion for justice—one of her few treasured possessions—lay near the window. So far she’d paid Amanda at the Green Inn twice to read it to her. It was that precious. With her mind made up to leave Vaneis, she packed the three dresses she owned, the scarf, the book, some herbs for soap mix, and thirty shillings for the road in her satchel. The next morning, she made sure to pay the innkeeper five shillings for her month's rent. She filled a small rucksack full of food for her journey and left the inn with a smile on her face. Once outside, Ciardis squinted, looking up and down the caravan line. There were six wagons attached to huraks – large, ponderous beasts that looked like oxen with claws. The huraks were all clearly anxious to go as they snorted and pawed the fresh snow with the three dagger-shaped claws on each foot. You and me both, friend. She clutched her two cloth bags and stared around for Lady Serena, trying not to seem too obvious. "All riders up!" rang the call down the line. Ciardis gave up her nonchalant look in favor of panic and began to search frantically. She didn't see Lady Serena anywhere. What if it had all been a cruel joke? ~ Terah Edun,
861:These changes, I believe, can be the basis of a true Islamic Reformation, one that progresses to the twenty-first century rather than regresses to the seventh. Some of these changes may strike readers as too fundamental to Islamic belief to be feasible. But like the partition walls or superfluous stairways that a successful renovation removes, they can in fact be modified without causing the entire structure to collapse. Indeed, I believe these modifications will actually strengthen Islam by making it easier for Muslims to live in harmony with the modern world. It is those hell-bent on restoring it to its original state who are much more likely to lead Islam to destruction. Here again are my five theses, nailed to a virtual door: 1. Ensure that Muhammad and the Qur’an are open to interpretation and criticism. 2. Give priority to this life, not the afterlife. 3. Shackle sharia and end its supremacy over secular law. 4. End the practice of “commanding right, forbidding wrong.” 5. Abandon the call to jihad. In the chapters that follow, I will explore the source of the ideas and doctrines in question and evaluate the prospects for reforming them. For now, we may simply note that they are closely interrelated. ~ Ayaan Hirsi Ali,
862:Hunter’s name drifted to him on the wind, the call barely discernible yet shrill, like the whisper of a lost soul searching for solace. He reined his stallion to a halt, bracing himself against the sound, teeth clenched, eyes closed, his trapped breath searing his throat. Hunter. His woman still called for him. When he began killing her people, would she ever call for him again?
It took all his strength not to go back for her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her like this. Yet how could he not? He had to fight the great fight for his people. He had no choice. While he was away fighting, he wanted Loretta someplace safe. After the attack on his village, there was no question she would be safer here with her own kind. He had no control over the tosi tivo and their attacks, but he could see to it none of his own attacked Loretta’s wooden walls.
Another cry shivered through the gloaming. Hunter. He opened his eyes, peering at the cloud of dust up ahead. His honor lay before him, his heart behind him. Nudging his stallion into a run, he leaned low against the animal’s neck, using the wind against his face to filter out her voice as he raced to catch up with the other warriors. ~ Catherine Anderson,
863:The Call

Out of the nothingness of sleep,
The slow dreams of Eternity,
There was a thunder on the deep:
I came, because you called to me.

I broke the Night's primeval bars,
I dared the old abysmal curse,
And flashed through ranks of frightened stars
Suddenly on the universe!

The eternal silences were broken;
Hell became Heaven as I passed. --
What shall I give you as a token,
A sign that we have met, at last?

I'll break and forge the stars anew,
Shatter the heavens with a song;
Immortal in my love for you,
Because I love you, very strong.

Your mouth shall mock the old and wise,
Your laugh shall fill the world with flame,
I'll write upon the shrinking skies
The scarlet splendour of your name,

Till Heaven cracks, and Hell thereunder
Dies in her ultimate mad fire,
And darkness falls, with scornful thunder,
On dreams of men and men's desire.

Then only in the empty spaces,
Death, walking very silently,
Shall fear the glory of our faces
Through all the dark infinity.

So, clothed about with perfect love,
The eternal end shall find us one,
Alone above the Night, above
The dust of the dead gods, alone. ~ Rupert Brooke,
864:In December the first frosts came with the full moon, and then my nights of vigil held a quality harder to bear. There was a sort of beauty to them, cold and clear, that caught at the heart and made me stare in wonder. From my windows the long lawns dipped to the meadows, and the meadows to the sea, and all of them were white with frost, and white too under the moon. The trees that fringed the lawns were black and still. Rabbits came out and pricked about the grass, then scattered to their burrows; and suddenly, from the hush and stillness, I heard that high sharp bark of a vixen, with the little sob that follows it, eerie, unmistakable, unlike any other call that comes by night, and out of the woods I saw the lean low body creep and run out upon the lawn, and hide again where the trees would cover it. Later I heard the call again, away in the distance, in the open park, and now the full moon topped the trees and held the sky, and nothing stirred on the lawns beneath my window. I wondered if Rachel slept, in the blue bedroom; or if, like me, she left her curtains wide. The clock that had driven me to bed at ten struck one, struck two, and I thought that here about me was a wealth of beauty that we might have shared. ~ Daphne du Maurier,
865:First, let’s focus on those critical first steps. Define three steps for each dream that will get you closer to its actualization. Set actions—simple, well-defined actions—for now, tomorrow (complete before 11 A.M.) and the day after (again completed before 11 A.M.). Once you have three steps for each of the four goals, complete the three actions in the “now” column. Do it now. Each should be simple enough to do in five minutes or less. If not, rachet it down. If it’s the middle of the night and you can’t call someone, do something else now, such as send an e-mail, and set the call for first thing tomorrow. If the next stage is some form of research, get in touch with someone who knows the answer instead of spending too much time in books or online, which can turn into paralysis by analysis. The best first step, the one I recommend, is finding someone who’s done it and ask for advice on how to do the same. It’s not hard. Other options include setting a meeting or phone call with a trainer, mentor, or salesperson to build momentum. Can you schedule a private class or a commitment that you’ll feel bad about canceling? Use guilt to your advantage. Tomorrow becomes never. No matter how small the task, take the first step now! ~ Timothy Ferriss,
866:The Call Of The Bush
Three roads there are that climb and wind
Amongst the hills, and leave behind
The patterned orchards, sloping down
To meet a little country town.
And of these roads I'll take the one
That tops the ridges, where the sun
Is tempered by the mountain-breeze
And dancing shadows of the trees.
The road is rough - but to my feet
Softer than is the city street;
And then the trees! - how beautiful
She-oak and gum - how fresh and cool!
No walls there are to hamper me;
Only in blue infinity
The distant mountain-ramparts rise
Beneath the broad arch of the skies.
And in that high place I shall hear
The wild birds' singing, soft and clear;
And horse-bells tinkling as of old
In amongst the wattles' gold
Far-off is the ocean tide;
But there across the country-side
Roll waves of bush that rise and fall
To break against the mountain-wall.
And every little farm is seen
An island in a sea of green;
And every little farm at night
Flings through the dark its beacon-light There in the silence of the hills,
I shall find peace that soothes and stills
The throbbing of the weary brain, For I am going home again.
~ Dora Wilcox,
867:Committee Meetings
For this and that and various things
It seems that men must get together,
To purchase cups or diamond rings
Or to discuss the price of leather.
From nine to ten, or two to three,
Or any hour that's fast and fleeting,
There is a constant call for me
To go to some committee meeting.
The church has serious work to do,
The lodge and club has need of workers,
They ask for just an hour or twoSurely I will not join the shirkers?
Though I have duties of my own
I should not drop before completing,
There comes the call by telephone
To go to some committee meeting.
No longer may I eat my lunch
In quietude and contemplation;
I must foregather with the bunch
To raise a fund to save the nation.
And I must talk of plans and schemes
The while a scanty bite I'm eating,
Until I vow to-day it seems
My life is one committee meeting.
When over me the night shall fall,
And my poor soul goes upwards winging
Unto that heavenly realm, where all
Is bright with joy and gay with singing,
I hope to hear St. Peter sayAnd I shall thank him for the greeting:
'Come in and rest from day to day;
Here there is no committee meeting!'
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
868:Want to be a success? You Have to Do the Hard Things.
You have to make the call you’re afraid to make.
You have to get up earlier than you want to get up.
You have to give more than you get in return right away.
You have to care more about others than they care about you.
You have to fight when you are already injured, bloody, and sore.
You have to feel unsure and insecure when playing it safe seems smarter.
You have to lead when no one else is following you yet.
You have to invest in yourself even though no one else is.
You have to look like a fool while you’re looking for answers you don’t have.
You have to grind out the details when it’s easier to shrug them off.
You have to deliver results when making excuses is an option.
You have to search for your own explanations even when you’re told to accept the “facts.”
You have to make mistakes and look like an idiot.
You have to try and fail and try again.
You have to run faster even though you’re out of breath.
You have to be kind to people who have been cruel to you.
You have to meet deadlines that are unreasonable and deliver results that are unparalleled.

You have to keep moving towards where you want to be no matter what’s in front of you. ~ Anonymous,
869:Year's End
The fingers lie in the lap,
separate, lonely, as in the field
the separate blades of grass
shrivel or grow tall.
We sat together in the little room,
the walls blotched with steam,
holding the baby as if the two of us
could breathe for him and were not helpless.
Upstairs, his sister turned in her sleep
as the phone rang—
to have wakened to a child's cry,
gagged and desperate,
and then repeat that terror when the call
split the quiet house and centered
its dire message:
a child was dead
and his mother so wrung by grief
she stared and stared
at the moon on its black stalk,
the road glistening like wire.
Rubbing the window clear of steam
as a child rubs sleep from its eyes,
and looking past the fence to where
he had plunged the sled up and down the hill,
we could still see the holes his feet made,
a staggered row of graves
extracting darkness from the snow.
When morning brought the new year in,
the fever broke, and fresh snow
bandaged the tracks on the hill.
For a long time we stayed in the room,
listening to him breathe,
like refugees who listen to the sea,
unable to fully rejoice, or fully grieve.
~ Ellen Bryant Voigt,
870:The New Year
Come you with dangers to fright us? or hazards
to try out our souls?
Then may you find us undaunted; determined to
get to our goals.
Now, white are the pages you bring us to fill
with the tales of our deeds,
And I pray we shall square at the finish the work
of our lives with our creeds.
Oh, child of a year, do you wonder what here
upon earth you shall find?
America shows you a people united in purpose
and mind;
Whatever you bring us of danger, whatever you
hold to affright,
I pray that we never shall lower our standards
of truth and of right.
You find us a people united, full pledged to the
work of the world,
To banish the despot and tyrant, our banner in
battle's unfurled;
And here to a world that is bleeding and weary
and heartsick you come,
Whatever you've brought us of duty—we'll
answer the call of your drum.
We may weep in our grief and our sorrows, we
may bend 'neath the might of the blow,
But never our courage shall falter, and never
we'll run from the foe.
We know not how troubled our pathways shall
be nor how sorely beset,
But I pray we shall cling to our honor as men
and never our purpose forget.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
871:It's perfectly simple," said Wednesday. "In other countries, over the years, people recognized the places of power. Sometimes it would be a natural formation, sometimes it would just be a place that was, somehow, special. They knew that something important was happening there, that there was some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent. And so they would build temples or cathedrals, or erect stone circles, or...well, you get the idea."

"There are churches all across the States, though," said Shadow.

"In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists' offices. No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they've never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog, and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that. ~ Neil Gaiman,
872:The working, concentrating artist is an adult who refuses interruption from himself, who remains absorbed and energized in and by the work — who is thus responsible to the work… Serious interruptions to work, therefore, are never the inopportune, cheerful, even loving interruptions which come to us from another.

[…]

It is six A.M., and I am working. I am absentminded, reckless, heedless of social obligations, etc. It is as it must be. The tire goes flat, the tooth falls out, there will be a hundred meals without mustard. The poem gets written. I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light and I have no shame. Neither do I have guilt. My responsibility is not to the ordinary, or the timely. It does not include mustard, or teeth. It does not extend to the lost button, or the beans in the pot. My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive. If I have a meeting with you at three o’clock, rejoice if I am late. Rejoice even more if I do not arrive at all.

There is no other way work of artistic worth can be done. And the occasional success, to the striver, is worth everything. The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time. ~ Mary Oliver,
873:Hymn Xxv: Stupendous Love Of God Most High!
Stupendous love of God most high!
He comes to meet us from the sky
In mildest majesty;
Full of unutterable grace,
He calls the weary burdened race,
'Come all for help to me.'
Tired with the greatness of my way,
From him I would no longer stray,
But rest in Jesus have;
Weary of sin, from sin would cease,
Weary of mine own righteousness,
And stoop, myself to save.
Weary of passions unsubdued,
Weary of vows in vain renewed,
Of forms without the power,
Of prayers, and hopes, complaints, and groans,
My fainting soul in silence owns
I can hold out no more.
Beneath this mountain load of grief,
Of guilt and desperate unbelief,
Jesus, thy creature see;
With all my nature's weight oppressed,
I sink, I die for want of rest,
Yet cannot come to thee.
Mine utter helplessness I feel;
But thou, who gav'st the feeble will,
The effectual grace supply;
Be thou my strength, my light, my way,
And bid my soul the call obey,
And to thy bosom fly.
Fulfil thine own intense desire,
And now into my heart inspire
The power of faith and love;
Then, Saviour, then to thee I come,
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And find on earth the life, the home,
The rest of saints above.
~ Charles Wesley,
874:I take my phone out of my pocket and scroll to Sky’s number. It’s late, but I want to hear her voice. It’s stupid, I know. But it is what it is. “Hello,” she says, her voice hesitant. I lean against the building because my knees wobble when I talk to her. It makes me giddy. “Hi,” I say quietly. “Hi,” she breathes back. “Were you asleep?” “No, I was just thinking.” “About what?” “You,” she admits. My heart starts to beat harder. “Good thoughts?” I ask. I can almost hear her smile through the phone. “Very good.” “I just wanted to say good night.” It sounds stupid aloud. “I’m glad you called,” she replies. “Really glad.” “Can I call you tomorrow?” She laughs. “You better.” “Good night, Sky,” I say. “’Night, Matt.” I disconnect the call and put my phone in my pocket. No one is up when I get home. I’m not even sure if Paul is home. I go into my bedroom and get ready for bed. Just as I slide between the sheets, my phone rings. I see that it’s her number. “Sky?” “Yeah,” she admits. “You okay?” “I just wanted to tell you good night,” she says quietly. “I think you already did that.” But inside, my heart is beating like a tattoo gun. “Oh,” she says quietly. She laughs. “Sorry.” “You tired?” I ask. “Not at all.” So we talk late into the night. We talk until my eyes are droopy, and I still don’t want to hang up the phone. ~ Tammy Falkner,
875:Baptize these others in the name of the “Father.” That word must not be thought of as the name of some external deity, but rather as the name of the Source of Life that inhabits the universe, calling us all to live fully. Baptize, too, in the name of the “Son.” That word must not be seen as the name of the founder of an exclusive religious system, but the name of the Source of Love, which embraces us all and then frees us to love wastefully, to love beyond every barrier. Baptize them in the name of the “Holy Spirit.” Those two words are not another name for God, but are rather the name of the Ground of Being, in whom we all are related and in which we find not only the courage to be all that we can be, but also, perhaps even more important, the courage to allow others to be all that they can be in the infinite variety of our humanity. The human community contains people of all races, genders, sexual orientations, ages, political persuasions and economic statuses. The call of God to us to be all that we can be is also the call to rejoice in the very being of all others. That is what forms the universal community of which the church is but a symbol; indeed, to build the universal community is the ultimate goal of the Christian church, and in the achievement of that goal the church itself will finally be dissolved. ~ John Shelby Spong,
876:The Elder's Rebuke
'Listen! When your hair, like mine,
Takes a tint of silver gray;
When your eyes, with dimmer shine,
Watch life's bubbles float away:
When you, young man, have borne like me
The weary weight of sixty-three,
Then shall penance sore be paid
For those hours so wildly squandered;
And the words that now fall dead
On your ear, be deeply pondered—
Pondered and approved at last:
But their virtue will be past!
'Glorious is the prize of Duty,
Though she be 'a serious power';
Treacherous all the lures of Beauty,
Thorny bud and poisonous flower!
'Mirth is but a mad beguiling
Of the golden-gifted time;
Love—a demon-meteor, wiling
Heedless feet to gulfs of crime.
'Those who follow earthly pleasure,
Heavenly knowledge will not lead;
Wisdom hides from them her treasure,
Virtue bids them evil-speed!
'Vainly may their hearts repenting.
Seek for aid in future years;
Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting;
Virtue is not won by fears.'
Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray;
The young man scoffed as he turned away,
Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure,
Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure:
Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher,
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Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher.
~ Emily Jane Brontë,
877:The Dustman
'DUSTMAN, dustman!'
Through the deserted square he cries,
And babies put their rosy fists
Into their eyes.
There's nothing out of No-man's-land
So drowsy since the world began,
As 'Dustman, dustman,
Dustman.'
He goes his village round at dusk
From door to door, from day to day;
And when the children hear his step
They stop their play.
'Dustman, dustman!'
Far up the street he is descried,
And soberly the twilight games
Are laid aside.
'Dustman, dustman!'
There, Drowsyhead, the old refrain,
'Dustman, dustman!
It goes again.
Dustman, dustman,
Hurry by and let me sleep.
When most I wish for you to come,
You always creep.
Dustman, dustman,
And when I want to play some more,
You never then are farther off
Than the next door.
'Dustman, dustman!'
He beckles down the echoing curb,
A step that neither hopes nor hates
Ever disturb.
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'Dustman, dustman!'
He never varies from one pace,
And the monotony of time
Is in his face.
And some day, with more potent dust,
Brought from his home beyond the deep,
And gently scattered on our eyes,
We, too, shall sleep,—
Hearing the call we know so well
Fade softly out as it began,
'Dustman, dustman,
Dustman!'
~ Bliss William Carman,
878:Part 1 - Departure
1. The Call to Adventure ::: This first stage of the mythological journey-which we have designated the "call to adventure"-signifies that destiny has summoned the hero and transferred his spiritual center of grav­ ity from within the pale of his society to a zone unknown. This fateful region of both treasure and danger may be variously represented: as a distant land, a forest, a kingdom underground, beneath the waves, or above the sky, a secret island, lofty mountaintop, or profound dream state; but it is always a place of strangely fluid and polymorphous beings, unimaginable torments, superhuman deeds, and impossible delight. The hero can go forth of his own volition to accomplish the adventure, as did Theseus when he arrived in his father's city, Athens, and heard the horrible history of the Minotaur; or he may be carried or sent abroad by some benign or malignant agent, as was Odysseus, driven about the Mediterranean by the winds of the angered god, Poseidon. The adventure may begin as a mere blunder, as did that of the princess of the fairy tale; or still again, one may be only casually strolling, when some passing phenomenon catches the wandering eye and lures one away from the frequented paths of man. Examples might be multiplied, ad infinitum, from every corner of the world. ~ Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces,
879:They shared a meal together as was the custom of hospitality. As they ate, Noah and Emzara tried to explain to Terah and Amthelo about the call of Elohim on their son Abram’s life. They tried to explain that Elohim was the Creator God who required complete and exclusive loyalty to his kingship over all creation. They said that the gods were actually fallen Watchers, rebels from Elohim’s divine council in heaven, playing roles of deception to accomplish a diabolical war against God’s chosen seedline. And this little child was the seed through which an anointed king would one day come and achieve victory over the gods of the people, and bring back all the nations under the allotment of Elohim. Terah stopped them. He did not want to hear such blasphemy. He was too entrenched in his world of the pantheon, sorcery, magic, astrology and the occult. He started to physically tremble at the talk of an anointed coming king of the seedline. When Terah threatened to take Abram back with him if they continued in their proselytizing, they stopped. Noah concluded by saying, “We only love you and want to see you on the right side of the war that is coming.” “Coming?” said Terah. “You have really been cut off from civilization out here in these caves! The war is already here. And if what you say about this War of the Seed is true, then the General of this Elohim’s enemy is Nimrod of Babylon. ~ Brian Godawa,
880:Remember the ancient days! Remember the fathers of old! Remember the ancient men who worked in our Fathers’ vineyard! Their patience, strong faith, tenacity, courage and fortitude, long suffering and understanding, persistence and power!

They heard the purpose, and they took the journey. They heard the call, and they responded to the call. Their records are our examples; their footprints are our lessons! Their faith; our mirror! God has used some people before, and He can also use us also today!

Remember their obedience and sacrifices; obedience and sacrifices that invoked Abraham to take steps to sacrifice his son Isaac; obedience and sacrifices for which reason Ananias and Sapphira had to die for not rendering a good account of their ‘own’ properties! Obedience and sacrifices which inspired the disciples of Jesus Christ to face death ending moments and still rejoiced in the Lord!

Remember Elijah! Remember Elisha! Remember Abraham, Remember Moses! Remember Joshua! Remember Daniel! Remember Samuel! Remember David! Remember Peter! Remember the apostle Paul! Remember Silas! Remember Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego; keep your faith! Peter, Stephen, James… remember! You are called to call; you are called to work; we are saved to proclaim salvation; we are in His vineyard to do something; let us do something noble and solemn for our Masters applauds! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
881:Tonight
Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell tonight?
Whom else from rapture’s road will you expel tonight?
Those “Fabrics of Cashmere—” “to make Me beautiful—”
“Trinket”—to gem—“Me to adorn—How tell”—tonight?
I beg for haven: Prisons, let open your gates—
A refugee from Belief seeks a cell tonight.
God’s vintage loneliness has turned to vinegar—
All the archangels—their wings frozen—fell tonight.
Lord, cried out the idols, Don’t let us be broken;
Only we can convert the infidel tonight.
Mughal ceilings, let your mirrored convexities
multiply me at once under your spell tonight.
He’s freed some fire from ice in pity for Heaven.
He’s left open—for God—the doors of Hell tonight.
In the heart’s veined temple, all statues have been smashed.
No priest in saffron’s left to toll its knell tonight.
God, limit these punishments, there’s still Judgment Day—
I’m a mere sinner, I’m no infidel tonight.
Executioners near the woman at the window.
Damn you, Elijah, I’ll bless Jezebel tonight.
The hunt is over, and I hear the Call to Prayer
fade into that of the wounded gazelle tonight.
My rivals for your love—you’ve invited them all?
This is mere insult, this is no farewell tonight.
And I, Shahid, only am escaped to tell thee—
God sobs in my arms. Call me Ishmael tonight.
32
~ Agha Shahid Ali,
882:This is a roadside attraction,” said Wednesday. “One of the finest. Which means it is a place of power.” “Come again?” “It’s perfectly simple,” said Wednesday. “In other countries, over the years, people recognized the places of power. Sometimes it would be a natural formation, sometimes it would just be a place that was, somehow, special. They knew that something important was happening there, that there was some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent. And so they would build temples, or cathedrals, or erect stone circles, or…well, you get the idea.” “There are churches all across the States, though,” said Shadow. “In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists’ offices. No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they’ve never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat-house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that. ~ Neil Gaiman,
883:The Peaceful Warriors
Let others sing their songs of war
And chant their hymns of splendid death,
Let others praise the soldiers' ways
And hail the cannon's flaming breath.
Let others sing of Glory's fields
Where blood for Victory is paid,
I choose to sing some simple thing
To those who wield not gun or blade —
The peaceful warriors of trade.
Let others choose the deeds of war
For symbols of our nation's skill,
The blood-red coat, the rattling throat,
The regiment that charged the hill,
The boy who died to serve the flag,
Who heard the order and obeyed,
But leave to me the gallantry
Of those who labor unafraid The peaceful warriors of trade.
Aye, let me sing the splendid deeds
Of those who toil to serve mankind,
The men who break old ways and make
New paths for those who come behind.
And face their problems, unafraid,
Who think and plan to lift for man
The burden that on him is laid —
The splendid warriors of trade.
I sing of battles with disease
And victories o'er death and pain,
Of ships that fly the summer sky,
And glorious deeds of strength and brain.
The call for help that rings through space
By which a vessel's course is stayed,
Thrills me far more than fields of gore,
Or heroes decked in golden braid —
I sing the warriors of trade.
918
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
884:What is new about the new commandment? Since this question ultimately concerns the “newness” of the New Testament, that is to say, the “essence of Christianity”, it is important to be very attentive. It has been argued that the new element—moving beyond the earlier commandment to love one’s neighbor—is revealed in the saying “love as I have loved you”, in other words, loving to the point of readiness to lay down one’s life for the other. If this were the specific and exclusive content of the “new commandment”, then Christianity could after all be defined as a form of extreme moral effort. This is how many commentators explain the Sermon on the Mount: in contrast to the old way of the Ten Commandments—the way of the average man, one might say—Christianity, through the Sermon on the Mount, opens up the high way that is radical in its demands, revealing a new level of humanity to which men can aspire. And yet who could possibly claim to have risen above the “average” way of the Ten Commandments, to have left them behind as self-evident, so to speak, and now to walk along the exalted paths of the “new law”? No, the newness of the new commandment cannot consist in the highest moral attainment. Here, too, the essential point is not the call to supreme achievement, but the new foundation of being that is given to us. The newness can come only from the gift of being-with and being-in Christ. Saint ~ Benedict XVI,
885:Embrace His Plan This hard place you are in is not a distraction. You are not being sidetracked. This is His way. “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (Jeremiah 29:11). You’ve probably heard this verse quoted time and again, but put it in context with the verses that come after it, and you’ll see the call to not only trust God but to have peace in knowing He will carry you through. Verses 12-14 go on to say this: “Then you will call upon me and . . . find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.” My favorite call to action here is to seek God “with all your heart.” Not just the parts of your heart crying for ease. Not just the parts of your heart crying for restoration. But find that place in your heart eager for growth, and let it cry out as well. Embrace this perfect plan, and you will find God, see His plan from His perspective, and enjoy peace right in the middle of the storm. In the meantime, my favorite promise here from God is that He will carry us. He carried us into this hard place, this exile of sorts, and He will carry us back out. ~ Lysa TerKeurst,
886:The Change
'Twas hard to think that he must go,
We knew that we should miss him so,
We thought that he must always stay
Beside us, laughing, day by day;
That he must never know the care
And hurt and grief of life out there.
Then came the call for youth, and he
Talked with his mother and with me,
And suddenly we learned the boy
Was hungering to know the joy
Of doing something real with life,
And that he craved the test of strife.
And so we steeled ourselves to dread;
To see at night his empty bed;
To feel the silence and the gloom
That hovers o'er his vacant room,
And though we wept the day he went,
And many a lonely hour we've spent,
We've come to think as he, somehow,
And we are more contented now;
We're proud that we can stand and say
We have a boy who's gone away.
And we are glad to know that he
Is serving where he ought to be.
It's queer, the change that time has brought:
We're different now in speech and thought;
His letters home mean joy to us,
His difficulties we discuss.
When word of his promotion came,
His mother, with her eyes aflame
With happiness and pride, rushed out
To tell the neighbors round about.
Her boy! Her boy is doing well!
What greater news can mothers tell?
I think that pity now we show
For those who have no boys to go.
707
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
887:This is precisely the test of true humility, that one no longer presumes to judge whether or not one is too miserable to be included in the call to sanctity but simply answers the merciful love of God by sinking down into adoration.” And this sinking down, this humility, leads to confidence. Hildebrand continues, “The question whether I feel worthy to be called is beside the point; that God has called is the one thing that matters.”15 Understanding that our emotions are not the measure of God’s call may go a long way to closing the confidence gap between men and women. In the May 2014 cover story of the Atlantic, journalists Katty Kay and Claire Shipman write about the sociological phenomenon in which men tend to overestimate their abilities while women tend to underestimate theirs, even when controlled evaluations show no difference in competence. Sociologists suggest many causes for the confidence gap—including even chemical differences—but the result of such a gap is that women’s self-doubt keeps them from acting, while men’s overconfidence leads them to act when they shouldn’t. Of course, this does not mean that all men have an inflated sense of their abilities or that some women couldn’t use a dose of humility. But the research does reveal how our emotions don’t always correspond with reality. And because they don’t, we can’t be led by them—especially when it comes to the Holy Spirit’s call on our life. ~ Hannah Anderson,
888:...do we realize that this cheap grace has turned back upon us like a boomerang? The price we are having to pay today in the shape of the collapse of the organized Church is only the inevitable consequence of our policy of making grace available to all at too low a cost. We gave away the word and sacraments wholesale, we baptized, confirmed, and absolved a whole nation unasked and without condition. Our humanitarian sentiment made us give that which was holy to the scornful and unbelieving. We poured forth unending streams of grace. But the call to follow Jesus in the narrow way was hardly ever heard. Where were those truths which impelled the early Church to institute the catechumenate, which enabled a strict watch to be kept over the frontier between the Church and the world, and afforded adequate protection for costly grace? What had happened to all those warnings of Luther's against preaching the gospel in such a manner as to make men rest secure in their ungodly living? Was there ever a more terrible or disastrous instance of the Christianizing of the world than this? What are those three thousand Saxons put to death by Charlemagne compared with the millions of spiritual corpses in our country today? With us it has been abundantly proved that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children unto the third and fourth generations. Cheap grace has turned out to be utterly merciless to our Evangelical church. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
889:Mothers And Wives
Mothers and wives, 'tis the call to arms
That the bugler yonder prepares to sound;
We stand on the brink of war's alarms
And your men may lie on a blood-stained
ground.
The drums may play and the flags may fly,
And our boys may don the brown and blue,
And the call that summons brave men to die
Is the call for glorious women, too.
Mothers and wives, if the summons comes,
You, as ever since war has been,
Must hear with courage the rolling drums
And dry your tears when the flags are seen.
For never has hero fought and died
Who has braver been than the mother, who
Buckled his sabre at his side,
And sent him forward to dare and do.
Mothers and wives, should the call ring out,
It is you must answer your country's cry;
You must furnish brave hearts and stout
For the firing line where the heroes die.
And never a corpse on the field of strife
Should be honoured more in his country's sight
Than the noble mother or noble wife
Who sent him forth in the cause of right.
Mothers and wives, 'tis the call for men
To give their strength and to give their lives;
But well we know, such a summons then
Is the call for mothers and loyal wives,
For you must give us the strength we need,
You must give us the boys in blue,
For never a boy or a man shall bleed
But a mother or wife shall suffer, too.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
890:How will we seize Wensan’s ship?” a Herrani asked.
“We’ll climb its hull ladder.”
Kestrel laughed. “You’ll be picked off one at a time by Wensan’s crew as soon as they realize what’s happening.”
The room went still. Spines stiffened. Arin, who had been facing the Herrani, turned to stare at Kestrel. The look he gave her prickled the air between them like static.
“Then we’ll pretend we’re their Valorian sailors who have been on shore,” he said, “and ask for our launches to be winched up to the deck from the water.”
“Pretend to be Valorian? That will be believable.”
“It will be dark. They won’t see our faces, and we have the names of sailors on shore.”
“And your accent?”
Arin didn’t answer.
“I suppose you hope that the wind will blow your accent away,” Kestrel said. “But maybe the sailors will still ask you for the code of the call. Maybe your little plan will be dead in the water, just like all of you.”
There was silence.
“The code of the call,” she repeated. “The password that any sane crew uses and shares with no one but themselves, in order to prevent people from attacking them as you so very foolishly hope to do.”
“Kestrel, what are you doing?”
“Giving you some advice.”
He made an impatient noise. “You want me to burn the ships.”
“Do I? Is that what I want?”
“We’ll be weaker against the empire without them.”
She shrugged. “Even with them, you won’t stand a chance. ~ Marie Rutkoski,
891:With that fence it’s a total blind approach to the back door, I thought. Anyone could be hiding around that corner. Guards don’t care. They’ve run this route a thousand times for a thousand days; they can’t manage to stay alert. Company should mix up their shifts better— “It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?” Harmony Black dropped into the chair beside me. She set down a cup of coffee and ruffled her own copy of the newspaper. “No operational discipline, not looking out for each other, it’s almost like they want to get hijacked.” “Agent.” My throat went tight. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m just getting some fresh air. Please, keep planning your armed robbery. Pretend I’m not even here.” She set down her paper and picked up her cup. Then she looked me in the eye and slowly, loudly, slurped her coffee. I folded my newspaper and pushed back my chair. “It’s fine. I was just leaving.” “Oh? Where to? The Athens Credit Union? That laundromat off Bonanza Road? The Ford dealership on Fairfax? Can I come with? No, never mind, just go ahead and I’ll meet you there.” I gritted my teeth and walked away. Harmony slurped her coffee again and gave me a finger wave. “See you soon!” she called out behind me. I drove two blocks, pulled off to the side of the road, and took out my cell phone. Every instinct screamed that I was making a bad move, but that didn’t stop me from punching in the numbers and making the call. “Nicky,” I said, “that job still available? ~ Craig Schaefer,
892:The quest for the eternal, all-beautiful, all-true and all-pure, and the quest to be close to the poor and most broken people appear to be so contradictory. And yet, in the broken heart of Christ, these two quests are united. Jesus reveals to us that he loves his Father, and is intimately linked to him; at the same time he is himself in love with each person and in a particular way with the most broken, the most suffering and the most rejected. To manifest this love, Jesus himself became broken and rejected, a man of sorrows and of anguish and of tears; he became the Crucified One.

. . . Within the church, over the ages, one or the other aspect of this double mission has been emphasized, according to the call of God in different times and places, but both are also present. There are those who are called to the desert or the mountain top to see greater union with God through the Crucified One; and their prayer will flow upon the broken and the crucified ones of this world. And there are those called together to give their lives for and with the crucified and broken ones in the world; and they will always seek a personal and mystical union with Jesus so that they may love as he loves.

Every community and every family are called to live both forms of mission, but in different ways: to pray and to be present in a special way to the smallest and the weakest within their own community or outside it, according to their individual call. ~ Jean Vanier,
893:The Telegraph Clerk
Sitting here by my desk all day,
Hearing the constant click
As the messages speed on their way,
And the call comes sharp and quick-Oh, what a varied tale they tell
Of joy and hope and fear!
The funeral knell and the marriage bell
In their steady tick I hear.
'Mother is dying; come at once.'
And the tears will almost start,
For tender daughters and loving sons-God pity each aching heart!
Ah! how the haunting memories press
Of the mother's unfailing tenderness,
That is now forever o'er.
'I am well; will come tonight.'
How bright some eyes will glow
All day long with a happy light
As they watch the moments go.
Have had no letters; is something wrong?'
Some heart is sad today,
Counting the hours that seem so long
For the sake of one away.
'Arthur Ross, by accident killed;
Tell his mother, am coming home.'
Alas for the home with such sorrow filled,
When the bitter tidings come!
374
'Alice is better; gaining fast.'
And hearts that have been bowed
Under their weight of fear, at last
Shall lose their weary load.
So over the wires the tidings speed,
Bitter and grave and gay;
Some hearts shall beat, and some shall bleed,
For the tale they have to say.
As I sit all day by my desk alone
I hear the steam go by,
And catch the wires' changeful tone
With a smile and then a sigh.
~ Anonymous Americas,
894:WE are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I.
            The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea.
            We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I.
            We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind.
            My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast.
            Long have I served her tenderly.
            I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes.
            I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor.
            She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.
            She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.
            To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.
            My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out.
            Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast.
            The push of death has swung her into life.
            We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.


~ Rabindranath Tagore, We Are To Play The Game Of Death
,
895:By the second day, the song lyrics had faded, but in their place came darker irritations. Gradually, I started to become aware of a young man sitting just behind me and to the left. I had noticed him when he first entered the mediation hall, and had felt a flash of annoyance at the time: something about him, especially his beard, had struck me as too calculatedly dishevelled, as if he were trying to make a statement. Now his audible breathing was starting to irritate me, too. It seemed studied, unnatural, somehow theatrical. My irritation slowly intensified - a reaction that struck me as entirely reasonable and proportionate at the time. It was all beginning to feel like a personal attack. How much contempt must the bearded meditator have for me, I seethed silently, deliberately to decide to ruin the serenity of my meditation by behaving so obnoxiously? Experienced retreat-goers, it turns out, have a term for this phenomenon. The call it 'vipassana vendetta'. In the stillness tiny irritations become magnified into full-blown hate campaigns; the mind is so conditioned to attaching to storylines that it seizes upon whatever's available. Being on retreat had temporarily separated me from all the real causes of distress in my life, and so, apparently, I was inventing new ones. As I shuffled to my narrow bed that evening, I was still smarting about the loud-breathing man. I did let go of the vendetta eventually - but only because I'd fallen into an exhausted and dreamless sleep ~ Oliver Burkeman,
896:In April, he perched on a witch hazel branch, shivering, one eye closed, waiting for the sun to warm his wings. The night had been particularly cold, the winter long, the fishing scarce.
He'd been alone all the time.
When the sun appeared, the warmth felt good on his wings. he lifted from his perch, wheeled, then cackled over the river, studying the surface for the slightest flash: a trout, a small shad, a frog. He lit on a willow snag downriver and sunned himself, raised his tail, shat, and called again. The days were growing longer now, the alewives ascending the streams. The year before, he'd built his nest near the estuary in a seam of clay, and soon - if she returned - the time would come for a new nest along the bank.
The kingfisher fished all morning. He returned to the willow snag at noon; slept, then woke shortly after, startled by the call. Was it she? They hadn't seen each other since the summer before.
He dropped from the branch, called, winged downriver, his image doubled in the water. He heard the call again, closer now. If she returned, he'd dive into the river, greet her with a fish, fly around her, feed her beak to beak. If she returned, he'd begin to exxcavate a new nest, claw clay out of the earth, arrange the perfect pile of fish bones to lay their eggs upon.
He pumped his wings harder now. He heard the cackle closer, louder more insistent. he recognized her voice. She was hurling her way upriver.
Any moment now: she'd fly into his vision. ~ Brad Kessler,
897:The Father Of The Man
I can't help thinkin' o' the lad!
Here's summer bringin' trees to fruit,
An' every bush with roses clad,
An' nature in her finest suit,
An' all things as they used to be
In days before the war came on.
Yet time has changed both him an' me,
An' I am here, but he is gone.
The orchard's as it was back then
When he was just a little tyke;
The lake's as calm an' fair as when
We used to go to fish for pike.
There's nothing different I can see
That God has made about the place,
Except the change in him an' me,
An' that is difficult to trace.
I only know one day he came
An' found me in the barn alone.
To some he might have looked the same,
But he was not the lad I'd known.
His soul, it seemed, had heard the call
As plainly as a mortal can.
Before he spoke to me at all,
I saw my boy become a man.
I can't explain just what occurred;
I sat an' talked about it there;
The dinner-bell I never heard,
Or if I did, I didn't care.
But suddenly it seemed to me
Out of the dark there came a light,
An' in a new way I could see
That I was wrong an' he was right.
I can't help thinkin' o' the lad!
He's fightin' hate an' greed an' lust,
An' here am I, his doting dad,
756
Believin' in a purpose just.
Time was I talked the joy o' play,
But now life's goal is all I see;
The petty thoughts I've put awayMy boy has made a man o' me.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
898:Copy Paper
I START the day with paper white,
And put it in my old machine,
And wonder whether, as I write
The night will find my copy clean.
Will this day's finished task be fair
Or full of blemishes and flaws?
Will what my hands have written there
Deserve derision or applause?
Have I put down a single thing
That better would have been unwrit?
Have I let pass a jibe or fling
With venom at the point of it?
This paper spotless came to me,
How will it leave my little den?
What will the printer's judgment be?
And what will say my fellow men?
'Tis mine to do with as I will.
I view the finished work, and pause;
Here is a thought that I must kill,
And here a verse that's full of flaws.
And here's a line that I'd regret
If ever I should let it go,
The paper now is blurred, and yet
I much prefer to have it so.
Tomorrow it will be too late,
Whatever is must stand for aye;
If I have penned a line in hate
That stays the record for today.
And whether it be good or bad
I cannot change one single line;
My chance to be of worth I've had,
And every blemish there is mine.
My life is like the paper sheet
On which I toil from day to day,
And there the bitter and the sweet
195
Are written down to last for aye.
And, oh, I hope, when comes the call
That takes me from this earthly scene,
The God above who judges all
Will find my copy fairly clean.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
899:The writer encountered a Muslim woman once in a narrow street of a predominantly Hindu town, in the quarter inhabited by moneylenders. The feeling he had was that she was coming in search of a loan. She wore the burkha, that unhygienic head-to-toe covering that turns a woman into a walking symbol of inefficient civic refuse collection and leaves you without even an impression of her eyes behind the slits she watches the gay world through, tempted but not tempting; a garment in all probability inflaming to her passions but chilling to her expectations of having them satisfied. Pity her for the titillation she must suffer. After she had passed there was a smell of Chanel No. 5, which suggested that she needed money because she liked expensive things. Perhaps she had a rebellious spirit, or laboured under a confusion of ideas and intentions. On the other hand she may merely have been submissive to her husband, drenching herself for his private delight with a scent she did not realize was also one of public invitation – and passed that day through the street of the moneylenders only because it was a short cut to the mosque. It was a Friday, and it is written in the Koran: ‘Believers, when the call is made for prayer on Friday, hasten to the remembrance of Allah and leave off all business. That would be best for you, if you but knew it. Then, when the prayers are ended, disperse and go in quest of Allah’s bounty.’ Perhaps, when the service was over, it was her intention to return by the way she had come. ~ Paul Scott,
900:So what is this place?” asked Shadow, as they walked through the parking lot toward a low, unimpressive wooden building. “This is a roadside attraction,” said Wednesday. “One of the finest. Which means it is a place of power.” “Come again?” “It’s perfectly simple,” said Wednesday. “In other countries, over the years, people recognized the places of power. Sometimes it would be a natural formation, sometimes it would just be a place that was, somehow, special. They knew that something important was happening there, that there was some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent. And so they would build temples, or cathedrals, or erect stone circles, or…well, you get the idea.” “There are churches all across the States, though,” said Shadow. “In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists’ offices. No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they’ve never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat-house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that. ~ Neil Gaiman,
901:Matthew 22:4 (“Everything is ready. Come to the wedding feast”), he addresses the issue of “those to whom the offer is made”: It is not one or two, or some few that are called, not the great only, nor the small only, not the holy only, nor the profane only, but ye are all bidden; the call comes to all and every one of you in particular, poor and rich, high and low, holy and profane. Then Durham continues: We make this offer to all of you, to you who are Atheists, to you that are Graceless, to you that are Ignorant, to you that are Hypocrites, to you that are Lazy and Lukewarm, to the civil and to the profane, we pray, we beseech, we obtest you all to come to the wedding; Call (saith the Lord) the blind, the maimed, the halt, &c and bid them all come, yea, compel them to come in. Grace can do more and greater wonders than to call such; it can not only make the offer of marriage to them, but it can make up the match effectually betwixt Christ and them. We will not, we dare not say, that all of you will get Christ for a Husband; but we do most really offer him to you all, and it shall be your own fault if ye want him and go without him. And therefore, before we proceed any further, we do solemnly protest, and before God and his Son Jesus Christ, take instruments this day, that this offer is made to you and that it is told to you in his name, that the Lord Jesus is willing to match with you, even the profanest and most graceless of you, if ye be willing to match with him, and he earnestly invites you to come to the wedding.28 ~ Sinclair B Ferguson,
902:So what is this place?” asked Shadow, as they walked through the parking lot toward a low, unimpressive wooden building.

“This is a roadside attraction,” said Wednesday. “One of the finest. Which means it is a place of power.”

“Come again?”

“It’s perfectly simple,” said Wednesday. “In other countries, over the years, people recognized the places of power. Sometimes it would be a natural formation, sometimes it would be a place that was, somehow, special. They knew that something important was happening there, that there was some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent. And so they would build temples or cathedrals, or erect stone circles, or…well, you get the idea.”

“There are churches all across the States, though,” said Shadow.

“In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists’ offices. No, in the USA people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they’ve never visited, or by erecting a giant bat house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that. ~ Neil Gaiman,
903:Lewis!” The boy jumped and spun around. “What?” “Keep that animal away from my crates.” Tori drew in a breath and deliberately calmed her voice. “Have him play on the other side of you, dear, where there’s more open space for him to explore. And if you think he might need to . . . um . . . water the flowers, let me know at once and we’ll—” Masculine laughter cut off her words. “Water the flowers?” Ben tipped his head back and laughed all the harder. It didn’t take more than a heartbeat for Lewis to join him. “Your ma’s sure got a way with words.” The freighter wiped at his eyes, and for the first time Tori found herself envious. Envious of his unfettered emotion. She used to laugh like that, so hard tears leaked from her eyes. She missed it. Missed the innocent girl who saw the world as full of possibilities instead of threats. Lewis picked Hercules up and dutifully moved him to the other side of his sprawled legs to keep the pup away from the crates. “Aw, she just don’t like talkin’ about—” “Lewis.” Tori gave him a stern look, her warning tone eliciting a pair of irritating male grins. “Womenfolk are like that,” Ben said, turning back to face the road, but not before he winked conspiratorially at her son. “My ma used to say, ‘answerin’ the call of nature.’ And she always blushed when she said it.” He aimed a sideways glance at Tori, and her cheeks immediately heated. Traitorous things. “Well, I don’t think Hercules will need to water the flowers any time soon.” Lewis snickered. “He watered the porch steps at Sarah’s house before we left.” Tori ~ Karen Witemeyer,
904:We cleave our way through the mountains until the interstate dips into a wide basin brimming with blue sky, broken by dusty roads and rocky saddles strung out along the southern horizon. This is our first real glimpse of the famous big-sky country to come, and I couldn't care less. For all its grandeur, the landscape does not move me. And why should it? The sky may be big, it may be blue and limitless and full of promise, but it's also really far away. Really, it's just an illusion. I've been wasting my time. We've all been wasting our time. What good is all this grandeur if it's impermanent, what good all of this promise if it's only fleeting? Who wants to live in a world where suffering is the only thing that lasts, a place where every single thing that ever meant the world to you can be stripped away in an instant? And it will be stripped away, so don't fool yourself. If you're lucky, your life will erode slowly with the ruinous effects of time or recede like the glaciers that carved this land, and you will be left alone to sift through the detritus. If you are unlucky, your world will be snatched out from beneath you like a rug, and you'll be left with nowhere to stand and nothing to stand on. Either way, you're screwed. So why bother? Why grunt and sweat and weep your way through the myriad obstacles, why love, dream, care, when you're only inviting disaster? I'm done answering the call of whippoorwills, the call of smiling faces and fireplaces and cozy rooms. You won't find me building any more nests among the rose blooms. Too many thorns. ~ Jonathan Evison,
905:Christian psychologist is called in; if it’s a spiritual problem, the pastor gets the call. We assume that our depression, panic, guilt, or addictions have little or nothing to do with our spirituality; they are two separate issues. But separating our problems into “emotional” problems and “spiritual” problems is part of the problem. All of our problems stem from our failure to reflect the image of God. Because of Adam and Eve’s fall into sin in the Garden of Eden, we have not developed the “likeness” of God in the vital areas of our person, and we are not functioning as we were created to function. Thus, we are in pain. In the course of my own spiritual and professional journey, I have identified four aspects of the personality of God that, if we would cultivate them, would greatly improve our day-to-day functioning. God is able to do four things that we, his children, have difficulty doing: 1. Bond with others. 2. Separate from others. 3. Sort out issues of good and bad 4. Take charge as an adult Without the ability to perform these basic God-like functions, we can literally remain stuck for years, and growth and change can elude our grasp. In this book I will explain these four developmental tasks, the barriers that get in the way of our achieving them, and the skills we need for completing them. Because we live in a fallen world, we all have deficits in all four areas. Transforming the effects of the fall and growing in the image of God is not an easy task. But God has promised that the “good work”he began in us, he will carry “on to completion until the day of ~ Henry Cloud,
906:Some pastors are lazy and no good”
by Martin Luther
“Some pastors and preachers are lazy and no good. They rely on these and other good books to get a sermon out of them. They do not pray; they do not study; they do not read; they do not search the Scripture. It is just as if there were no need to read the Bible for this purpose.
They use such books as offer them homiletical help in order to earn their yearly living; they are nothing but parrots and jackdaws, which learn to repeat without understanding, though our purpose and the purpose of these theologians is to direct preachers to Scripture with such books and exhort them to plan to defend our Christian faith after death, against the devil, the world, and the flesh…
Therefore the call is: Watch, study, attend to reading. In truth, you cannot read too much in Scripture; and what you read you cannot read too carefully, and what you read carefully you cannot understand too well, and what you understand well you cannot teach too well, and what you teach well you cannot live too well.
Believe a man who has found this out. It is the devil, it is the world, it is our flesh that are raging and raving against us. Therefore, dear sirs and brethren, pastors and preachers, pray, read, study, be diligent. Truly, this evil, shameful time is not the season for being lazy, for sleeping and snoring. Use the gift that has been entrusted to you, and reveal the mystery of Christ.”
–Martin Luther, What Luther Says: An Anthology, comp. Ewald M. Plass (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1959), entry no. 3547, 1110. ~ Martin Luther,
907:St Cuthbert was called to be a hermit on Lindis­farne. This was more than a thousand years ago. There were only small wooden huts there then, and the wind and the wild sea and everything that lived in the wild sea. Cuthbert went out there to the mon­astery, but the monastery was not far enough and he was called out further. He rowed to an empty island, where he ate onions and the eggs of seabirds and stood in the sea and prayed while sea otters played around his ankles. He lived there alone for years, but then he was called back. The King of Northumbria came to him with some churchmen, and they told him he had been elected Bishop of Lindisfarne and they asked him to come back and serve.

There’s a Victorian painting of the king and the her­mit. Cuthbert wears a dirty brown robe and has one calloused hand on a spade. The king is offering him a bishop’s crosier. Behind him, monks kneel on the sands and pray he will accept it. Behind them are the beached sailboats that brought them to the island. The air is filled with swallows. Cuthbert’s head is turned away from the king, he looks down at the ground and his left hand is held up in a gesture of refusal. But he didn’t refuse, in the end. He didn’t refuse the call. He went back.

We head out because the emptiness negates us. We leave the cities and we go to the wild high places to be dissolved and to be small. We live and die at once, the topsoil is washed away and the rock is exposed and it is not possible to play the games anymore. Now I am exposed rock. Like Cuthbert, I have been washed clean. What do I see? ~ Paul Kingsnorth,
908:It's September
It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold,
And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold;
Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red
And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at us from their bed;
Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's little feet,
And the dog now does his snoozing on the bright side of the street.
It's September, and the cornstalks are as high as they will go,
And the red cheeks of the apples everywhere begin to show;
Now the supper's scarcely over ere the darkness settles down
And the moon looms big and yellow at the edges of the town;
Oh, it's good to see the children, when their little prayers are said,
Duck beneath the patchwork covers when they tumble into bed.
It's September, and a calmness and a sweetness seem to fall
Over everything that's living, just as though it hears the call
Of Old Winter, trudging slowly, with his pack of ice and snow,
In the distance over yonder, and it somehow seems as though
Every tiny little blossom wants to look its very best
When the frost shall bite its petals and it droops away to rest.
It's September! It's the fullness and the ripeness of the year;
All the work of earth is finished, or the final tasks are near,
But there is no doleful wailing; every living thing that grows,
For the end that is approaching wears the finest garb it knows.
And I pray that I may proudly hold my head up high and smile
When I come to my September in the golden afterwhile.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
909:BLUE pencils, blue noses, blue movies, laws, blue legs and stockings, the language of birds, bees, and flowers as sung by longshoremen, that lead-like look the skin has when affected by cold, contusion, sickness, fear; the rotten rum or gin they call blue ruin and the blue devils of its delirium; Russian cats and oysters, a withheld or imprisoned breath, the blue they say that diamonds have, deep holes in the ocean and the blazers which English athletes earn that gentlemen may wear; afflictions of the spirit—dumps, mopes, Mondays—all that’s dismal—low-down gloomy music, Nova Scotians, cyanosis, hair rinse, bluing, bleach; the rare blue dahlia like that blue moon shrewd things happen only once in, or the call for trumps in whist (but who remembers whist or what the death of unplayed games is like?), and correspondingly the flag, Blue Peter, which is our signal for getting under way; a swift pitch, Confederate money, the shaded slopes of clouds and mountains, and so the constantly increasing absentness of Heaven (ins Blaue hinein, the Germans say), consequently the color of everything that’s empty: blue bottles, bank accounts, and compliments, for instance, or, when the sky’s turned turtle, the blue-green bleat of ocean (both the same), and, when in Hell, its neatly landscaped rows of concrete huts and gas-blue flames; social registers, examination booklets, blue bloods, balls, and bonnets, beards, coats, collars, chips, and cheese . . . the pedantic, indecent and censorious . . . watered twilight, sour sea: through a scrambling of accidents, blue has become their color, just as it’s stood for fidelity. ~ William H Gass,
910:mental health is based on a certain degree of tension, the tension between what one has already achieved and what one still ought to accomplish, or the gap between what one is and what one should become. Such a tension is inherent in the human being and therefore is indispensable to mental well-being. We should not, then, be hesitant about challenging man with a potential meaning for him to fulfill. It is only thus that we evoke his will to meaning from its state of latency. I consider it a dangerous misconception of mental hygiene to assume that what man needs in the first place is equilibrium or, as it is called in biology, "homeostasis," i.e., a tensionless state. What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. What man needs is not homeostasis but what i call "noo-dynamics," i.e., the existential dynamics in a polar field of tension where one pole is represented by a meaning that is to be fulfilled and the other pole by the man who has to fulfill it. And one should not think that this holds true only for normal conditions; in neurotic individuals, it is even more valid. If architects want to strengthen a decrepit arch, they increase the load which is laid upon it, for thereby the parts are joined more firmly together. So if therapists wish to foster their patients' mental health, they should not be afraid to create a sound amount of tension through a reorientation toward the meaning of one's life. ~ Viktor E Frankl,
911:The Everlasting Staircase"
Jeffrey McDaniel

When the call came, saying twenty-four hours to live,
my first thought was: can't she postpone her exit

from this planet for a week? I've got places to do,
people to be. Then grief hit between the ribs,

said disappear or reappear more fully. so I boarded
a red eyeball and shot across America,

hoping the nurses had enough quarters to keep
the jukebox of Grandma's heart playing. She grew up

poor in Appalachia. And while world war II
functioned like Prozac for the Great Depression,

she believed poverty was a double feature,
that the comfort of her adult years was merely

an intermission, that hunger would hobble back,
hurl its prosthetic leg through her window,

so she clipped, clipped, clipped -- became the Jacques
Cousteau of the bargain bin, her wetsuit

stuffed with coupons. And now --pupils fixed, chin
dangling like the boots of a hanged man --

I press my ear to her lampshade-thin chest
and listen to that little soldier march toward whatever

plateau, or simply exhaust his arsenal of beats.
I hate when people ask if she even knew I was there.

The point is I knew, holding the one-sided
conversation of her hand. Once I believed the heart

was like a bar of soap -- the more you use it,
the smaller it gets; care too much and it'll snap off

in your grasp. But when Grandma's last breath
waltzed from that room, my heart opened

wide like a parachute, and I realized she didn't die.
She simply found a silence she could call her own. ~ Jeffrey McDaniel,
912:What’s wrong, Mom?” Anna asked.

Mom looked like she’d been crying, but she said, “Nothing, sweetie.”

“Who is Dad talking to?” I asked. I knew she’d protect us from whatever was happening, so I went straight for facts. If I gathered enough facts I could figure it out on my own.

“Some friends of his from work.”

“Uncle Jack?” I asked. Jack wasn’t an uncle but we called him that. He was my dad’s foreman in the roofing business.

“No, honey. From the Army. His old work.”

It was September 11, 2001, and the call he’d made was to his commanding officer in the Reserve. I’d figure that out later.

And I’d learn that he’d done ROTC through college, then served with the Fifth Special Forces Group in Desert Storm. I’d learn that his shoulder injury had come from shrapnel embedded in his rotator cuff. I’d learn, just from watching him, from listening to him talk to his buddies, about Ranger School. Jump school. The Ranger Battalions. The Scroll. The Creed. That Rangers lead the way.

But I didn’t know any of that then. I knew my dad as a roofer. A fisherman. A lover of Pearl Jam and Giants baseball. He was the guy who launched me over the waves on the beach, and who bench-pressed Anna because it made her giggle in a way that nothing else did. He was my mom’s best friend, with some additional elements like kissing that seemed pretty gross because, you know, I was six. But I learned something new about him that morning.

I learned that when bad things happened, my dad stepped forward first.

I learned he was a hero. A real one.

And that I wanted to be like him ~ Veronica Rossi,
913:When I woke up a man in a green beret with a big feather poking out of it was leaning over me. I must be hallucinating, I thought.
I blinked again but he didn’t go away.
Then this immaculate, clipped British accent addressed me.
“How are you feeling, soldier?”
It was the colonel in charge of British Military Advisory Team (BMAT) in southern Africa. He was here to check on my progress.
“We’ll be flying you back to the UK soon,” he said, smiling. “Hang on in there, trooper.”
The colonel was exceptionally kind, and I have never forgotten that. He went beyond the call of duty to look out for me and get me repatriated as soon as possible--after all, we were in a country not known for its hospital niceties.
The flight to the UK was a bit of a blur, spent sprawled across three seats in the back of a plane. I had been stretchered across the tarmac in the heat of the African sun, feeling desperate and alone.
I couldn’t stop crying whenever no one was looking.
Look at yourself, Bear. Look at yourself. Yep, you are screwed. And then I zonked out.
An ambulance met me at Heathrow, and eventually, at my parents’ insistence, I was driven home. I had nowhere else to go. Both my mum and dad looked exhausted from worry; and on top of my physical pain I also felt gut-wrenchingly guilty for causing such grief to them.
None of this was in the game plan for my life.
I had been hit hard, broadside and from left field, in a way I could never have imagined.
Things like this just didn’t happen to me. I was always the lucky kid.
But rogue balls from left field can often be the making of us. ~ Bear Grylls,
914:A story best told at speed. After finals, more exams, then the call to the bar, pupillage, a lucky invitation to prestigious chambers, some early success defending hopeless cases—how sensible it had seemed, to delay a child until her early thirties. And when those years came, they brought complex worthwhile cases, more success. Jack was also hesitant, arguing for holding back another year or two. Mid-thirties then, when he was teaching in Pittsburgh and she worked a fourteen-hour day, drifting deeper into family law as the idea of her own family receded, despite the visits of nephews and nieces. In the following years, the first rumors that she might be elected precociously to the bench and required to be on circuit. But the call didn’t come, not yet. And in her forties, there sprang up anxieties about elderly gravids and autism. Soon after, more young visitors to Gray’s Inn Square, noisy demanding great-nephews, great-nieces, reminded her how hard it would be to squeeze an infant into her kind of life. Then rueful thoughts of adoption, some tentative inquiries—and throughout the accelerating years that followed, occasional agonies of doubt, firm late-night decisions concerning surrogate mothers undone in the early-morning rush to work. And when at last, at nine thirty one morning at the Royal Courts of Justice, she was sworn in by the Lord Chief Justice and took her oath of allegiance and her Judicial Oath before two hundred of her bewigged colleagues, and she stood proudly before them in her robes, the subject of a witty speech, she knew the game was up; she belonged to the law as some women had once been brides of Christ. ~ Ian McEwan,
915:The Chaplain
He was just a small church parson when the war broke out, and he
Looked and dressed and acted like all parsons that we see.
He wore the cleric's broadcloth and he hooked his vest behind,
But he had a man's religion and he had a strong man's mind,
And he heard the call to duty, and he quit his church and went,
And he bravely tramped right with 'em everywhere the boys were sent.
He put aside his broadcloth and he put the khaki on;
Said he'd come to be a soldier and was going to live like one.
Then he refereed the prize fights that the boys pulled off at night,
And if no one else was handy he'd put on the gloves and fight.
He wasn't there a fortnight ere he saw the soldiers' needs,
And he said: 'I'm done with preaching; this is now the time for deeds.'
He learned the sound of shrapnel, he could tell the size of shell
From the shriek it make above him, and he knew just where it fell.
In the front line trench he labored, and he knew the feel of mud,
And he didn't run from danger and he wasn't scared of blood.
He wrote letters for the wounded, and he cheered them with his jokes,
And he never made a visit without passing round the smokes.
Then one day a bullet got him, as he knelt beside a lad
Who was 'going west' right speedy, and they both seemed mighty glad,
'Cause he held the boy's hand tighter, and he smiled and whispered low,
'Now you needn't fear the journey; over there with you I'll go.'
And they both passed out together, arm in arm I think they went.
He had kept his vow to follow everywhere the boys were sent.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
916:The Vain Spell
THE house sleeps dark and the moon wakes white,
The fields are alight with dew;
'Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night?
I have waited the whole night through,
For I knew,
O Heart of my heart, I knew by my heart,
That the night of all nights is this,
When elm shall crack and lead shall part,
When moulds shall sunder and shot bolts start
To let you through to my kiss.'
So spake she alone in the lonely house.
She had wrapped her round with the spell,
She called the call, she vowed the vow,
And the heart she had pledged knew well
That this was the night, the only night,
When the moulds might be wrenched apart,
When the living and dead, in the dead of the night,
Might clasp once more, in the grave's despite,
For the price of a living heart.
But out in the grave the corpse lay white
And the grave clothes were wet with dew;
'Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night,
I have waited the whole night through,
For I knew
That I dared not leave my grave for an hour
Since the hour of all hours is near,
When you shall come to the hollow bower,
In a cast of the wind, in a waft of the Power,
To the heart that to-night beats here!'
The moon grows pale and the house sleeps still
Ah, God! do the dead forget?
The grave is white and the bed is chill,
But a guest may be coming yet.
407
But the hour has come and the hour has gone
That never will come again;
Love's only chance is over and done,
And the quick and the dead are twain, not one,
And the price has been paid in vain.
~ Edith Nesbit,
917:Republic And Motherland
(Written after entering New York Harbor at Daybreak)
Up the vast harbor with the morning sun
The ship swept in from sea;
Gigantic towers arose, the night was done,
And--there stood Liberty.
Silent, the great torch lifted in one hand,
The dawn in her proud eyes,
Silent, for all the shouts that vex her land,
Silent, hailing the skies;
Hailing that mightier Kingdom of the Blest
Our seamen sought of old,
The dream that lured the nations through the West,
The city of sunset gold.
Saxon and Norman in one wedded soul
Shook out one flag like fire;
But westward, westward, moved the gleaming goal,
Westward, the vast desire.
Westward and ever westward ran the call,
They followed the pilgrim sun,
Seeking that land which should enfold them all,
And weld all hearts in one.
Here on this mightier continent apart,
Here on these rolling plains,
Swells the first throb of that immortal heart,
The pulse of those huge veins.
Still, at these towers, our Old-World cities jest,
And neither hear nor see
The brood of gods at that gigantic breast,
The conquering race to be.
Chosen from many--for no sluggard soul
Confronts that night of stars--
75
The trumpets of the last Republic roll
Far off, an end to wars;
An end, an end to that wild blood-red age,
That made and keeps us blind;
A mightier realm shall be her heritage,
The kingdom of mankind.
Chosen from many nations, and made one;
But first, O Mother, from thee,
When, following, following on that Pilgrim sun,
Thy Mayflower crossed the sea.
~ Alfred Noyes,
918:And allowing oneself to remain vulnerable to disease remains a legal privilege today. Dictionaries aside, what it means to have a conscience may be no more clear to us now than it was in 1898. We do recognize when it is lacking—she has no conscience, we say. But what exactly is missing? I put this question to my sister, who teaches ethics at a Jesuit college and is a member of the North American Kant Society. “It’s tricky,” she says. “In the eighteenth century, Kant wrote that we have a duty to ourselves to examine our conscience. This implies that it’s not transparent, that it must be scrutinized and deciphered. Kant thought of conscience as an inner judge and used the metaphor of a courtroom to explain its operation. In the courtroom of conscience, the self is both judge and judged.” I ask her if this means our conscience emerges from thought and is a product of our minds. “It’s an evolving concept,” she says. “It may have once been more closely associated with the emotions, but we still say we feel a pang of conscience—it involves a unity of thought and feeling.” Kant, she tells me, called the inner judge a “scrutinizer of hearts.” “The part that’s tricky,” my sister says, “is how you discern between a sense of discomfort and what your conscience is telling you.” This question remains with me, and I am disturbed by the possibility that I could mistake the call of my conscience for something else. I ask a former professor of mine, a novelist who teaches the Old Testament as literature, how one recognizes one’s own conscience. She looks at me sternly and says, “It’s a very distinct feeling. I don’t think one’s conscience is easily confused with any other feeling. ~ Eula Biss,
919:Saving Lives and Protecting Rights in Translation It is said that life and death are under the power of language. —Hélène Cixous, French author and philosopher Lifeline The phone rings, jolting me to attention. It’s almost midnight on a Friday night. I didn’t want to work the late shift, but the need for my work never sleeps. Most of the calls I get at this late hour are from emergency dispatchers for police, fire, and ambulance. They often consist of misdials, hang-ups, and other nonemergencies. I’ve been working since early this morning, and I’m just not in the mood tonight to hear someone complain about a neighbor’s television being turned up too loud. But someone has got to take the call. I pick up before it rings a second time. “Interpreter three nine four zero speaking, how may I help you?” The dispatcher wastes no time with pleasantries. “Find out what’s wrong,” he barks in English. He didn’t ask me to confirm the address, so I assume he must already have police officers headed to the scene. I ask the Spanish speaker how we can help. I wait for a response. Silence. I ask the question again. No answer, but I can hear that there’s someone on the line. We wait, but we don’t hear any response. It’s probably just another child playing with the phone, accidentally dialing 911. I imagine the little guy looking curiously at the phone and pressing the buttons, then staring at it as a voice comes out of the other end. This happens all the time. I turn up the volume on my headset, just in case it might help me pick up the scolding words of a parent in the background. Then suddenly, I hear a timid female voice speaking so quietly that I can barely make out the words. “Me va a matar,” she whispers. ~ Nataly Kelly,
920:He was just a small church parson when the
war broke out, and he
Looked and dressed and acted like all parsons
that we see.
He wore the cleric's broadcloth and he hooked
his vest behind.
But he had a man's religion and he had a stong
man's mind.
And he heard the call to duty, and he quit his
church and went.
And he bravely tramped right with 'em every-
where the boys were sent.

He put aside his broadcloth and he put the
khaki on;
Said he'd come to be a soldier and was going
to live like one.
Then he'd refereed the prize fights that the boys
pulled off at night,
And if no one else was handy he'd put on the
gloves and fight.
He wasn't there a fortnight ere he saw the sol-
diers' needs,
And he said: "I'm done with preaching; this
is now the time for deeds."

He learned the sound of shrapnel, he could tell
the size of shell
From the shriek it make above him, and he knew
just where it fell.
In the front line trench he laboured, and he knew
the feel of mud,
And he didn't run from danger and he wasn't
scared of blood.
He wrote letters for the wounded, and he cheered
them with his jokes,
And he never made a visit without passing round
the smokes.

Then one day a bullet got him, as he knelt be-
side a lad
Who was "going west" right speedy, and they
both seemed mighty glad,
'Cause he held the boy's hand tighter, and he
smiled and whispered low,
"Now you needn't fear the journey; over there
with you I'll go."
And they both passed out together, arm in arm
I think they went.
He had kept his vow to follow everywhere the
boys were sent. ~ Edgar A Guest,
921:Webster Ford
Do you remember, O Delphic Apollo,
The sunset hour by the river, when Mickey M'Grew
Cried, "There's a ghost," and I, "It's Delphic Apollo";
And the son of the banker derided us, saying, "It's light
By the flags at the water's edge, you half-witted fools."
And from thence, as the wearisome years rolled on, long after
Poor Mickey fell down in the water tower to his death
Down, down, through bellowing darkness, I carried
The vision which perished with him like a rocket which falls
And quenches its light in earth, and hid it for fear
Of the son of the banker, calling on Plutus to save me?
Avenged were you for the shame of a fearful heart,
Who left me alone till I saw you again in an hour
When I seemed to be turned to a tree with trunk and branches
Growing indurate, turning to stone, yet burgeoning
In laurel leaves, in hosts of lambent laurel,
Quivering, fluttering, shrinking, fighting the numbness
Creeping into their veins from the dying trunk and branches!
'Tis vain, O youth, to fly the call of Apollo.
Fling yourselves in the fire, die with a song of spring,
If die you must in the spring. For none shall look
On the face of Apollo and live, and choose you must
'Twixt death in the flame and death after years of sorrow,
Rooted fast in the earth, feeling the grisly hand,
Not so much in the trunk as in the terrible numbness
Creeping up to the laurel leaves that never cease
To flourish until you fall. O leaves of me
Too sere for coronal wreaths, and fit alone
For urns of memory, treasured, perhaps, as themes
For hearts heroic, fearless singers and livers -Delphic Apollo.
~ Edgar Lee Masters,
922:Something else gets under your skin, keeps you working days and nights at the sacrifice of your sleeping and eating and attention to your family and friends, something beyond the love of puzzle solving. And that other force is the anticipation of understanding something about the world that no one has ever understood before you.

Einstein wrote that when he first realized that gravity was equivalent to acceleration -- an idea that would underlie his new theory of gravity -- it was the "happiest thought of my life." On projects of far smaller weight, I have experienced that pleasure of discovering something new. It is an exquisite sensation, a feeling of power, a rush of the blood, a sense of living forever. To be the first vessel to hold this new thing.

All of the scientists I've known have at least one more quality in common: they do what they do because they love it, and because they cannot imagine doing anything else. In a sense, this is the real reason a scientist does science. Because the scientist must. Such a compulsion is both blessing and burden. A blessing because the creative life, in any endeavor, is a gift filled with beauty and not given to everyone, a burden because the call is unrelenting and can drown out the rest of life.

This mixed blessing and burden must be why the astrophysicist Chandrasekhar continued working until his mid-80's, why a visitor to Einstein's apartment in Bern found the young physicist rocking his infant with one hand while doing mathematical calculations with the other. This mixed blessing and burden must have been the "sweet hell" that Walt Whitman referred to when he realized at a young age that he was destined to be a poet. "Never more," he wrote, "shall I escape. ~ Alan Lightman,
923:The call in Psalms to seek the peace and prosperity of Jerusalem is turned on its head with the command in Jeremiah 29:7 to “seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile,” that is, Babylon. The familiar formula and the anticipated call to seek the peace of Jerusalem would have been a sign of hope that the exiles could turn their attention back to the Promised Land. Instead, they are commanded (very unexpectedly) to seek the shalom of Babylon. YHWH implores his people to continue to live life, even in the midst of shattered dreams and expectations. They are to conduct life in all its fullness, including building homes, planting gardens, getting married and increasing in number. Even in the midst of a foreign land, they are not to hide from the world, but instead seek ways to engage and even contribute. Life continues even as a community struggles with its place and identity. Escape from the reality of a fallen world is not an option. Jeremiah confronts the desire by a defeated people to give up and run away. The reality of Lamentations 1:1-3 should not result in the impulse to escape, but instead should result in engagement. The exiles were disheartened by how far they had fallen as evidenced by Lamentations 1:1-3. God’s people were tempted to flee and disengage from the world around them in response to their reality, but Jeremiah 29:4-7 challenges God’s people to not take that option. Jeremiah’s letter to the exiles does not allow for that option. The people of God are to seek the peace of Babylon and not to disengage with the ready-made excuse that Babylon is a wicked city. They are not to give in to the temptation to withdraw from the world when things are not going as they had planned. ~ Soong Chan Rah,
924:The latter part of our Journey from the entrance of Wiltshire into Salisbury was very rough and abounded with Jolts, the Holes we were obliged to go through being very many and some of them Deep; and so it was with much Relief that we left the Coach at Salisbury and hired two Horses for the road across the Avon to the Plain and Stone-henge. When we came to the edge of this sacred Place, we tethered our Horses to the Posts provided and then, with the Sunne direct above us, walked over the short grass which (continually cropt by the flocks of Sheep) seemed to spring us forward to the great Stones. I stood back a little as Sir Chris. walked on, and I considered the Edifice with steadinesse: there was nothing here to break the Angles of Sight and as I gaz'd I opened my Mouth to cry out but my Cry was silent; I was struck by an exstatic Reverie in which all the surface of this Place seemed to me Stone, and the Sky itself Stone, and I became Stone as I joined the Earth which flew on like a Stone through the Firmament. And thus I stood until the Kaw of a Crow rous'd me: and yet even the call of the black Bird was an Occasion for Terrour, since it was not of this Time. I know not how long a Period I had traversed in my Mind, but Sir Chris. was still within my Sight when my Eyes were cleard of Mist. He was walking steadily towards the massie Structure and I rushed violently to catch him, for I greatly wished to enter the Circle before him. I stopped him with a Cry and then ran on: when Crows kaw more than ordinary, said I when I came up to him all out of Breath, we may expect Rain. Pish, he replied. He stopped to tye his Shooe, so then I flew ahead of him and first reached the Circle which was the Place of Sacrifice. And I bowed down. ~ Peter Ackroyd,
925:Bannon and the Breitbart editors had the same reaction and immediately turned on Megyn Kelly, with a fusillade of negative articles. She became the newest Breitbart narrative: the back-stabbing, self-promoting betrayer-of-the-cause. And Breitbart became the locus of pro-Trump, anti-Fox conservative anger. Between Thursday night, when the debate took place, and Sunday evening, Breitbart published twenty-five stories on Kelly, and the site’s editor in chief, Alex Marlow, went on CNN to accuse Fox News of “trying to take out Donald Trump” and staging “a gotcha debate.” The intensity of Republican anger stunned Fox News executives. The debate had drawn a record 24 million viewers. Now many of them were apoplectic at the network’s top talent. “In the beginning, virtually 100 percent of the emails were against Megyn Kelly,” a Fox source told New York’s Gabriel Sherman. “Roger was not happy. Most of the Fox viewers were taking Trump’s side.” Word spread through the building that Kelly was furious and had personally complained to Ailes. By Sunday, the attacks against her showed no sign of letting up, as other conservative opinion makers, such as radio host Mark Levin, agreed that her questions to Trump had been “unfair.” In a panic, Ailes called Bannon and begged him to call off the attacks. “Steve, this isn’t fair, and it’s killing us,” Ailes said. “You have to stop it.” “Fuck that, that was outrageous what she did!” Bannon retorted. “She pulled every trick out of the leftist playbook.” “You’ve gotta knock this crap off, Steve.” “Not until she backs off Trump—she’s still going after him on her show.” “She’s the star of this network! Cut it out!” The call ended without resolution. Bannon and Ailes would not speak again for almost a year. ~ Joshua Green,
926:And what does the text inform us about the content of discipleship? Follow me, run along behind me! That is all. To follow in his steps is something which is void of all content. It gives us no intelligible programme for a way of life, no goal or ideal to strive after. It is not a cause which human calculation might deem worthy of our devotion, even the devotion of ourselves. What happens? At the call, Levi leaves all that he has--but not because he thinks that he might be doing something worth while, but simply for the sake of the call. Otherwise he cannot follow in the steps of Jesus. This act on Levi's part has not the slightest value in itself, it is quite devoid of significance and unworthy of consideration. This disciple simply burns his boats and goes ahead. He is called out, and has to forsake his old life in order that he may "exist" in the strictest sense of the word. The old life is left behind, and completely surrendered. The disciple is dragged out of his relative security into a life of absolute insecurity (that is, in truth, into the absolute security and safety of the fellowship of Jesus), from a life which is observable and calculable (it is, in fact, quite incalculable) into a life where everything is unobservable and fortuitous (that is, into one which is necessary and calculable), out of the realm of finite (which is in truth the infinite) into the realm of infinite possibilities (which is the one liberating reality). Again it is no universal law. Rather is it the exact opposite of all legality. It is nothing else than bondage to Jesus Christ alone, completely breaking through every programme, every ideal, every set of laws. No other significance is possible, since Jesus is the only significance. Beside Jesus nothing has any significance. He alone matters. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
927:But all of a sudden the scene changed; it was the memory, no longer of old impressions but of an old desire, only recently reawakened by the Fortuny gown in blue and gold, that spread before me another spring, a spring not leafy at all but on the contrary suddenly stripped of its trees and flowers by the name that I had just murmured to myself: “Venice”; a decanted springtime, which is reduced to its own essence and expresses the lengthening, the warming, the gradual unfolding of its days in the progressive fermentation, no longer, now, of an impure soil, but of a blue and virginal water, springlike without bud or blossom, which could answer the call of May only by the gleaming facets fashioned and polished by May, harmonising exactly with it in the radiant, unalterable nakedness of its dusky sapphire. Likewise, too, no more than the seasons to its flowerless creeks, do modern times bring any change to the Gothic city; I knew it, even if I could not imagine it, or rather, imagining it, this was what I longed for with the same desire which long ago, when I was a boy, in the very ardour of departure, had broken and robbed me of the strength to make the journey: to find myself face to face with my Venetian imaginings, to observe how that divided sea enclosed in its meanderings, like the sinuosities of the ocean stream, and urbane and refined civilization, but one that, isolated by their azure girdle, had evolved independently, had had its own schools of painting and architecture, to admire that fabulous garden of fruits and birds in coloured stone, flowering in the midst of the sea which kept it refreshed, lapped the base of the columns with its tide, and, like a somber azure gaze watching in the shadows, kept patches of light perpetually flickering on the bold relief of the capitals. ~ Marcel Proust,
928:What your reasoning ignores is that which is absolute or tends towards the absolute in man and his seeking as well as in the Divine - something not to be explained by mental reasoning or vital motive. A motive, but a motive of the soul, not of vital desire; a reason not of the mind, but of the self and spirit. An asking too, but the asking that is the soul's inherent aspiration, not a vital longing. That is what comes up when there is the sheer self-giving, when "I seek you for this, I seek you for that" changes to a sheer "I seek you for you." It is that marvellous and ineffable absolute in the Divine that Krishnaprem means when he says, "Not knowledge nor this nor that, but Krishna."

The pull of that is indeed a categorical imperative, the self in us drawn to the Divine because of the imperative call of its greater Self, the soul ineffably drawn towards the object of its adoration, because it cannot be otherwise, because it is it and He is He. That is all about it.

I have written all that only to explain what we mean whenwe speak of seeking the Divine for himself and not for anything else - so far as it is explicable. Explicable or not, it is one of the most dominant facts of spiritual experience. The call to selfgiving is only an expression of this fact. But this does not mean that I object to your asking for Ananda. Ask for that by all means, so long as to ask for it is a need of any part of your being - for these are the things that lead on towards the Divine so long as the absolute inner call that is there all the time does not push itself to the surface. But it is really that that has drawn from the beginning and is there behind - it is the categorical spiritual imperative, the absolute need of the soul for the Divine. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II, Seeking the Divine,
929:Nope.' He grabs my hand and places it over his heart. 'I already know the truth. We’re dating.' His eyebrows waggle. 'Exclusively.'
'Gross.'
'Do you want to wear my letterman’s jacket?'
'I’m going to vomit.'
'“Should I buy you a corsage?'
'Seriously. Gagging.'
'Okay, no corsage.' He laughs. 'Just the matching tattoos, then?'
'Seriously.' I fight the urge to stomp my foot. 'Let it go, Parker. Let it go.'
'Hey, Elsa, don’t quote Frozen to me unless you’re prepared to listen to the entire soundtrack in my car on the way to Seaport.' I stare up at him. 'I’m not sure whether I should be disturbed or turned on by the fact that you know all the words to Let It Go.'
He grins. 'Definitely turned on.'
'Downloaded in your iTunes library, no doubt.' I shake my head. 'This is nearly as disturbing as the time I learned the song A Whole New World from Aladdin is a metaphor for mind-blowing sex.'
'I’m sorry, what?'
'I can open your eyes? Lead you wonder by wonder? Over, sideways, and under?' I snort. 'Come on. That’s basically soft-core porn.'
'Thank you, Zoe, for ruining a beloved Disney classic for me.'
'Anytime.'
'For the record…' He trails off.
I wince, anticipating the worst. 'What?'
'I’ll take you on my magic carpet ride any time you
want, snookums.'
'Pass.'
'So, that’s a no on rubbing my lamp then?'
'You know, I think I’ll just find my own way to Nate’s…' I turn and start walking to the elevator.
'Oh, come on.' Parker twines his fingers with mine and pushes the call button, humming under his breath. 'I’m a genie in a bottle, baby, gotta rub—' 'AH!' I stare at him in horror as the elevator arrives. 'So help me god if you start singing vintage Christina Aguilera lyrics right now, I will murder you with my bare hands. ~ Julie Johnson,
930:World's Desire
Love, there is a castle built in a country desolate,
On a rock above a forest where the trees are grim and great,
Blasted with the lightning sharp-giant boulders strewn between,
And the mountains rise above, and the cold ravine
Echoes to the crushing roar and thunder of a mighty river
Raging down a cataract. Very tower and forest quiver
And the grey wolves are afraid and the call of birds is drowned,
And the thought and speech of man in the boiling water's sound.
But upon the further side of the barren, sharp ravine
With the sunlight on its turrets is the castle seen,
Calm and very wonderful, white above the green
Of the wet and waving forest, slanted all away,
Because the driving Northern wind will not rest by night or day.
Yet the towers are sure above, very mighty is the stead,
The gates are made of ivory, the roofs of copper red.
Round and round the warders grave walk upon the walls for ever
And the wakeful dragons couch in the ports of ivory,
Nothing is can trouble it, hate of the gods nor man's endeavour,
And it shall be a resting-place, dear heart, for you and me.
Through the wet and waving forest with an age-old sorrow laden
Singing of the world's regret wanders wild the faerie maiden,
Through the thistle and the brier, through the tangles of the thorn,
Till her eyes be dim with weeping and her homeless feet are torn.
Often to the castle gate up she looks with vain endeavour,
For her soulless loveliness to the castle winneth never.
But within the sacred court, hidden high upon the mountain,
Wandering in the castle gardens lovely folk enough there be,
Breathing in another air, drinking of a purer fountain
And among that folk, beloved, there's a place for you and me
~ Clive Staples Lewis,
931:The call for justice was a protest as fierce as those of the biblical prophets and of Jesus, and the similarity of the call was no coincidence. As with early Judaism and early Christianity, early Islam would be rooted in opposition to a corrupt status quo. Its protest of inequity would be an integral part of the demand for inclusiveness, for unity and equality under the umbrella of the one god regardless of lineage, wealth, age, or gender. This is what would make it so appealing to the disenfranchised, those who didn't matter in the grand Meccan scheme of things, like slaves and freedmen, widows and orphans, all those cut out of the elite by birth or circumstance. And it spoke equally to the young and idealistic, those who had not yet learned to knuckle under to the way things were and who responded to the deeply egalitarian strain of the verses. All were equal before God, the thirteen-year-old Ali as important as the most respected graybeard, the daughter as much as the son, the African slave as much as the highborn noble. It was a potent and potentially radical re-envisioning of society.

This was a matter of politics as much as of faith. The scriptures of all three of the great monotheisms show that they began similarly as popular movements in protest against the privilege and arrogance of power, whether that of kings as in the Hebrew bible, or the Roman Empire as in the Gospels, or a tribal elite as in the Quran. All three, that is, were originally driven by ideals of justice and egalitarianism, rejecting the inequities of human power in favor of a higher and more just one. No matter how far they might have strayed from their origins as they became institutionalized over time, the historical record clearly indicates that what we now call the drive for social justice was the idealistic underpinning of monotheistic faith. ~ Lesley Hazleton,
932:Nick's number waited impatiently on the screen, tapping its foot. I could press the red button to cancel the call. Without pressing anything, I set the phone down on my bedside table, crossed my arms,and glared at it.
Good:Nick wouldn't think I was chasing him.
Bad:Nick would die alone in his house from complications related to his stupendous wipeout.The guilt of knowing I could have saved his life if not for my outsized ego would be too much for me to bear.I would retreat from public life.I would join a nearby convent and knit potholders from strands of my own hair.No,I would crochet Christmas ornaments in the shape of delicate snowflakes.Red snowflakes! They would be sold in the souvenir shops around town.I would support a whole orphanage from the proceeds of snowflakes I crocheted from my hair.All the townspeople of Snowfall would tell tourists the story of Crazy Sister Hayden and the tragedy of her lost love.
Or I could call Nick.Jesus! I snatched up the phone and pressed the green button.
His phone switched straight to voice mail.Great,I hadn't found out whether he was dying,and if he recovered later,he would see my number on his phone and roll his eyes.
Damage control: Beeeeep!
"Hey,Nick,it's Hayden.Just,ah, wanted to know how a crash like that feels." Wait,I was trying to get him to call me back,right?He would not return my call after a message like that. "Actually just wondering whether you're ready to make out again and then have another argument." He might not return that call,either. "Actually,I remembered your mother isn't home,and I wanted to make sure you're okay.Please give me a call back."
Pressed red button.Set phone on nightstand.Folded arms.Glared at phone. Picked it up. "Freaking stupid young love!" I hollered,slamming it into the pillows on my bed. Doofus jumped up, startled.
Ah-ha. ~ Jennifer Echols,
933:Veils
Veils, everywhere float veils; veils long and black,
Framing white faces, oft-times young and fair,
But, like a rose touched by untimely frost,
Showing the blighting marks of sorrow's track.
Veils, veils, veils everywhere. They tell the cost
Of man-made war. They show the awful toll
Paid by the hearts of women for the crimes,
The age-old crimes by selfishness ill-named
'Justice' and 'Honour' and 'The call of Fate'High words men use to hide their low estate.
About the joy and beauty of this world
A long black veil is furled.
Even the face of Heaven itself seems lost
Behind a veil. It takes a fervent soul
In these tense times
To visualise a God so long defamed
By insolent lips, that send out prayers, and prate
Of God's collaboration in dark deeds,
So foul they put to shame the fiends of hell.
Yet One
does
dwell
In Secret Centres of the UniverseThe Mighty Maker; and He hears and heeds
The still small voice of soulful, selfless faith;
And He is lifting now the veil of death,
So long down-dropped between those worlds and earth.
Yea! He is giving faith a great new birth
By letting echoes from the hidden places
Where dwell our dead, fall on love's listening ear.
Hearken, and you shall hear
The messages which come from those star-spaces!
That is the reason why
God let so many die;
That the vast hordes of suffering hearts might wake
876
Mighty vibrations, and the silence break
Between the neighbouring worlds, and lift the veil
'Twixt life on earth, and life Beyond. All hail
To great Jehovah, Who has given life
Eternal, everlasting, after strife!
Veils, long black veils, you shall be bridal white.
Eyes, blind with tears, you shall receive your sight,
And see your dead alive in Worlds of Light.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
934:As she left the wagons far behind, she felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Moonlight bathed the flats. Loretta turned in a slow circle but saw no one. If Hunter was out here, why didn’t he show himself?
The call of the coyote trailed skyward again. Loretta whirled toward the sound and ran toward the rise. As she crested the slope, Hunter loomed up out of the shadows, tall and dark, his hair drifting in the wind. His upper chest and shoulder were crisscrossed with torn strips of cloth. Calico and muslin.
Slowing her footsteps, she walked toward him a ways, then stopped. Did he even want her as his woman now? So much had happened since they last saw each other. So much pain and grief. His face was in shadow, so she could read nothing in his expression.
When Loretta drew to a halt several feet away from him, Hunter’s heart skipped a beat, then started racing. Peering at her through the silvery darkness, he saw a tosi woman in tosi clothing, her pale skin and golden hair illuminated by the light of the Comanche moon. Just as the prophecy had foretold, they stood on a high place, she on the land of the tosi tivo, while he, Comanche to his bones, stood on the land of the People. A great distance divided them, a distance much harder to bridge than the few feet between them.
Hunter ached with things he longed to say, but none of them seemed enough. He realized then that the great canyon filled with blood wasn’t a chasm in the earth but one in their hearts. There was an ache in Loretta’s eyes that cut clear through him. He knew the same ache was in his own. His father, Maiden of the Tall Grass, her parents. So many were lost to them.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Hunter was weak from loss of blood. His shoulder felt as if it had a red-hot coal buried in it. “I am well. You came, yes? There is much we must talk about. ~ Catherine Anderson,
935:I think, in the end, we have to say that there should be no discussion of Martin Luther King Jr. without Ella Baker, which is to say they are complementary. These two figures, voices, tendencies in the Black freedom movement, and particularly in the human freedom movement in general, they say something to young people these days in the age of Obama. See, Obama ends up being the worst example of messianic leadership, captured by a vicious system that is oligarchic domestically and imperialistic globally and uses the resonances of this precious freedom struggle as a way of legitimating himself in the eyes of both the Black people and the mainstream Americans, and acting as if as community organizer he has some connection to Ella Baker, which is absurd and ludicrous in light of him running the oligarchic system and being so proud of heading the killing machine of US imperial powers. So that when young people - who now find themselves in an even more desperate situation given the present crisis - think about the legacy of Martin King and legacy of Ella Baker in the age of Obama, it compounds the misunderstandings and misconstructions, and sabotages the intellectual clarity and political will necessary to create the kind of change we need. To use jazz metaphors, what we need would be the expression and articulation of different tempos and different vibrations and different actions and different witnesses, so it's antiphonal; it's call-and-response, and in the call-and-response, there are Ella Baker-like voices tied to various kinds of deep democratic witnesses that have to do with everyday people organizing themselves. And then you've got the Martin-like voices that are charismatic, which are very much tied to a certain kind of messianic leadership, which must be called into question, which must be democratized, which must be de-patriarchalized. And yet they are part of this jazz combo. ~ Cornel West,
936:To Sweden
Lift thou thine ancient yellow-blue!
Aloft the front must show it.
The German's slow to take the cue,
But seeing that he'll know it.
He'll know that greater danger's near
Than ink on Bismarck's trousers;
That it will cost him doubly dear,
Men, horses, bovine browsers;
That ten years' nonsense now is done,
The daily quarrel dirty
Will soon become a war with one
Who held his own for thirty;
The Northland's stubborn folk allied
Their forces are uniting,
With glorious memories to guide,
The Northern heavens lighting;
That great Gustavus once again
To battle glad is riding,
But now
against
the Southern men
With
Christian Fourth is siding,With Haakon Earl the times of old
Round Palnatoki gather;
Near Charles the Twelfth stands Tordenskjold,
Placid, and smiling rather,That we, who have so well known how
To fight against each other,
Shall not exactly scorn earn now,
When brother stands with brother.
210
But forward
thou
the way must lead
With stirring drum-beats' rattle,
Thy marching-step we all must heed,
Thou 'rt known on fields of battle.
That ancient Swedish melody,
Renowned in world-wide glory,
Not merely for the heart's deep plea
In Jenny's travel-story,But for the solemn earnestness
To Lützen's battle calling,
And for the daring strains no less,
That rang at Narwa's falling,The song thou sang'st the North t' inspire
With virtue and with power,
The three must with united choir
Lift up this very hour!
It now must bear aloft a hymn,
The call of God proclaiming;
Pictures of blood its lines shall limn,
Drawn bold in letters flaming,Its name shall be: 'The Free North's Hymn!'
Of all the hymns thou voicest,
Whose glory time shall never dim,
It shall be first and choicest.
~ Bjornstjerne Bjornson,
937:Care-Free Youth
The skies are blue and the sun is out
and the grass is green and soft
And the old charm's back in the apple tree
and it calls a boy aloft;
And the same low voice that the old don't hear,
but the care-free youngsters do,
Is calling them to the fields and streams
and the joys that once I knew.
And if youth be wild desire for play
and care is the mark of men,
Beneath the skin that Time has tanned
I'm a madcap youngster then.
Far richer than king with his crown of gold
and his heavy weight of care
Is the sunburned boy with his stone-bruised feet
and his tousled shock of hair;
For the king can hear but the cry of hate
or the sickly sound of praise,
And lost to him are the voices sweet
that called in his boyhood days.
Far better than ruler, with pomp and power
and riches, is it to be
The urchin gay in his tattered clothes
that is climbing the apple tree.
Oh, once I heard all the calls that come
to the quick, glad ears of boys,
And a certain spot on the river bank
told me of its many joys,
And certain fields and certain trees
were loyal friends to me,
And I knew the birds, and I owned a dog,
and we both could hear and see.
Oh, never from tongues of men have dropped
such messages wholly glad
As the things that live in the great outdoors
once told to a little lad.
170
And I'm sorry for him who cannot hear
what the tall trees have to say,
Who is deaf to the call of a running stream
and the lanes that lead to play.
The boy that shins up the faithful elm
or sprawls on a river bank
Is more richly blessed with the joys of life
than any old man of rank.
For youth is the golden time of life,
and this battered old heart of mine
Beats fast to the march of its old-time joys,
when the sun begins to shine.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
938:The fundamentalist (or, more accurately, the beleaguered individual who comes to embrace fundamentalism) cannot stand freedom. He cannot find his way into the future, so he retreats to the past. He returns in imagination to the glory days of his race and seeks to reconstitute both them and himself in their purer, more virtuous light. He gets back to basics. To fundamentals. Fundamentalism and art are mutually exclusive. There is no such thing as fundamentalist art. This does not mean that the fundamentalist is not creative. Rather, his creativity is inverted. He creates destruction. Even the structures he builds, his schools and networks of organization, are dedicated to annihilation, of his enemies and of himself. But the fundamentalist reserves his greatest creativity for the fashioning of Satan, the image of his foe, in opposition to which he defines and gives meaning to his own life. Like the artist, the fundamentalist experiences Resistance. He experiences it as temptation to sin. Resistance to the fundamentalist is the call of the Evil One, seeking to seduce him from his virtue. The fundamentalist is consumed with Satan, whom he loves as he loves death. Is it coincidence that the suicide bombers of the World Trade Center frequented strip clubs during their training, or that they conceived of their reward as a squadron of virgin brides and the license to ravish them in the fleshpots of heaven? The fundamentalist hates and fears women because he sees them as vessels of Satan, temptresses like Delilah who seduced Samson from his power. To combat the call of sin, i.e., Resistance, the fundamentalist plunges either into action or into the study of sacred texts. He loses himself in these, much as the artist does in the process of creation. The difference is that while the one looks forward, hoping to create a better world, the other looks backward, seeking to return to a purer world from which he and all have fallen. ~ Steven Pressfield,
939:Why were so few voices raised in the ancient world in protest against the ruthlessness of man? Why are human beings so obsequious, ready to kill and ready to die at the call of kings and chieftains? Perhaps it is because they worship might, venerate those who command might, and are convinced that it is by force that man prevails. The splendor and the pride of kings blind the people. The Mesopotamian, for example, felt convinced that authorities were always right: "The command of the palace, like the command of Anu, cannot be altered. The king's word is right; his utterance, like that of a god, cannot be changed!" The prophets repudiated the work as well as the power of man as an object of supreme adoration. They denounced "arrogant boasting" and "haughty pride" (Isa. 10:12), the kings who ruled the nations in anger, the oppressors (Isa. 14:4-6), the destroyers of nations, who went forth to inflict waste, ruin, and death (Jer. 4:7), the "guilty men, whose own might is their god" (Hab. 1: 11).

Their course is evil,
Their might is not right.
Jeremiah 23:10


The end of public authority is to realize the moral law, a task for which both knowledge and understanding as well as the possession of power are indispensable means. Yet inherent in power is the tendency to breed conceit. " . . . one of the most striking and one of the most pervasive features of the prophetic polemic [is] the denunciation and distrust of power in all its forms and guises. The hunger of the powerfit! knows no satiety; the appetite grows on what it feeds. Power exalts itself and is incapable of yielding to any transcendent judgment; it 'listens to no voice' (Zeph. 3:2) ." It is the bitter irony of history that the common people, who are devoid of power and are the prospective victims of its abuse, are the first to become the ally of him who accumulates power. Power is spectacular, while its end, the moral law, is inconspicuous. ~ Abraham Joshua Heschel,
940:My anxieties as to behavior are futile, ever more so, to infinity. If the other, incidentally or negligently, gives the telephone number of a place where he or she can be reached at certain times, I immediately grow baffled: should I telephone or shouldn't I? (It would do no good to tell me that I can telephone - that is the objective, reasonable meaning of the message - for it is precisely this permission I don't know how to handle.) What is futile is what apparently has and will have no consequence. But for me, an amorous subject, everything which is new, everything which disturbs, is received not as a fact but in the aspect of a sign which must be interpreted. From the lover's point of view, the fact becomes consequential because it is immediately transformed into a sign: it is the sign, not the fact, which is consequential (by its aura). If the other has given me this new telephone number, what was that the sign of? Was it an invitation to telephone right away, for the pleasure of the call, or only should the occasion arise, out of necessity? My answer itself will be a sign, which the other will inevitably interpret, thereby releasing, between us, a tumultuous maneuvering of images. Everything signifies: by this proposition, I entrap myself, I bind myself in calculations, I keep myself from enjoyment.
Sometimes, by dint of deliberating about "nothing" (as the world sees it), I exhaust myself; then I try, in reaction, to return -- like a drowning man who stamps on the floor of the sea -- to a spontaneous decision (spontaneity: the great dream: paradise, power, delight): go on, telephone, since you want to! But such recourse is futile: amorous time does not permit the subject to align impulse and action, to make them coincide: I am not the man of mere "acting out" -- my madness is tempered, it is not seen; it is right away that I fear consequences, any consequence: it is my fear -- my deliberation -- which is "spontaneous. ~ Roland Barthes,
941:It’s not how much money you have that matters, it’s what you do with it. That’s how to become really rich.

Let me give you an example of someone who is ridiculously rich, in every sense of the word. Let me introduce you to Dave.

This is how Dave works: whenever he comes across great, everyday people, whoever they are - whether it’s a shy 17-year-old just leaving school with a longing to visit his absent father who now lives in Canada; or a plumber who has worked beyond the call of duty, been respectful and diligent, but who rarely gets to see his kids as he works so hard; or a single mother, a friend of a friend, who is struggling to balance a million things and multiple jobs and wishes she could treat her kids to something nice - Dave steps in. A bit like Superman!

You see, Dave has worked hard in his life, and been rewarded with great wealth, but through it all he has learnt something far greater: that great wealth doesn’t make you rich unless you do great things with it.

So Dave will secretly help people out in some special way. Maybe he pays for the young man’s plane fare to Canada to see his dad, or for the plumber to take his family on holiday, or the single mum to get a car. Anything that is beyond the norm, out of the ordinary - he does it. And you know what? It blows people away!

Not only does Dave have the most loyal army of everyday people who would go to the ends of the Earth for him (and it is not because of the money he gave them, by the way, it is because he did something so far beyond the norm for them), but Dave is also the happiest man I have ever met.

Why?

Because it is impossible to live like this and not be ridiculously happy!

It is in the giving that a person becomes rich. And that can start today, whatever point we are along the road of our goals.

So don’t waste a chance to get rich quick by getting busy giving.

Then stand back and watch the happiness unfold… ~ Bear Grylls,
942:You have to make the call you’re afraid to make.
You have to get up earlier than you want to get up.
You have to give more than you get in return right away.
You have to care more about others than they care about you.
You have to fight when you are already injured, bloody, and sore.
You have to feel unsure and insecure when playing it safe seems smarter.
You have to lead when no one else is following you yet.
You have to invest in yourself even though no one else is.
You have to look like a fool while you’re looking for answers you don’t have.
You have to grind out the details when it’s easier to shrug them off.
You have to deliver results when making excuses is an option.
You have to search for your own explanations even when you’re told to accept the “facts”.
You have to make mistakes and look like an idiot.
You have try and fail and try again.
You have to run faster even though you’re out of breath.
You have to be kind to people who have been cruel to you.
You have to meet deadlines that are unreasonable and deliver results that are unparalleled.
You have to be accountable for your actions even when things go wrong.
You have to keep moving towards where you want to be no matter what’s in front of you.
You have to do the hard things.
The things that no one else is doing. The things that scare you. The things that make you wonder how much longer you can hold on.
Those are the things that define you. Those are the things that make the difference between living a life of mediocrity or outrageous success.
The hard things are the easiest things to avoid. To excuse away. To pretend like they don’t apply to you.
The simple truth about how ordinary people accomplish outrageous feats of success is that they do the hard things that smarter, wealthier, more qualified people don’t have the courage — or desperation — to do.
Do the hard things. You might be surprised at how amazing you really are ~ Anonymous,
943:Exceed expectations

Jesus said, “Do more than is expected; carry it two miles.” That’s the attitude you need to have: “I’m not doing just what I have to. I’m not doing the minimum amount to keep my job. I’m a person of excellence. I go above and beyond what’s asked of me. I do more than is expected.” This means if you’re supposed to be at work at 8 a.m., you show up ten minutes early.
You produce more than you have to. You stay ten minutes late. You don’t start shutting down thirty minutes before closing. You put in a full day. Many people show up to work fifteen minutes late. They get some coffee, wander around the office, and finally sit down to work a half hour late. They’ll waste another half hour making personal phone calls and surfing the Internet. Then they wonder why they aren’t promoted. It’s because God doesn’t reward sloppiness. God rewards excellence.
In the Old Testament, Abraham sent his servant to a foreign country to find a wife for his son, Isaac. Abraham told the servant that he would know he’d found the right lady if she offered a drink to both him and his camels. The servant reached the city around sunset. A beautiful young lady named Rebekah came out to the well. The servant said, “I’m so thirsty. Would you mind lowering your bucket and getting me a drink?”
She said, “Not only that, let me get some water for your camels as well.”
Here’s what’s interesting: After a long day’s walk, a camel can drink thirty gallons of water. This servant had ten camels with him. Think about what Rebekah did. If she had a one-gallon bucket of water, she said, in effect, “Yes I’ll not only do what you asked and give you a drink, but I’ll also dip down in this well three hundred more times and give your ten camels a drink.”
Rebekah went way beyond the call of duty. As a result, she was chosen to marry Isaac, who came from the wealthiest family of that time. I doubt that she ever again had to draw three hundred gallons of water. ~ Joel Osteen,
944:During my time in India, the commitment level of the believers there shocked me. I visited thousands of Christians who had been beaten or watched relatives murdered for their faith. At one point, I said to one of the leaders, “Every believer seems so serious about his or her commitment to Christ. Aren’t there people who just profess Christ but don’t really follow Him?” He answered by explaining that nominal Christianity doesn’t make sense in India. Calling yourself a Christian means you lose everything. Your family and friends reject you, and you lose your home, status, and job. So why would anyone choose that unless he or she is serious about Jesus? I witnessed that same passion during my time in mainland China. The highlight was attending a meeting with underground church members training to become missionaries. The way they prayed and gave testimony about being persecuted was convicting and encouraging. The most surprising part of our time together was when they asked me about church in America. They laughed hysterically when I told them that church for Americans tends to focus on buildings and that people will sometimes switch churches based on music, child care, preaching, or disagreements with other believers. I honestly was not trying to be funny. They laughed in disbelief at our church experiences, thinking it was ridiculous that we would call this Christianity. Keep in mind that the population of China is over 1.3 billion, and in India it’s over 1.2 billion. Meanwhile, there are around 300 million people in the United States. This means that we are a small minority. Our views of “Christianity” are peculiar to the vast majority of the world. I used to think of those “radical believers” overseas as the strange ones. Some simple math revealed to me that in actuality we are the weird ones. The majority of believers on this earth find it laughable that we could reduce the call to follow Jesus and make disciples to an invitation to sit in church service. ~ Francis Chan,
945:Jesus is the true and better Adam, who passed the test in the garden and whose obedience is imputed to us (1 Corinthians 15). Jesus is the true and better Abel, who, though innocently slain, has blood that cries out for our acquittal, not our condemnation (Hebrews 12:24). Jesus is the true and better Abraham, who answered the call of God to leave the comfortable and familiar and go out into the void “not knowing whither he went” to create a new people of God. Jesus is the true and better Isaac, who was not just offered up by his father on the mount but was truly sacrificed for us all. God said to Abraham, “Now I know you love me, because you did not withhold your son, your only son whom you love, from me.” Now we can say to God, “Now we know that you love us, because you did not withhold your son, your only son whom you love, from us.” Jesus is the true and better Jacob, who wrestled with God and took the blow of justice we deserved so that we, like Jacob, receive only the wounds of grace to wake us up and discipline us. Jesus is the true and better Joseph, who at the right hand of the King forgives those who betrayed and sold him and uses his new power to save them. Jesus is the true and better Moses, who stands in the gap between the people and the Lord and who mediates a new covenant (Hebrews 3). Jesus is the true and better rock of Moses, who, struck with the rod of God’s justice, now gives us water in the desert. Jesus is the true and better Job—the truly innocent sufferer—who then intercedes for and saves his stupid friends (Job 42). Jesus is the true and better David, whose victory becomes his people’s victory, though they never lifted a stone to accomplish it themselves. Jesus is the true and better Esther, who didn’t just risk losing an earthly palace but lost the ultimate heavenly one, who didn’t just risk his life but gave his life—to save his people. Jesus is the true and better Jonah, who was cast out into the storm so we could be brought in. ~ Timothy J Keller,
946:Well,all she had to do was ask," one offended male replied.
"I hope you're satisfied!" Lauren whispered furiously.
"I'm not," Nick chuckled in her ear. "But I'm going to be."
Fully intending to leave him to take his own notes, Lauren slammed her notebook closed and tried to shove her chair back. Nick's body blocked the chair. She twisted her head around to say something scathing, and his lips captured hers in a kiss that forced her head against the back of the chair, tripled her pulse rate and robbed her of thought. When he took his mouth away, she was too shaken to do anything except stare at him.
"What do you think,Nick?" a voice asked over the speaker.
"I think it gets better every time," he answered huskily.
When the call was finally over, Nick pressed a button on the desk, and Lauren saw the door leading into Mary's office swing shut electronically. He grasped her arms and drew her out of the chair, turning her toward him. His mouth came closer to hers,and Lauren felt herself being helplessly drawn into his magnetic spell. "Don't!" she pleaded. "Please don't do this to me."
His hands tightened on her arms. "Why can't you just admit you want me and enjoy the consequences?"
"All right," she said wretchedly, "You win. I want you...I admit it." She saw the gleam of triumph in his eyes, and her chin lifted. "When I was eight years old, I also wanted a monkey I saw in a pet store."
The triumph faded. "And?" he sighed irritably,letting go of her.
"And unfortunately I got him," Lauren said. "Daisy bit me,and I had to have twelve stitches in my leg."
Nick looked as if he was torn between laughter and anger. "I imagine he bit you for naming him Daisy."
Lauren ignored his mockery. "And when I was thirteen, I wanted sisters and brothers. My father obliged me by remarrying, and I got a stepsister who stole my clothes and my boyfriends, and a stepbrother who stole my allowances."
"What the hell does that have to do with us?"
"Everything! ~ Judith McNaught,
947:I’M SORRY

I am developing a new board game. It’s called “I’m Sorry.” It’s also a form of “Self-Help Psychological Therapy!”

You take turns moving around the board like Monopoly. But if you land on a Yellow or Green “I’m Sorry Space”… you have to make a Phone call. Both green and yellow cards are labeled- the same with things like: Your Ex, Parental figure, friend, co-worker, boss, children, etc. You get the point…

If you land on the yellow space, the game stops, everyone gets quiet and you have to call that person up – on speakerphone. You apologize for something you’ve done in your past. Come on you know you are not perfect and you probably screwed up, hurt or disappointed everyone in your past at one time or another. So you call and you apologize. You explain what you did to them wrong if they forgive you, you move forward 10 places and everyone cheers! No forgiveness back- you move back to the beginning.

If you land on the green space- it’s similar. But you call the person up and you try to explain to them how, in someway, they hurt you in the past. If they apologize… cheers and you move forward 10 spaces. No apology… move backward ten spaces. They curse at you- game over.

In the original packaging of the yellow and green cards, are mixed in a set of “I’m Sorry Cards.” If you are lucky enough to get to pick up an “I’m Sorry Card,” it’s like a Get Out of Jail Free Card, and you don’t have to make the call.

The only catch is that the cards come hermetically sealed. After opening up the package, and the cards are exposed to air, all of the “I’m Sorry Cards,” magically turn into “Deal With it Cards!” And so, you really never get a free ride. In reality, every time you pick up a yellow or green card, you have to- Deal with It!

Of course you can always order a new factory set of sealed of “I’m Sorry Cards.” But they only last about 30 minutes and are very expensive, so you’ll have to play fast. Cute Game? Hey, don’t steal my idea!!! ~ Jos N Harris,
948:Another time, while on patrol with a small four-man team from my SAS squadron, out in the deserts of North Africa, we were waiting for a delayed helicopter pick-up. A 48-hour delay when you are almost out of water, in the roasting desert, can be life-threatening. We were all severely dehydrated and getting weaker fast.

Every hour we would sip another small capful from the one remaining water bottle we each carried. Rationed carefully, methodically. To make matters worse, I had diarrhea, which was causing me to dehydrate even faster.

We finally got the call-up that our extraction would be at dawn the next day, some 20 miles away. We saddled up during the night and started to move across the desert, weighed down by kit and fatigue. I was soon struggling. Every footstep was a monumental effort of will as we shuffled across the mountains.

My sergeant, an incredible bear of a man called Chris Carter (who was tragically killed in Afghanistan; a hero to all who had served with him), could see this. He stopped the patrol, came to me, and insisted I drink the last remaining capful from his own bottle. No fuss, no show, he just made me drink it.

It was the kindness, not the actual water itself, that gave me the strength to keep going when I had nothing left inside me. Kindness inspires us, it motivates us, and creates a strong, tight team: honest, supporting, empowering.

No ego. No bravado or show. Simple goodness.

It is the very heart of a great man, and I have never forgotten that single act that night in the desert.

The thing about kindness is that it costs the giver very little but can mean the world to the receiver.

So don’t underestimate the power you have to change lives and encourage others to be better. It doesn’t take much but it requires us to value kindness as a quality to aspire to above almost everything else.

You want to be a great adventurer and expedition member in life and in the mountains? It is simple: be kind. ~ Bear Grylls,
949:For My Lover, Returning To His Wife
She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.
She has always been there, my darling.
She is, in fact, exquisite.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February
and as real as a cast-iron pot.
Let's face it, I have been momentary.
vA luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.
She is more than that. She is your have to have,
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy,
has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast,
sat by the potter's wheel at midday,
set forth three children under the moon,
three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo,
done this with her legs spread out
in the terrible months in the chapel.
If you glance up, the children are there
like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling.
She has also carried each one down the hall
after supper, their heads privately bent,
two legs protesting, person to person,
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep.
I give you back your heart.
I give you permission for the fuse inside her, throbbing
angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her
and the burying of her wound for the burying of her small red wound alive for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother's knee, for the stocking,
for the garter belt, for the call the curious call
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when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.
She is so naked and singular
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.
~ Anne Sexton,
950:All about her she saw that two thousand out of the horde had made it across the water. They were on the frontier of Eden. A mere two thousand combatants for the invasion of an impregnable fortress. Five out of six Nephilim had perished at the mercy of Rahab and her brood of Leviathan and the tentacled one. The devastation was inestimable. It could lose her the war. Still, she had two thousand warriors with her. They were on the shores of the entrance to the Garden that hid the Tree of Life deep in its midst. Thanks to the Cursed One, she knew exactly where that tree was. She looked for her Rephaim generals but could not find them. They had all been lost to the denizens of the deep. An earthquake rocked the land. It was deep, the precursor of something much bigger. “Now what?” Inanna complained. She looked onto the horizon of her destination. Black smoke billowing out of the mountaintops of not only Mount Sahand, but the more distant northern Mount Savalan. The earth rumbled again. She realized she did not have much time. She signaled for her Anzu bird, and called out to Utu, flying above them at a safe height. “SOUND THE CRY OF WAR!” she bellowed. Utu put the trumpet to his lips and blew with all his might. The war cry of Inanna echoed throughout the land. Her Nephilim gathered their arms and dashed toward the heart of Eden. Inanna mounted her thunderbird. She glanced out at the Lake. Rahab glided on the surface, its eyes watching her. It would not forget this day, nor the Watcher, who for one moment bested the sea dragon of the Abyss.               • • • • • At the top of the Mount Sahand ridge, six thousand Nephilim prepared their sail-chutes. They waited for the call of war. When it came, they jumped off the cliff edge by the dozens. They opened up their sails to float down into the Garden. Handfuls of them failed and Nephilim plummeted to their deaths a thousand feet below. But most of them worked. The Nephilim drifted from the heavens into the pristine paradise. Right into the flaming whirling swords of the Cherubim. ~ Brian Godawa,
951:Hay And Hell And Booligal
"You come and see me, boys," he said;
"You'll find a welcome and a bed
And whisky any time you call;
Although our township hasn't got
The name of quite a lively spot -You see, I live in Booligal.
"And people have an awful down
Upon the district and the town -Which worse than hell itself the call;
In fact, the saying far and wide
Along the Riverina side
Is 'Hay and Hell and Booligal'.
"No doubt it suits 'em very well
To say its worse than Hay or Hell,
But don't you heed their talk at all;
Of course, there's heat -- no one denies -And sand and dust and stacks of flies,
And rabbits, too, at Booligal.
"But such a pleasant, quiet place -You never see a stranger's face;
They hardly ever care to call;
The drovers mostly pass it by -They reckon that they'd rather die
Than spend the night in Booligal.
"The big mosquitoes frighten some -You'll lie awake to hear 'em hum -And snakes about the township crawl;
But shearers, when they get their cheque,
They never come along and wreck
The blessed town of Booligal.
"But down to Hay the shearers come
And fill themselves with fighting-rum,
And chase blue devils up the wall,
And fight the snaggers every day,
Until there is the deuce to pay --
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There's none of that in Booligal.
"Of course, there isn't much to see -The billiard-table used to be
The great attraction for us all,
Until some careless, drunken curs
Got sleeping on it in their spurs,
And ruined it, in Booligal.
"Just now there is a howling drought
That pretty near has starved us out -It never seems to rain at all;
But, if there should come any rain,
You couldn't cross the black-soil plain -You'd have to stop in Booligal."
"We'd have to stop!" With bated breath
We prayed that both in life and death
Our fate in other lines might fall;
"Oh, send us to our just reward
In Hay or Hell, but, gracious Lord,
Deliver us from Booligal!"
~ Banjo Paterson,
952:Tristan’s Mom: What are these?
Tristan: Your granddaughters.
Tristan’s Dad: Don’t worry honey, you don’t look old enough to be a mother let alone a
grandmother.
Tristan’s Mom: Again with the flattery, thank you dear. Where did they come from?
Tristan: Camie gave birth last night.
Jeff: I didn’t know she was pregnant.
Tristan: She wasn’t. It was a miracle.
Tristan’s Mom: Do they have names?
Tristan: Phineas and Ferb.
Jeff: From the cartoon?
Tristan’s Dad: That figures, he named the dog Scooby.
Tristan’s Mom: They sound like boy names.
Tristan: Mom! Shhh, you’ll give them a complex.
Jeff: If that Ferb one climbs my legs again I’m drop kicking it.
Tristan: That’s child abuse and I’ll press charges. Besides, they just miss their mom.
Jeff: I’m calling CPS (cat protective services)…
Tristan: What for?
Jeff: Because you’re making your kids live in a broken home unnecessarily.
Tristan: I’m not talking to you anymore.
Jeff: Fine, as long as you to talk to her.
Tristan: Back off.
Jeff: Nope, not gonna do it.
Tristan: I’m warning you man.
Jeff: You miss her too.
Tristan: Yeah, so?
Jeff: So do something about it.
Tristan: Happy? Last night was miserable and I think it’s too late.
Jeff: You still have a 12 year old ace in the hole.
Tristan: Saving it as a last resort.
Tristan’s Dad: Honey, do you have a clue as to what they’re talking about?
Tristan’s Mom: No and I don’t want one.
Jeff: I’m just helping my nieces get their parents back together. Dude, it’s time. Make the call.
Tristan: Alright, I did it. But I get the feeling I’m about to do business with the mob. I hope I don’t
wake up with the head of my horse in bed with me tonight.
Jeff: Well, a good father will do anything he can to protect his family, even if that means he runs
the risk of sleeping with the fishes.
Tristan: Okay girls, your aunt helped Daddy come up with a plan and if it works you should get to
see Mommy today. Cross your paws, or claws, or whatever…just cross something for luck. ~ Jenn Cooksey,
953:In many cases we can do this and avoid the exponential blowup. Suppose you’re leading a platoon in single file through enemy territory in the dead of night, and you want to make sure that all your soldiers are still with you. You could stop and count them yourself, but that wastes too much time. A cleverer solution is to just ask the first soldier behind you: “How many soldiers are behind you?” Each soldier asks the next the same question, until the last one says “None.” The next-to-last soldier can now say “One,” and so on all the way back to the first soldier, with each soldier adding one to the number of soldiers behind him. Now you know how many soldiers are still with you, and you didn’t even have to stop. Siri uses the same idea to compute the probability that you just said, “Call the police” from the sounds it picked up from the microphone. Think of “Call the police” as a platoon of words marching across the page in single file. Police wants to know its probability, but for that it needs to know the probability of the; and the in turn needs to know the probability of call. So call computes its probability and passes it on to the, which does the same and passes the result to police. Now police knows its probability, duly influenced by every word in the sentence, but we never had to construct the full table of eight possibilities (the first word is call or isn’t, the second is the or isn’t, and the third is police or isn’t). In reality, Siri considers all words that could appear in each position, not just whether the first word is call or not and so on, but the algorithm is the same. Perhaps Siri thinks, based on the sounds, that the first word was either call or tell, the second was the or her, and the third was police or please. Individually, perhaps the most likely words are call, the, and please. But that forms the nonsensical sentence “Call the please,” so taking the other words into account, Siri concludes that the sentence is really “Call the police.” It makes the call, and with luck the police get to your house in time to catch the burglar. ~ Pedro Domingos,
954:The Croft
East Dene, Sussex


August 11th, 1922


My dear Watson,

I have taken our discussion of this afternoon to heart, considered it carefully, and am prepared to modify my previous opinions.
I am amenable to your publishing your account of the incidents of 1903, specifically of the final case before my retirement, under the following conditions.
In addition to the usual changes that you would make to disguise actual people and places, I would suggest that you replace the entire scenario we encountered (I speak of Professor Presbury's garden. I shall not write of it further here) with monkey glands, or a similar extract from the testes of an ape or lemur, sent by some foreign mystery-man. Perhaps the monkey-extract could have the effect of making Professor Presbury move like an ape - he could be some kind of "creeping man," perhaps? - or possibly make him able to clamber up the sides of buildings and up trees. I would suggest that he grow a tail, but this might be too fanciful even for you, Watson, although no more fanciful than many of the rococo additions you have made in your histories to otherwise humdrum events in my life and work.
In addition, I have written the following speech, to be delivered by myself, at the end of your narrative. Please make certain that something much like this is there, in which I inveigh against living too long, and the foolish urges that push foolish people to do foolish things to prolong their foolish lives:

There is a very real danger to humanity, if one could live for ever, if youth were simply there for the taking, that the material, the sensual, the worldly would all prolong their worthless lives. The spiritual would not avoid the call to something higher. It would be the survival of the least fit. What sort of cesspool may not our pool world become?

Something along those lines, I fancy, would set my mind at rest. Let me see the finished article, please, before you submit it to be published.
I remain, old friend, your most obedient servant

Sherlock Holmes ~ Neil Gaiman,
955:Cheap grace means grace sold on the market like cheapjacks' wares. The sacraments, the forgiveness of sin, and the consolations of religion are thrown away at cut prices. Grace is represented as the Church's inexhaustible treasury, from which she showers blessings with generous hands, without asking questions or fixing limits. Grace without price; grace without cost! The essence of grace, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for nothing. Since the cost was infinite, the possibilities of using and spending it are infinite. What would grace be if it were not cheap?...

Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.

Costly grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will go and sell all that he has. It is the pearl of great price to buy which the merchant will sell all his goods. It is the kingly rule of Christ, for whose sake a man will pluck out the eye which causes him to stumble; it is the call of Jesus Christ at which the disciple leaves his nets and follows him.

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock.

Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. It is costly because it condemns sin, and grace because it justifies the sinner. Above all, it is costly because it cost God the life of his Son: "ye were bought at a price," and what has cost God much cannot be cheap for us. Above all, it is grace because God did not reckon his Son too dear a price to pay for our life, but delivered him up for us. Costly grace is the Incarnation of God. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
956:Four Of A Kind
ROBERT F. MORROW
Dear man! although a stranger and a foe
To soft affection's humanizing glow;
Although untaught how manly hearts may throb
With more desires than the desire to rob;
Although as void of tenderness as wit,
And owning nothing soft but Maurice Schmitt;
Although polluted, shunned and in disgrace,
You fill me with a passion to embrace!
Attentive to your look, your smile, your beck,
I watch and wait to fall upon your neck.
Lord of my love, and idol of my hope,
You are my Valentine, and I'm
A ROPE.
ALFRED CLARKE JR.
Illustrious son of an illustrious sire
Entrusted with the duty to cry 'Fire!'
And call the engines out, exert your power
With care. When, looking from your lofty tower,
You see a ruddy light on every wall,
Pause for a moment ere you sound the call:
It may be from a fire, it may be, too,
From good men's blushes when they think of you.
JUDGE RUTLEDGE
Sultan of Stupids! with enough of brains
To go indoors in all uncommon rains,
But not enough to stay there when the storm
Is past. When all the world is dry and warm,
In irking comfort, lamentably gay,
Keeping the evil tenor of your way,
You walk abroad, sweet, beautiful and smug,
And Justice hears you with her wonted shrug,
279
Lifts her broad bandage half-an-inch and keeps
One eye upon you while the other weeps.
W.H.L. BARNES
Happy the man who sin's proverbial wage
Receives on the instalment plan-in age.
For him the bulldog pistol's honest bark
Has naught of terror in its blunt remark.
He looks with calmness on the gleaming steel
If e'er it touched his heart he did not feel:
Superior hardness turned its point away,
Though urged by fond affinity to stay;
His bloodless veins ignored the futile stroke,
And moral mildew kept the cut in cloak.
Happy the man, I say, to whom the wage
Of sin has been commuted into age.
Yet not _quite_ happy-hark, that horrid cry!
His cruel mirror wounds him in the eye!
~ Ambrose Bierce,
957:Then one night he brought home a beautiful red-haired woman and took her into our bed with me. She was a high-class call girl employed by the well-known Madame Claude. It never occurred to me to object. I took my cues from him and threw myself into the threesome with the skill and enthusiasm of the actress that I am. If this was what he wanted, this was what I would give him—in spades. As feminist poet Robin Morgan wrote in Saturday’s Child on the subject of threesomes, “If I was facing the avant-garde version of keeping up with the Joneses, by god I’d show ’em.” Sometimes there were three of us, sometimes more. Sometimes it was even I who did the soliciting. So adept was I at burying my real feelings and compartmentalizing myself that I eventually had myself convinced I enjoyed it. I’ll tell you what I did enjoy: the mornings after, when Vadim was gone and the woman and I would linger over our coffee and talk. For me it was a way to bring some humanity to the relationship, an antidote to objectification. I would ask her about herself, trying to understand her history and why she had agreed to share our bed (questions I never asked myself!) and, in the case of the call girls, what had brought her to make those choices. I was shocked by the cruelty and abuse many had suffered, saw how abuse had made them feel that sex was the only commodity they had to offer. But many were smart and could have succeeded in other careers. The hours spent with those women informed my later Oscar-winning performance of the call girl Bree Daniel in Klute. Many of those women have since died from drug overdose or suicide. A few went on to marry high-level corporate leaders; some married into nobility. One, who remains a friend, recently told me that Vadim was jealous of her friendship with me, that he had said to her once, “You think Jane’s smart, but she’s not, she’s dumb.” Vadim often felt a need to denigrate my intelligence, as if it would take up his space. I would think that a man would want people to know he was married to a smart woman—unless he was insecure about his own intelligence. Or unless he didn’t really love her. ~ Jane Fonda,
958:Miss Reeves…your grandmother led me to believe she and your grandfather would fully approve if I were to pay you court. Would you…? That is, I realize I am…apart from my family and our recent…” He huffed to a halt, and then he lifted his gaze to her face. Whatever he saw seemed to bolster him, though she thought she’d emptied her countenance of any telling expression. “Is your heart already set on Fairchild, or have I a chance at winning your affections?” Oh, how she wished he had phrased it in a more complicated fashion so that she could play her usual role and act the imbecile. But a question so direct could not be misinterpreted even by pseudo Winter. She cleared her throat. “If my grandparents sanction your court, then certainly I shall receive you when you call.” The set of his jaw looked at once amused and frustrated. “That is not what I asked.” Winter took a long moment to study his penetrating eyes, his pleasant face, the uncertainty in his posture. She took a moment to recall how endearing he was as he bumbled his way through all the balls they had both attended, how many smiles she had tamped down as he stuttered through each introduction to eligible females, yet spoke with eloquence to the gentlemen on topics of philosophy and science. Her heart seemed to twist within her. She could like this man, could enjoy his company, but she dared not. He knew nothing that would interest General Washington; she would be beyond useless if she attached herself to him. She would be no more, then, than another Loyalist daughter, seeking her own merriment above the call of freedom. That she could not do. She could not return to an existence without purpose. “Mr. Lane…” Her voice sounded uncertain to her own ears, so she paused for a slow breath. “I am surprised you would ask about my heart. Surely you have heard the rumor that I haven’t one.” He moved to her side and took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. All the while his gaze bore into her, measuring her. “I know you are not the empty vessel you pretend to be, Miss Reeves. With your leave, I intend to discover what lies beneath this lovely surface. ~ Roseanna M White,
959:Brother, you give me no credit. You think I took emergency leave to come up here and save your life without knowing anything? I called that bar—that sweet little bar you like so much? Where they haven’t seen you in a long time? I talked to Jack a while, got Walt Booth’s number and talked to him, too. Here’s what happened—Shelby went to Maui for a warm, sunny vacation before heading to San Francisco to get an apartment for school that’s not starting for months. She got out of town. Since we had this talk once already, I can guess why. You pushed her away. You wouldn’t tell her how you feel because you think it’s a mistake for her. And you’re still scared every woman you meet is going to do you dirty. You’re still making decisions for other people without getting their opinion. Now she thinks you don’t care about her and so she took you up on the challenge and she left. Got as far away as she could. And now you’re in the shitter!” Luke glared at Aiden for a moment before he said, “I’m going to fucking kill you.” Aiden sat back in the chair and grinned. He took a slug of his beer. “Oh yeah? And why is that?” “You called the general? About me?” “Yup. And the bartender. But I got the call from Sean who got the call from Mom and you should just be glad Paddy and Colin aren’t stateside or they’d be in it. Now, why don’t you just answer the fucking phone and tell people you’re busy and can’t talk? What the hell are you doing?” “Save my life?” Luke asked. “Emergency leave? Save my life? What the hell are you talking about?” Aiden sat forward and grew serious. “Look, we’ve been here before. We were all young, true, and the circumstances were entirely different, but try to imagine what it’s like to see your big brother—the guy you most admire in the world—hit the skids and just about sink out of sight. Scared the shit out of everyone. That’s not going to happen again. No one is going to let it happen again.” Luke took a breath. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Shelby was just following through with her plans. She wants to travel, go to school. I’m adjusting. Gimme a week. It’ll be fine.” Aiden stared at him for a second. “Aw, bullshit,” he said. Before ~ Robyn Carr,
960:Brother, you give me no credit. You think I took emergency leave to come up here and save your life without knowing anything? I called that bar—that sweet little bar you like so much? Where they haven’t seen you in a long time? I talked to Jack a while, got Walt Booth’s number and talked to him, too. Here’s what happened—Shelby went to Maui for a warm, sunny vacation before heading to San Francisco to get an apartment for school that’s not starting for months. She got out of town. Since we had this talk once already, I can guess why. You pushed her away. You wouldn’t tell her how you feel because you think it’s a mistake for her. And you’re still scared every woman you meet is going to do you dirty. You’re still making decisions for other people without getting their opinion. Now she thinks you don’t care about her and so she took you up on the challenge and she left. Got as far away as she could. And now you’re in the shitter!” Luke glared at Aiden for a moment before he said, “I’m going to fucking kill you.” Aiden sat back in the chair and grinned. He took a slug of his beer. “Oh yeah? And why is that?” “You called the general? About me?” “Yup. And the bartender. But I got the call from Sean who got the call from Mom and you should just be glad Paddy and Colin aren’t stateside or they��d be in it. Now, why don’t you just answer the fucking phone and tell people you’re busy and can’t talk? What the hell are you doing?” “Save my life?” Luke asked. “Emergency leave? Save my life? What the hell are you talking about?” Aiden sat forward and grew serious. “Look, we’ve been here before. We were all young, true, and the circumstances were entirely different, but try to imagine what it’s like to see your big brother—the guy you most admire in the world—hit the skids and just about sink out of sight. Scared the shit out of everyone. That’s not going to happen again. No one is going to let it happen again.” Luke took a breath. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Shelby was just following through with her plans. She wants to travel, go to school. I’m adjusting. Gimme a week. It’ll be fine.” Aiden stared at him for a second. “Aw, bullshit,” he said. Before ~ Robyn Carr,
961:To help them understand that they are not to blame for their deceptive brain messages, we taught Steve and Sarah about Free Won’t, a term popularized by the well-known neuroscientist Benjamin Libet. In a series of carefully executed scientific experiments completed in the 1980s, Libet studied how people decide whether and when to move their own bodies and what generated the initial desire to move. While the meaning of what he discovered is still the subject of passionate disagreement in academic circles, the bottom line for you is this: Your brain—not your mind—generates the initial desires, impulses, thoughts, and sensations, but you can veto almost any action before it starts. This means that while you are not responsible for the emergence of thoughts, desires, impulses, urges, or sensations, you are responsible for what you do with them once they arise. Libet himself interpreted his results in this way and emphasized that you have a choice in whether or not to respond when your brain puts out the call—this is the essence of Free Won’t. As he described it in one of his landmark papers:7 The role of conscious free will [aka Free Won’t] would be, then, not to initiate a voluntary act but rather to control whether the act takes place. We may view the unconscious initiatives for voluntary actions as “bubbling up” in the brain. The conscious will then selects which of these initiatives may go forward to an action and which ones to veto and abort, with no act appearing. In other words, what Libet was saying is that you really can’t decide or determine what will initially grab your attention—your brain does. However, his research also indicated that once your initial attention is grabbed, you can determine whether you keep your attention focused on that object (and act on it) or veto it based on the principle of Free Won’t. Free Won’t turns out to be of the utmost importance because it tells us that we have, in essence, the power to veto almost any action, even though the desire to perform that action is generated by brain mechanisms entirely outside of our conscious attention and awareness. How might that Free Won’t express itself? Through Veto Power. ~ Jeffrey M Schwartz,
962:38. No One Cares How Much You Know Until They Know How Much You Care

My SAS patrol sergeant Chris Carter was the living embodiment of this advice, and if you are ever in a position of leading a team or managing people, following his selfless example will help you become a better leader and enable your team to achieve more.

Can you imagine how I felt after Chris had let me drink his last drops of water? Gratitude doesn’t come close.

One of the regiment’s toughest, most hardened of soldiers was showing that he was looking out for me way beyond the call of duty. And once I had been shown how much he cared, I knew that, in return, I would never let him, or the regiment, down.

That simple act of kindness, of caring, is always at the heart of great brotherhoods. Call it what you will: camaraderie, shared purpose. The end product was that here was a man I would work my guts out for. And that made us all stronger.

Ditto, on a mountain: the most important bit of kit or resource on any expedition is always the human asset. When valued and empowered, humans have proved they can truly overcome the impossible and scale the unconquerable. But first we have to be valued and empowered.

The real value of a team is never in the flash hi-tech equipment or branded sponsors. It’s the people and the relationships between them.

As a leader, in whatever field, it is one thing for your team to see how much you know, but that knowledge isn’t what will make your team great. What makes the critical difference is how you use that knowledge.

Do you use it to empower and support those around you? Do you value others above yourself?

Is your ego small enough, and your backbone strong enough, to raise others up high on your shoulders?

If you let people know, through your words and actions, that they really matter, that their work matters, that their wellbeing matters to you, then they will go to the ends of the Earth for you. Why? Because they know they can trust you to use all your knowledge, skills and power to support and encourage them.

You see, no one cares how much you know until they know how much you care. ~ Bear Grylls,
963:When he can't take anymore, Galen plucks his phone from his pocket and dials, then hangs up. When the call is returned, he says, "Hey, sweet lips." The females at the table hush each other to get a better listen. A few of them whip their heads toward Emma to see if she's on the other end of the conversation. Satisfied she's not, they lean closer.
Rachel snorts. "If only you liked sweets."
"I can't wait to see you tonight. Wear that pink shirt I like."
Rachel laughs. "Sounds like you're in what we humans like to call a pickle. My poor, drop-dead-gorgeous sweet pea. Emma still not talking to you, leaving you alone with all those hormonal girls?"
"Eight-thirty? That's so far away. Can't I meet you sooner?"
One of the females actually gets up and takes her tray and her attitude to another table. Galen tries not to get too excited.
"Do you need to be checked out of school, son? Are you feeling ill?"
Galen tosses a glance at Emma, who's picking a pepperoni off her pizza and eyeing it as if it were dolphin dung. "I can't skip school to meet you again, boo. But I'll be thinking about you. No one but you."
A few more females get up and stalk their trays to the trash. The cheerleader in front of him rolls her eyes and starts a conversation with the chubby brunette beside her-the same chubby brunette she pushed into a locker to get to him two hours ago.
"Be still my heart," Rachel drawls. "But seriously, I can't read your signals. I don't know what you're asking me to do."
"Right now, nothing. But I might change my mind about skipping. I really miss you."
Rachel clears her throat. "All right, sweet pea. You just let your mama know, and she'll come get her wittle boy from school, okay?"
Galen hangs up. Why is Emma laughing again? Mark can't be that funny.
The girl beside him clues him in: "Mark Baker. All the girls love him. But not as much as they love you. Except maybe Emma, I guess."
"Speaking of all these girls, how did they get my phone number?"
She giggles. "It's written on the wall in the girls' bathroom. One hundred hall." She holds her cell phone up to his face. An image of his number scrawled onto a stall door lights up the screen. In Emma's handwriting. ~ Anna Banks,
964:- The Azan story -

The five daily ritual prayers were regularly performed in congregation, and when the time for each prayer came the people would assemble at the site where the Mosque was being built. Everyone judged of the time by the position of the sun in the sky, or by the first signs of its light on the eastern horizon or by the dimming of its glow in the west after sunset; but opinions could differ, and the Prophet felt the need for a means of summoning the people to prayer when the right time had come. At first he thought of appointing a man to blow a horn like that of the Jews, but later he decided on a wooden clapper, ndqiis, such as the Oriental Christians used at that time, and two pieces of wood were fashioned together for that purpose. But they were never destined to be used; for one night a man of Khazraj, 'Abd Allah ibn Zayd, who had been at the Second 'Aqabah, had a dream whieh the next day he recounted to the Prophet: "There passed by me a man wearing two green garments and he carried in his hand a ndqiis, so I said unto him: "0 slave of God, wilt thou sell me that naqusi" "What wilt thou do with it?" he said. "We will summon the people to prayer with it," I answered. "Shall I not show thee a better way?" he said. "What way is that?" I asked, and he answered: "That thou shouldst say: God is most Great, Alldhu Akbar." The man in green repeated this magnification four times, then each of the following twice: I testify that there is no god but God; I testify that Muhammad is the messenger of God; come unto the prayer; come unto salvation; God is most Great; and then once again there is no god but God.
The Prophet said that this was a true vision, and he told him to go to Bilal, who had an excellent voice, and teach him the words exactly as he had heard them in his sleep. The highest house in the neighbourhood of the Mosque belonged to a woman of the clan of Najjar, and Bilal would come there before every dawn and would sit on the roof waiting for the daybreak. When he saw the first faint light in the east he would stretch out his arms and say in supplication: "0 God I praise Thee, and I ask Thy Help for Quraysh, that they may accept Thy religion." Then he would stand and utter the call to prayer. ~ Martin Lings,
965:Picking oranges in Florida. Pushing a broom in New Orleans. Mucking out horse-stalls in Lufkin, Texas. Handing out real estate brochures on street corners in Phoenix, Arizona. Working jobs that pay cash.
...
The faces on the currency don't matter. What matters is the sight of a weathervane against a violent pink sunset, the sound of his heels on an empty road in Utah, the sound of the wind in the New Mexico desert, the sight of a child skipping rope beside a junked-out Chevrolet Caprice in Fossil, Oregon. What matters is the whine of the powerlines beside Highway 50 west of Elko, Nevada, and a dead crow in a ditch outside Rainbarrel Springs.

Sometimes he's sober and sometimes he gets drunk. Once he lays up in an abandoned shed-this is just over the California state line from Nevada-and drinks for four days straight. It ends with seven hours of off-and-on vomiting. For the first hour or so, the puking is so constant and so violent he is convinced it will kill him. Later on, he can only wish it would. And when it's over, he swears to himself that he's done, no more booze for him, he’s finally learned his lesson, and a week later lies drunk again and staring up at the strange stars behind the restaurant where he has hired on as a dishwasher. He is an animal in a trap and he doesn't care.
...
Sometimes he asks himself what he thinks he's doing, where the hell he's going, and such questions are apt to send him in search of the next bottle in a hurry. Because he's really not going anywhere. He's just following the highways in hiding and dragging his trap along behind him, he's just listening to the call of those roads and going from one to the next.
Trapped or not, sometimes he is happy; sometimes he sings in his chains like the sea. He wants to see the next weathervane standing against the next pink sunset. He wants to see the next silo crumbling at the end of some disappeared farmer's long-abandoned north field and see the next droning truck with TONOPAH GRAVEL or ASPLUNDH HEAVY CONSTRUCTION written on the side.
He's in hobo heaven, lost in the split personalities of America. He wants to hear the wind in canyons and know that he's the only one who hears it. He wants to scream and hear the echoes run away. ~ Stephen King,
966:With the veil removed by the rending of Jesus' flesh, with nothing on God's side to prevent us from entering, why do we tarry without? Why do we consent to abide all our days just outside the Holy of Holies and never enter at all to look upon God? We hear the Bridegroom say, `Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice and thy countenance is comely.' (Song of Sol 2:14) We sense that the call is for us, but still we fail to draw near, and the years pass and we grow old and tired in the outer courts of the tabernacle. What doth hinder us?

The answer usually given, simply that we are `cold,' will not explain all the facts. There is something more serious than coldness of heart, something that may be back of that coldness and be the cause of its existence. What is it? What but the presence of a veil in out hearts? A veil not taken away as the first veil was, but which remains there still shutting out the light and hiding the face of God from us. It is the veil of our fleshly fallen nature living on, unjudged within us, uncrucified and unrepudiated. It is the close- woven veil of the self-life which we have never truly acknowledged, of which we have been secretly ashamed, and which for these reasons we have never brought to the judgment of the cross. It is not too mysterious, this opaque veil, nor is it hard to identify. We have but to look in our own hearts and we shall see it there, sewn and patched and repaired it may be, but there nevertheless, an enemy to our lives and an effective block to our spiritual progress.

This veil is not a beautiful thing and it is not a thing about which we commonly care to talk, but I am addressing the thirsting souls who are determined to follow God, and I know they will not turn back because the way leads temporarily through the blackened hills. The urge of God within them will assure their continuing the pursuit. They will face the facts however unpleasant and endure the cross for the joy set before them. So I am bold to mane the threads out of which this inner veil is woven. It is woven of the fine threads of the self-life, the hyphenated sins of the human spirit. They are not something we do, they are something we are, and therein lies both their subtlety and their power. ~ A W Tozer,
967:Why is it that we say we see something distinctive in these lives and not, say, in a politician hoping for our vote, or a lawyer doing her job, or even a soldier risking his life for the sake of his country? Because the scientists and philosophers are to this extent right, that people generally act on the basis of rational self-interest. Consciously or otherwise, we seek to hand on our genes to the next generation. Individually and as groups, tribes, nations and civilisations, we are engaged in a Darwinian struggle to survive. All this we know, and though the terminology may change from age to age, people have known it for a very long time indeed. But here and there we see acts, personalities, lives, that seem to come from somewhere else, that breathe a larger air. They chime with the story we read in chapter 1, about a God who creates in love, who has faith in us, who summons us to greatness and forgives us when, as from time to time we must, we fall, the God whose creativity consists in self-effacement, in making space for the otherness that is us. This has nothing whatsoever to do with the physical laws, Darwinian or otherwise, governing biology, and everything to do with the making of meaning out of the communion of souls linked in loyalty and love. Stephen Jay Gould and Richard Lewontin see such flowerings of the spirit as ‘spandrels’, decorative motifs that have nothing to do with the weight-bearing architecture of life.15 Like most people, I see them as the redemption of life from mere existence to the fellowship of the divine. As Isaiah Berlin said, there are people tone deaf to the spirit. There is no reason to expect everyone to believe in God or the soul or the music of the universe as it sings the improbability of its existence. God is the distant voice we hear and seek to amplify in our systems of meaning, each particular to a culture, a civilisation, a faith. God is the One within the many; the unity at the core of our diversity; the call that leads us to journey beyond the self and its strivings, to enter into otherness and be enlarged by it, to seek to be a vehicle through which blessing flows outwards to the world, to give thanks for the miracle of being and the radiance that shines wherever two lives touch in affirmation, forgiveness and love. ~ Jonathan Sacks,
968:(from chapter 19, "Willi Ossa")

"...when I did [become a pastor], I knew that it was a vocation, not a job. I told my friends in the Company [of Pastors] the story of Willi...We were honing our observational skills in discerning the difference between vocation and job. As we were seeing pastors left and right abandoning their vocations and taking jobs, we were determined to keep the distinction clear for ourselves. A job is an assignment to do work that can be quantified and evaluated. It is pretty easy to decide whether a job has been completed or not. It is pretty easy to tell whether a job is done well or badly.

But a vocation is not a job in that sense. I can be hired to do a job, paid a fair wage if I do it, dismissed if I don't. But I can't be hired to be a pastor, for my primary responsibility is not to the people I serve tu to the God I serve. As it turns out, the people I serve would often prefer an idol who would do what they want done rather than do what God, revealed in Jesus, wants them to do. In our present culture, the sharp distinction between a job and a vocation is considerably blurred. How do I, as a pastor, prevent myself from thinking of my work as a job that I get paid for, a job that is assigned to me by my denomination, a job that I am expected to do to the satisfaction of my congregation? How do I stay attentive to and listening to the call that got me started in this way of life - not a call to make the church attractive and useful in the American scene, not a call to help people feel good about themselves and have a good life, not a call to use my considerable gifts and fulfill myself, but a call like Abraham's 'to set out for a place...not knowing where he was going', a call to deny myself and take up my cross and follow Jesus, a call like Jonah's to go at once to Nineveh, 'a city he detested', a call like Paul's to 'get up and enter the city and you will be told what to do'?

How do I keep the immediacy and authority of God's call in my ears when in entire culture, both secular and ecclesial, is giving me a job description? How do I keep the calling, the vocation, of pastor from being drowned out by job descriptions, gussied up in glossy challenges and visions and strategies, clamoring incessantly for my attention? ~ Eugene H Peterson,
969:There I waited day and night for the voice of God within me, to know what He had to say to me, to learn what I had to do. In this seclusion the earliest realisation, the first lesson came to me. I remembered then that a month or more before my arrest, a call had come to me to put aside all activity, to go in seclusion and to look into myself, so that I might enter into closer communion with Him. I was weak and could not accept the call. My work was very dear to me and in the pride of my heart I thought that unless I was there, it would suffer or even fail and cease; therefore I would not leave it. It seemed to me that He spoke to me again and said, The bonds you had not the strength to break, I have broken for you, because it is not my will nor was it ever my intention that that should continue. I have had another thing for you to do and it is for that I have brought you here, to teach you what you could not learn for yourself and to train you for my work. Then He placed the Gita in my hands. His strength entered into me and I was able to do the sadhana of the Gita. I was not only to understand intellectually but to realise what Sri Krishna demanded of Arjuna and what He demands of those who aspire to do His work, to be free from repulsion and desire, to do work for Him without the demand for fruit, to renounce self-will and become a passive and faithful instrument in His hands, to have an equal heart for high and low, friend and opponent, success andfailure, yet not to do His work negligently. I realised what the Hindu religion meant. We speak often of the Hindureligion, of the Sanatan Dharma, but few of us really know what that religion is. Other religions are preponderatingly religions of faith and profession, but the Sanatan Dharma is life itself; it is a thing that has not so much to be believed as lived. This is the Dharma that for the salvation of humanity was cherished in the seclusion of this peninsula from of old. It is to give this religion that India is rising. She does not rise as other countries do, for self or when she is strong, to trample on the weak. She is rising to shed the eternal light entrusted to her over the world. India has always existed for humanity and not for herself and it is for humanity and not for herself that she must be great.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Karmayogin,
970:The closest that most of us come to a direct experience of the centerlessness of capitalism is an encounter with the call center. As a consumer in late capitalism, you increasingly exist in two, distinct realities: the one in which the services are provided without hitch, and another reality entirely, the crazed Kafkaesque labyrinth of call centers, a world without memory, where cause and effect connect together in mysterious, unfathomable ways, where it is a miracle that anything ever happens, and you lose hope of ever passing back over to the other side, where things seem to function smoothly. What exemplifies the failure of the neoliberal world to live up to its own PR better than the call center? Even so, the universality of bad experiences with call centers does nothing to unsettle the operating assumption that capitalism is inherently efficient, as if the problems with call centers weren’t the systemic consequences of a logic of Capital which means organizations are so fixated on making profits that they can’t actually sell you anything. The call center experience distils the political phenomenology of late capitalism: the boredom and frustration punctuated by cheerily piped PR, the repeating of the same dreary details many times to different poorly trained and badly informed operatives, the building rage that must remain impotent because it can have no legitimate object, since – as is very quickly clear to the caller –there is no-one who knows, and no-one who could do anything even if they could. Anger can only be a matter of venting; it is aggression in a vacuum, directed at someone who is a fellow victim of the system but with whom there is no possibility of communality. Just as the anger has no proper object, it will have no effect. In this experience of a system that is unresponsive, impersonal, centerless, abstract and fragmentary, you are as close as you can be to confronting the artificial stupidity of Capital in itself. Call center angst is one more illustration of the way that Kafka is poorly understood as exclusively a writer on totalitarianism; a decentralized, market Stalinist bureaucracy is far more Kafkaesque than one in which there is a central authority. Read, for instance, the bleak farce of K’s encounter with the telephone system in the Castle, and it is hard not to see it as uncannily prophetic of the call center experience. ~ Mark Fisher,
971:Sometimes you characters give me a pain in the back of my lap,” said Manuel abruptly. “I hang around with you and listen to simple-minded gobbledegook in yard-long language, if it’s you talking, Dran, and pink-and-purple sissification from the brat here. Why I do it I’ll never know. And it goes that way up to the last gasp. So you’re going to leave. Dran has to make a speech, real logical. Vaughn has to blow out a sigh and get misty-eyed.” He spat.
“How would you handle it?” Dran asked, amused. Vaughn stared at Manuel whitely.
“Me? You really want to know?”
“This I want to hear,” said Vaughn between her teeth.
“I’d wait a while—a long while—until neither of you was talking. Then I’d say, ‘I joined the Marines yesterday.’ And you’d both look at me a little sad. There’s supposed to be something wrong with coming right out and saying something. Let’s see. Suppose I do it the way Vaughn would want me to.” He tugged at an imaginary braid and thrust out his lower lip in a lampoon of Vaughn’s full mouth. He sighed gustily. “I have felt …” He paused to flutter his eyelashes. “I have felt the call to arms,” he said in a histrionic whisper. He gazed off into the middle distance. “I have heard the sound of trumpets. The drums stir in my blood.” He pounded his temples with his fists. “I can’t stand it—I can’t! Glory beckons. I will away to foreign strands.”
Vaughn turned on her heel, though she made no effort to walk away. Dran roared with laughter.
“And suppose I’m you,” said Manuel, his face taut with a suppressed grin. He leaned easily against the base of the statue and crossed his legs. He flung his head back. “Zeno of Miletus,” he intoned, “in reflecting on the cromislon of the fortiseetus, was wont to refer to a razor as ‘a check for a short beard.’ While shaving this morning I correlated ‘lather’ with ‘leather’ and, seeing some of it on my neck, I recalled the old French proverb, ‘Jeanne D’Arc,’ which means: The light is out in the bathroom. The integration was complete. If the light was out I could no longer shave. Therefore I can not go on like this. Also there was this matter of the neck. I shall join the Marines. Q. E. D., which means thus spake Zarathusiasm.”
Dran chuckled. Vaughn made a furious effort, failed, and burst out laughing. When it subsided, Manuel said soberly, “I did.”
“You did what?”
“I joined the Marines yesterday. ~ Theodore Sturgeon,
972:But this is not always the manner of the commencement. The sadhaka is often led gradually and there is a long space between the first turning of the mind and the full assent of the nature to the thing towards which it turns. There may at first be only a vivid intellectual interest, a forcible attraction towards the idea and some imperfect form of practice. Or perhaps there is an effort not favoured by the whole nature, a decision or a turn imposed by an intellectual influence or dictated by personal affection and admiration for someone who is himself consecrated and devoted to the Highest. In such cases, a long period of preparation may be necessary before there comes the irrevocable consecration; and in some instances it may not come. There may be some advance, there may be a strong effort, even much purification and many experiences other than those that are central or supreme; but the life will either be spent in preparation or, a certain stage having been reached, the mind pushed by an insufficient driving-force may rest content at the limit of the effort possible to it. Or there may even be a recoil to the lower life, - what is called in the ordinary parlance of Yoga a fall from the path. This lapse happens because there is a defect at the very centre. The intellect has been interested, the heart attracted, the will has strung itself to the effort, but the whole nature has not been taken captive by the Divine. It has only acquiesced in the interest, the attraction or the endeavour. There has been an experiment, perhaps even an eager experiment, but not a total self-giving to an imperative need of the soul or to an unforsakable ideal. Even such imperfect Yoga has not been wasted; for no upward effort is made in vain. Even if it fails in the present or arrives only at some preparatory stage or preliminary realisation, it has yet determined the soul's future.

But if we desire to make the most of the opportunity that this life gives us, if we wish to respond adequately to the call we have received and to attain to the goal we have glimpsed, not merely advance a little towards it, it is essential that there should be an entire self-giving. The secret of success in Yoga is to regard it not as one of the aims to be pursued in life, but as the one and only aim, not as an important part of life, but as the whole of life. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, Self-Consecration,
973:[Jesus] stands between us and God, and for that very reason he stands between us and all other men and things. He is the Mediator, not only between God and man, but between man and man, between man and reality. Since the whole world was created through him and unto him (John 1:3; 1st Cor. 8:6; Heb. 1:2), he is the sole Mediator in the world...

The call of Jesus teaches us that our relation to the world has been built on an illusion. All the time we thought we had enjoyed a direct relation with men and things. This is what had hindered us from faith and obedience. Now we learn that in the most intimate relationships of life, in our kinship with father and mother, bothers and sisters, in married love, and in our duty to the community, direct relationships are impossible. Since the coming of Christ, his followers have no more immediate realities of their own, not in their family relationships nor in the ties with their nation nor in the relationships formed in the process of living. Between father and son, husband and wife, the individual and the nation, stands Christ the Mediator, whether they are able to recognize him or not. We cannot establish direct contact outside ourselves except through him, through his word, and through our following of him. To think otherwise is to deceive ourselves.

But since we are bound to abhor any deception which hides the truth from our sight, we must of necessity repudiate any direct relationship with the things of this world--and that for the sake of Christ. Wherever a group, be it large or small, prevents us from standing alone before Christ, wherever such a group raises a claim of immediacy it must be hated for the sake of Christ. For every immediacy, whether we realize it or not, means hatred of Christ, and this is especially true where such relationships claim the sanctions of Christian principles.,,

There is no way from one person to another. However loving and sympathetic we try to be, however sound our psychology, however frank and open our behavior, we cannot penetrate the incognito of the other man, for there are no direct relationships, not even between soul and soul. Christ stands between us, and we can only get into touch with our neighbors through him. That is why intercession is the most promising way to reach our neighbors, and corporate prayer, offered in the name of Christ, the purest form of fellowship. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
974:Saving Lives and Protecting Rights in Translation It is said that life and death are under the power of language. —Hélène Cixous, French author and philosopher Lifeline The phone rings, jolting me to attention. It’s almost midnight on a Friday night. I didn’t want to work the late shift, but the need for my work never sleeps. Most of the calls I get at this late hour are from emergency dispatchers for police, fire, and ambulance. They often consist of misdials, hang-ups, and other nonemergencies. I’ve been working since early this morning, and I’m just not in the mood tonight to hear someone complain about a neighbor’s television being turned up too loud. But someone has got to take the call. I pick up before it rings a second time. “Interpreter three nine four zero speaking, how may I help you?” The dispatcher wastes no time with pleasantries. “Find out what’s wrong,” he barks in English. He didn’t ask me to confirm the address, so I assume he must already have police officers headed to the scene. I ask the Spanish speaker how we can help. I wait for a response. Silence. I ask the question again. No answer, but I can hear that there’s someone on the line. We wait, but we don’t hear any response. It’s probably just another child playing with the phone, accidentally dialing 911. I imagine the little guy looking curiously at the phone and pressing the buttons, then staring at it as a voice comes out of the other end. This happens all the time. I turn up the volume on my headset, just in case it might help me pick up the scolding words of a parent in the background. Then suddenly, I hear a timid female voice speaking so quietly that I can barely make out the words. “Me va a matar,” she whispers. The tiny hairs on my arm stand up on end. I swiftly render her words into English: “He’s going to kill me.” Not missing a beat, the dispatcher asks, “Where is he now?” “Outside. I saw him through the window,” I state, after listening to the Spanish version. I’m trying to stay calm and focused, but the fear in the caller’s voice is not only contagious, but essential to the meaning I have to convey. For what seems like an eternity (but is probably just a few seconds), I hear only the beeps of the recorded line and the dispatcher clicking away at his keyboard. I feel impatient. He’s most likely looking to see how far the nearest police officer is from the scene. “Interpreter, find out where she is. ~ Nataly Kelly,
975:A Torchbearer
Great cities rise and have their fall; the brass
That held their glories moulders in its turn.
Hard granite rots like an uprooted weed,
And ever on the palimpsest of earth
Impatient Time rubs out the word he writ.
But one thing makes the years its pedestal,
Springs from the ashes of its pyre, and claps
A skyward wing above its epitaph—
The will of man willing immortal things.
The ages are but baubles hung upon
The thread of some strong lives—and one slight wrist
May lift a century above the dust;
For Time,
The Sisyphean load of little lives,
Becomes the globe and sceptre of the great.
But who are these that, linking hand in hand,
Transmit across the twilight waste of years
The flying brightness of a kindled hour?
Not always, nor alone, the lives that search
How they may snatch a glory out of heaven
Or add a height to Babel; oftener they
That in the still fulfilment of each day’s
Pacific order hold great deeds in leash,
That in the sober sheath of tranquil tasks
Hide the attempered blade of high emprise,
And leap like lightning to the clap of fate.
So greatly gave he, nurturing ‘gainst the call
Of one rare moment all the daily store
Of joy distilled from the acquitted task,
And that deliberate rashness which bespeaks
The pondered action passed into the blood;
So swift to harden purpose into deed
That, with the wind of ruin in his hair,
Soul sprang full-statured from the broken flesh,
And at one stroke he lived the whole of life,
Poured all in one libation to the truth,
A brimming flood whose drops shall overflow
On deserts of the soul long beaten down
By the brute hoof of habit, till they spring
In manifold upheaval to the sun.
Call here no high artificer to raise
His wordy monument—such lives as these
Make death a dull misnomer and its pomp
An empty vesture. Let resounding lives
Re-echo splendidly through high-piled vaults
And make the grave their spokesman—such as he
Are as the hidden streams that, underground,
Sweeten the pastures for the grazing kine,
Or as spring airs that bring through prison bars
The scent of freedom; or a light that burns
Immutably across the shaken seas,
Forevermore by nameless hands renewed,
Where else were darkness and a glutted shore.
~ Edith Wharton,
976:The Torch-Bearer
GREAT cities rise and have their fall; the brass
That held their glories moulders in its turn.
Hard granite rots like an uprooted weed,
And ever on the palimpsest of earth
Impatient Time rubs out the word he writ.
But one thing makes the years its pedestal,
Springs from the ashes of its pyre, and claps
A skyward wing above its epitaph-The will of man willing immortal things.
The ages are but baubles hung upon
The thread of some strong lives--and one slight wrist
May lift a century above the dust;
For Time,
The Sisyphean load of little lives,
Becomes the globe and sceptre of the great.
But who are these that, linking hand in hand,
Transmit across the twilight waste of years
The flying brightness of a kindled hour?
Not always, nor alone, the lives that search
How they may snatch a glory out of heaven
Or add a height to Babel; oftener they
That in the still fulfilment of each day's
Pacific order hold great deeds in leash,
That in the sober sheath of tranquil tasks
Hide the attempered blade of high emprise,
And leap like lightning to the clap of fate.
So greatly gave he, nurturing 'gainst the call
Of one rare moment all the daily store
Of joy distilled from the acquitted task,
And that deliberate rashness which bespeaks
The pondered action passed into the blood;
So swift to harden purpose into deed
That, with the wind of ruin in his hair,
Soul sprang full-statured from the broken flesh,
And at one stroke he lived the whole of life,
Poured all in one libation to the truth,
A brimming flood whose drops shall overflow
85
On deserts of the soul long beaten down
By the brute hoof of habit, till they spring
In manifold upheaval to the sun.
Call here no high artificer to raise
His wordy monument--such lives as these
Make death a dull misnomer and its pomp
An empty vesture. Let resounding lives
Re-echo splendidly through high-piled vaults
And make the grave their spokesman--such as he
Are as the hidden streams that, underground,
Sweeten the pastures for the grazing kine,
Or as spring airs that bring through prison bars
The scent of freedom; or a light that burns
Immutably across the shaken seas,
Forevermore by nameless hands renewed,
Where else were darkness and a glutted shore.
~ Edith Wharton,
977:He spent two years in the extermination camp at Auschwitz. According to his own reluctant account, he came this close to going up a smokestack of a crematorium there:
"I had just been assigned to the Sonderkommando," he said to me, "when the order came from Himmler to close the ovens down."
Sonderkommando means special detail. At Auschwitz it meant a very special detail indeed--one composed of prisoners whose duties were to shepherd condemned persons into gas chambers, and then to lug their bodies out. When the job was done, the members of the Sonderkommando were themselves killed. The first duty of their successors was to dispose of their remains. Gutman told me that many men actually volunteered for the Sonderkommando.
"Why?" I asked him.
"If you would write a book about that," he said, "and give the answer to that question, that 'Why?'--you would have a very great book."
"Do you know the answer?" I said.
"No," he said, "That is why I would pay a great deal of money for a book with the answer in it."
"Any guesses?" I said.
"No," he said, looking me straight in the eye, "even though I was one of the ones who volunteered."
He went away for a little while, after having confessed that. And he thought about Auschwitz, the thing he liked least to think about. And he came back, and he said to me:
"There were loudspeakers all over the camp," he said, "and they were never silent for long. There was much music played through them. Those who were musical told me it was often good music--sometimes the best."
"That's interesting," I said.
"There was no music by Jews," he said. "That was forbidden." "Naturally," I said. "And the music was always stopping in the middle," he said, "and then there was an announcement. All day long, music and announcements."
"Very modern," I said. He closed his eyes, remembered gropingly.
"There was one announcement that was always crooned, like a nursery rhyme. Many times a day it came. It was the call for the Sonderkommando."
"Oh?" I said.
"Leichentärger zu Wache," he crooned, his eyes still closed. Translation: "Corpse-carriers to the guardhouse."
In an institution in which the purpose was to kill human beings by the millions, it was an understandably common cry.
"After two years of hearing that call over the loudspeakers, between the music," Gutman said to me, "the position of corpse-carrier suddenly sounded like a very good job. ~ Kurt Vonnegut,
978:I was soon discharged from the rehab center and sent back to the SAS. But the doctor’s professional opinion was that I shouldn’t military parachute again. It was too risky. One dodgy landing, at night, in full kit, and my patched-up spine could crumple.
He didn’t even mention the long route marches carrying huge weights on our backs.
Every SF soldier knows that a weak back is not a good opener for life in an SAS squadron.
It is also a cliché just how many SAS soldiers’ backs and knees are plated and pinned together, after years of marches and jumps. Deep down I knew the odds weren’t looking great for me in the squadron, and that was a very hard pill to swallow.
But it was a decision that, sooner or later, I would have to face up to. The doctors could give me their strong recommendations, but ultimately I had to make the call.
A familiar story. Life is all about our decisions. And big decisions can often be hard to make.
So I thought I would buy myself some time before I made it.
In the meantime, at the squadron, I took on the role of teaching survival to other units. I also helped the intelligence guys while my old team were out on the ground training.
But it was agony for me. Not physically, but mentally: watching the guys go out, fired up, tight, together, doing the job and getting back excited and exhausted. That was what I should have been doing.
I hated sitting in an ops room making tea for intelligence officers.
I tried to embrace it, but deep down I knew this was not what I had signed up for.
I had spent an amazing few years with the SAS, I had trained with the best, and been trained by the best, but if I couldn’t do the job fully, I didn’t want to do it at all.
The regiment is like that. To keep its edge, it has to keep focused on where it is strongest. Unable to parachute and carry the huge weights for long distances, I was dead weight. That hurt.
That is not how I had vowed to live my life, after my accident. I had vowed to be bold and follow my dreams, wherever that road should lead.
So I went to see the colonel of the regiment and told him my decision. He understood, and true to his word, he assured me that the SAS family would always be there when I needed it.
My squadron gave me a great piss-up, and a little bronze statue of service. (It sits on my mantelpiece, and my boys play soldiers with it nowadays.) And I packed my kit and left 21 SAS forever.
I fully admit to getting very drunk that night. ~ Bear Grylls,
979:Meanwhile, angered by white violence in the South and inspired by the gigantic June 23 march in Detroit, grassroots people on the streets all over the country had begun talking about marching on Washington. “It scared the white power structure in Washington, D.C. to death,” as Malcolm put it in his “Message to the Grassroots” and in his Autobiography.6 So the White House called in the Big Six national Negro leaders and arranged for them to be given the money to control the march. The result was what Malcolm called the “Farce on Washington” on August 28, 1963. John Lewis, then chairman of SNCC and fresh from the battlefields of Georgia, Mississippi, and Alabama where hundreds of blacks and their white student allies were being beaten and murdered simply for trying to register blacks to vote, was forced to delete references to the revolution and power from his speech and, specifically, to take out the sentence, “We will not wait for the President, the Justice Department nor Congress, but we will take matters into our own hands and create a source of power, outside of any national structure, that could and would assure us a victory.” Marchers were instructed to carry only official signs and to sing only one song, “We Shall Overcome.” As a result, many rank-and-file SNCC militants refused to participate.7 Meanwhile, conscious of the tensions that were developing around preparations for the march on Washington and in order to provide a national rallying point for the independent black movement, Conrad Lynn and William Worthy, veterans in the struggle and old friends of ours, issued a call on the day of the march for an all-black Freedom Now Party. Lynn, a militant civil rights and civil liberties lawyer, had participated in the first Freedom Ride from Richmond, Virginia, to Memphis, Tennessee, in 1947 and was one of Robert Williams’s attorneys.8 Worthy, a Baltimore Afro-American reporter and a 1936–37 Nieman Fellow, had distinguished himself by his courageous actions in defense of freedom of the press, including spending forty-one days in the Peoples Republic of China in 1957 in defiance of the U.S. travel ban (for which his passport was lifted) and traveling to Cuba without a passport following the Bay of Pigs invasion in order to help produce a documentary. The prospect of a black independent party terrified the Democratic Party. Following the call for the Freedom Now Party, Kennedy twice told the press that a political division between whites and blacks would be “fatal. ~ Grace Lee Boggs,
980:At Sea
When the investing darkness growls,
And deep reverberates to deep;
When keyhole whines and chimney howls,
And all the roofs and windows weep;
Then, through the doorless walls of sleep,
The still-sealed ear and shuttered sight,
Phantoms of memory steal and creep,
The very ghosts of sound and light-Dream-visions and dream-voices of a bygone night.
I see again, I hear again,
Where lightnings flash and house-eaves drip,
A flying swirl of waves and rain-That storm-path between Sound and Rip.
I feel the swaying of the ship
In every gust that rocks the trees,
And taste that brine upon my lip
And smell the freshness of the breeze
That sped us through the welter of those racing seas.
I hear the menace of the call
To rope and rivet, wheel and mast,
In the swift onrush of the squall,
The challenge of the thundering blast
To daring men as it sweeps past;
And in my dream I have no dread.
Rivet and rope are firm and fast,
The clear lights shining, green and red,
The quiet eyes of sentry watching overhead.
What epic battles pass unsung!
It was a war of gods befell
On that wild night when we were young.
They rode, like cavalry of hell,
The mighty winds, the monstrous swell,
On their white horses, fierce and fleet;
They stood at bay, invincible,
69
Where pulsed beneath our sliding feet
The faithful iron heart that never lost a beat.
How the sharp sea-spume lashed and stung!
How the salt sea-wind tugged and tare
And clawed and mauled us where we clung,
With panting breasts and streaming hair,
To our frail eyrie in mid-air!
How we exulted in the fight-With neither haste nor halt to dare
Those Titans furies in their might,
Undaunted and unswerving in our insect flight!
No lap of exquisite repose!
A mortar wherein souls are brayed;
An anvil ringing to the blows
Whereby true men are shaped, and made
Divinely strong and unafraid.
Such gallant sailor-men there be-Never unready or dismayed,
Though 't's the face of death they see
In cyclone, fire and fog, and white surf on the lee.
Not only in the sylvan bower,
On dreaming hill, by sleeping mere,
The holy place--the sacred hour.
Beset by every form of fear,
Darkness ahead and danger near,
Sorely hard-driven and hard-prest,
But still unspent and of good cheer-He finds them who can pass the test,
Who never winks an eye and never stays to rest
~ Ada Cambridge,
981:The Horned Master governs the generative powers of the kingdom of the beasts, the raw forces of life, death and renewal which sustains the natural world.” Nigel A Jackson. The Call of the Horned Piper: 38 The Art and Craft of the Witches is found at the crossroad, where this world and the other side meets and all possibility become reality. This simple fact is often forgotten as one rushes to the Sabbath or occupies oneself with formalities of ritual. The cross marks the four quarters, the four elements, the path of Sun, Moon and Stars. The cross was fused or confused with the Greek staurus, meaning ‘rod’, ‘rood’ or ‘pole’. Various forms of phallic worship are simply, veneration for the cosmic point of possibility and becoming. It is at the crossroads we will gain all or lose all and it is natural that it is at the crossroads we gain perspective. The crossroad is a place of choice, the spirit-denizens of the crossroads are said to be tricky and unreliable and it is of course where we find the Devil. One of the most famous legends of recent times concerns the blues-man Robert Johnson (1911– 1938). He claimed that, one night, just before midnight he had gone to the crossroads. He took out his guitar and played, whereupon a big black guy appeared, tuned his guitar, played a song backwards and handed it back.2 This incident altered Johnson’s playing and his finest and most everlasting compositions were the fruit of the few years of life left to him. This legend tells us how he needed to bury himself at the crossroads, offering himself to the powers dwelling there. Business done with the Devil is said to give him the upper hand. The ill omens and malefica associated with such deals is present in Johnson’s story. He got fame and women, but he died less than three years later before he reached thirty. His body was found poisoned at a crossroads, the murderer’s identity a mystery. Around the Mississippi no less than three tombs carry the name of Robert Leroy Johnson. The image of the Devil remains one of threat, blessing, beauty and opportunity. Where we find the Devil we find danger, unpredictability and chaos. If he offers a deal we know we are in for a complicated bargain. The Devil says that change is good, that we need movement in order to progress. His world is about cunning and ordeal entwined like the serpents of past and future on the pole of ascent. It is to the crossroads we go to make decisions. It is at the crossroads we set the course for the journey. It is at the crossroads we confront ourselves and realize our ~ Nicholaj de Mattos Frisvold,
982:A Pastoral
on the wall the dense ivy of executions
—ZBIGNIEW HERBERT
We shall meet again, in Srinagar,
by the gates of the Villa of Peace,
our hands blossoming into fists
till the soldiers return the keys
and disappear. Again we'll enter
our last world, the first that vanished
in our absence from the broken city.
We'll tear our shirts for tourniquets
and bind the open thorns, warm the ivy
into roses. Quick, by the pomegranate—
the bird will say—Humankind can bear
everything. No need to stop the ear
to stories rumored in branches: We'll hear
our gardener's voice, the way we did
as children, clear under trees he'd planted:
"It's true, my death, at the mosque entrance,
in the massacre, when the Call to Prayer
opened the floodgates"—Quick, follow the silence—
"and dawn rushed into everyone's eyes."
Will we follow the horned lark, pry
open the back gate into the poplar groves,
go past the search post into the cemetery,
the dust still uneasy on hurried graves
with no names, like all new ones in the city?
"It's true" (we'll hear our gardener
again). "That bird is silent all winter.
Its voice returns in spring, a plaintive cry.
That's when it saw the mountain falcon
rip open, in mid-air, the blue magpie,
then carry it, limp from the talons."
Pluck the blood: My words will echo thus
at sunset, by the ivy, but to what purpose?
In the drawer of the cedar stand,
white in the verandah, we'll find letters:
When the post offices died, the mailman
knew we'd return to answer them. Better
if he'd let them speed to death,
blacked out by Autumn's Press Trust
not like this, taking away our breath,
holding it with love's anonymous
scripts: "See how your world has cracked.
Why aren't you here? Where are you? Come back.
Is history deaf there, across the oceans?"
Quick, the bird will say. And we'll try
the keys, with the first one open the door
into the drawing room. Mirror after mirror,
textiled by dust, will blind us to our return
as we light oil lamps. The glass map of our country,
still on the wall, will tear us to lace—
We'll go past our ancestors, up the staircase,
holding their wills against our hearts. Their wish
was we return—forever!—and inherit(Quick, the bird
will say) that to which we belong, not like this—
to get news of our death after the world's.
(for Suvir Kaul)
~ Agha Shahid Ali,
983:Australia Today 1916
They came from the lower levels
Deep down in the Brilliant mine;
From the wastes where the whirlwind revels,
Whirling the leaves of pine.
On the western plains, where the Darling flows,
And the dust storms wheel and shift,
The teamster loosened his yokes and bows,
And turned his team adrift.
On the western stations, far and wide,
There's many an empty pen,
For the "ringers" have cast the machines aside
And answered the call for men.
On the lucerne flats where the stream runs slow,
And the Hunter finds the sea,
The women are driving the mowers now,
With the children at their knee.
For the men have gone, as a man must go,
At the call of the rolling drums;
For the men have sworn that the Turks shall know
When the old battalion comes.
Column of companies by the right,
Steady in strong array,
With the sun on the bayonets gleaming bright,
The battalion marched away.
They battled, the old battalion,
Through the toil of the training camps,
Sweated and strove at lectures,
By the light of the stinking lamps.
Marching, shooting, and drilling;
Steady and slow and stern;
Awkward and strange, but willing
All of their job to learn.
65
Learning to use the rifle;
Learning to use the spade;
Deeming fatigue a trifle
During each long parade.
Till at last they welded
Into a concrete whole,
And there grew in the old battalion
A kind of battalion's soul.
Brotherhood never was like it;
Friendship is not the word;
But deep in that body of marching men
The soul of a nation stirred.
And like one man with a single thought
Cheery and confident;
Ready for all that the future brought,
The old battalion went.
Column of companies by the right,
Steady in strong array,
With the sun on the bayonets gleaming bright,
The battalion marched away.
How shall we tell of the landing
By the hills where the foe were spread,
And the track of the old battalion
Was marked by the Turkish dead?
With the dash that discipline teaches,
Though the hail of the shrapnel flew,
And the forts were raking the beaches,
And the toll of the dead men grew.
They fixed their grip on the gaunt hillside
With a pluck that has won them fame;
And the home-folks know that the dead men died
For the pride of Australia's name.
Column of companies by the right,
To the beat of the rolling drums;
66
With honours gained in a stirring fight
The old battalion comes!
~ Banjo Paterson,
984:them out if they make dumb choices. Let them struggle; let them learn; let them take responsibility. They need to figure out the importance of working hard, saving money, being smart. For God’s sake, don’t be a damned fool and then go begging the government to save you.” This is not a stupid argument. I come at the issues differently, of course, as someone who supports a strong social safety net. But this more conservative view represents a considered and consistent position, worthy of respect. Lower-income conservatives are making the same kind of argument that rich liberals are making. They are willing to make monetary sacrifices to answer the call of their fundamental values. For liberals, those values are more about the common good and enlightened self-interest. For conservatives, those values are more about the importance of independence and personal responsibility. But both sides rightfully see their voting behavior as needing to reflect more than just a vulgar calculation about their immediate pocketbook needs. If one side deserves respect, then so does the other.*1 Of course, respecting our opponent’s argument doesn’t mean we have to just accept it and give in. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t argue passionately about the best approach to taxes or spending—especially in a society as complex as ours, with the stakes as high as they are. In fact, we should disagree and debate. Debate is the lifeblood of democracy, after all. Disagreement is a good thing—even heated disagreement. Only in a dictatorship does everybody have to agree. In a democracy, nobody has to agree. That’s called freedom. It’s the whole point of America. But at the base of too many of our public discussions sits the same destructive assumption: I’m right. And you’re wrong. We proceed on both sides as if our side is grounded in “the Truth” and the other side is always insane and delusional. And some version of this flawed concept has become the default setting throughout American political discourse. It is one thing to say, “I disagree with you because we have different values and priorities.” It’s quite another to say, “I disagree with you because you are an uneducated idiot—a pawn—and a dupe.” The prevalence of the latter set of arguments is why the Democratic Party stinks of elitism. Here’s another liberal favorite: “How can we argue with conservatives? They don’t believe in facts anymore—only ‘alternative facts.’ At least, liberals believe in science. Right-wingers don’t!” I understand the source of liberal exasperation here. Even though any high school student can reproduce the greenhouse-gas effect in a laboratory beaker, ~ Van Jones,
985:hasn’t been missing long. If she’s upset, she’ll go someplace where she feels safe.” “But she might not be thinking clearly,” Adelia protested, her panic returning. “She’s only thirteen, Gabe. I’m afraid I’ve been forgetting that myself. I should have been paying more attention. Instead, I was so worried about my younger kids, I missed all the signs that Selena was in real trouble. I was just grateful that she was no longer rebelling against the world.” In front of the gym, she bolted from the car practically before it could come to a stop. Inside, she scanned the room until her gaze landed on her brother. He regarded her with alarm, which grew visibly when Gabe came in right on her heels. Misreading the situation, Elliott stepped between them. “Is this guy bothering you, Adelia?” She held up a hand. “No, it’s nothing like that. Selena’s missing. Gabe is helping me look for her. I thought maybe she’d come here to see you.” Elliott shook his head. “I haven’t seen her. Let me check with Karen. She’s not working today. She’s at the house with the baby.” Adelia felt herself starting to shake as her brother made the call to his wife. Then she felt Gabe’s steadying hand on her shoulder. He didn’t say a word, just kept his hand there until the moment passed. Elliott listened intently to whatever Karen was saying, his expression brightening. “Thanks, querida. Adelia will be there in a few minutes.” Smiling, he turned to her. “Selena’s at my house playing with the baby. Karen didn’t think to call anyone because Selena told her she only had a half day at school and swore you knew where she was.” Adelia finally let out the breath she felt like she’d been holding for hours. “Of course Karen believed her,” she said wryly. “Selena’s very convincing when she wants to be.” “Want me to drive you over there?” Elliott offered. “I can get one of the other trainers to take my next client.” “I can take her,” Gabe said. He looked at her. “Unless you’d prefer to have your brother go with you.” Adelia hesitated, then shook her head. “If you don’t mind making the drive, that would be great,” she told him. “Elliott, there’s no reason for you to miss an appointment. I can handle this.” Elliott looked worried but eventually nodded. “You’ll be there when I get home? I want to have a talk with my niece about skipping school and worrying you.” She smiled. “Believe me, she’ll get more than enough talking from me tonight. You can save your lecture for another day.” Elliott nodded with unmistakable reluctance. “Whatever you think, but I will have a word with her. You can be sure of that.” “Not a doubt in my mind,” she said, then turned to Gabe. “Let’s go. That ~ Sherryl Woods,
986:The mighty sound of forests murmuring
In answer to the dread command;
The stars that shudder when their king
extends his hand,

His awful hand to bless, to curse; or moves
Toward the dimmest den
In the thick leaves, not known of loves
Or nymphs or men;

(Only the sylph's frail gossamer may wave
Their quiet frondage yet,
Only her dewy tears may lave
The violet

The mighty answer of the shaken sky
To his supreme behest; the call
Of Ibex that behold on high
Night's funeral,

And see the pale moon quiver and depart
Far beyond space, the sun ascend
And draw earth's globe unto his heart
To make an end;

The shriek of startled birds; the sobs that tear
With sudden terror the sharp sea
That slept, and wove its golden hair
Most mournfully;

The rending of the earth at his command
Who wields the wrath of heaven, and is dumb;
Hell starts up - and before his hand
Is overcome.

I heard these voices, and beheld afar
These dread works wrought at his behest:
And on his forehead, lo! a star,
And on his breast.

And on his feet I knew the sandals were
More beautiful than flame, and white,
And on the glory of his hair
The crown of night.

And I beheld his robe, and on its hem
Were writ unlawful words to say,
Broidered like lilies, with a gem
More clear than day.

And round him shone so wonderful a light
As when on Galilee
Jesus once walked, and clove the night,
And calmed the sea.

I scarce could see his features for the fire
That dwelt about his brow,
Yet, for the whiteness of my own desire,
I see him now;

Because my footsteps follow his, and tread
The awful bounds of heaven, and make
The very graves yield up their dead,
And high thrones shake;

Because my eyes still steadily behold
And dazzle not, nor shun the night,
The foam - born lamp of beaten gold
And secret might;

Because my forehead bears the sacred Name,
And my lips bear the brand
Of Him whose heaven is one flame,
Whose holy hand

Gathers this earth, who built the vaults of space,
Moulded the stars, and fixed the iron sea,
Because His love lights through my face
And all of me.

Because my hand may fasten on the sword
Of my heart falter not, and smite
Those lampless limits most abhorred
Of iron night,

And pass beyond their horror to attack
Fresh foemen, light and truth to bring
Through their untrodden fields of black,
A victor king.

I know all must be well, all must be free;
I know God as I know a friend;
I conquer, and most silently
Await the end.

~ Aleister Crowley, Power
,
987:Chopin
A dream of interlinking hands, of feet
Tireless to spin the unseen, fairy woof
Of the entangling waltz. Bright eyebeams meet,
Gay laughter echoes from the vaulted roof.
Warm perfumes rise; the soft unflickering glow
Of branching lights sets off the changeful charms
Of glancing gems, rich stuffs, the dazzling snow
Of necks unkerchieft, and bare, clinging arms.
Hark to the music! How beneath the strain
Of reckless revelry, vibrates and sobs
One fundamental chord of constant pain,
The pulse-beat of the poet's heart that throbs.
So yearns, though all the dancing waves rejoice,
The troubled sea's disconsolate, deep voice.
II
Who shall proclaim the golden fable false
Of Orpheus' miracles? This subtle strain
Above our prose-world's sordid loss and gain
Lightly uplifts us. With the rhythmic waltz,
The lyric prelude, the nocturnal song
Of love and languor, varied visions rise,
That melt and blend to our enchanted eyes.
The Polish poet who sleeps silenced long,
The seraph-souled musician, breathes again
Eternal eloquence, immortal pain.
Revived the exalted face we know so well,
The illuminated eyes, the fragile frame,
Slowly consuming with its inward flame,
We stir not, speak not, lest we break the spell.
III
A voice was needed, sweet and true and fine
49
As the sad spirit of the evening breeze,
Throbbing with human passion, yet devine
As the wild bird's untutored melodies.
A voice for him 'neath twilight heavens dim,
Who mourneth for his dead, while round him fall
The wan and noiseless leaves. A voice for him
Who sees the first green sprout, who hears the call
Of the first robin on the first spring day.
A voice for all whom Fate hath set apart,
Who, still misprized, must perish by the way,
Longing with love, for that they lack the art
Of their own soul's expression. For all these
Sing the unspoken hope, the vague, sad reveries.
IV
Then Nature shaped a poet's heart--a lyre
From out whose chords the lightest breeze that blows
Drew trembling music, wakening sweet desire.
How shall she cherish him? Behold! she throws
This precious, fragile treasure in the whirl
Of seething passions; he is scourged and stung,
Must dive in storm-vext seas, if but one pearl
Of art or beauty therefrom may be wrung.
No pure-browed pensive nymph his Muse shall be,
An amazon of thought with sovereign eyes,
Whose kiss was poison, man-brained, worldy-wise,
Inspired that elfin, delicate harmony.
Rich gain for us! But with him is it well?
The poet who must sound earth, heaven, and hell!
~ Emma Lazarus,
988:Power
The mighty sound of forests murmuring
In answer to the dread command;
The stars that shudder when their king
extends his hand,
His awful hand to bless, to curse; or moves
Toward the dimmest den
In the thick leaves, not known of loves
Or nymphs or men;
(Only the sylph's frail gossamer may wave
Their quiet frondage yet,
Only her dewy tears may lave
The violet;)
The mighty answer of the shaken sky
To his supreme behest; the call
Of Ibex that behold on high
Night's funeral,
And see the pale moon quiver and depart
Far beyond space, the sun ascend
And draw earth's globe unto his heart
To make an end;
The shriek of startled birds; the sobs that tear
With sudden terror the sharp sea
That slept, and wove its golden hair
Most mournfully;
The rending of the earth at his command
Who wields the wrath of heaven, and is dumb;
Hell starts up - and before his hand
Is overcome.
I heard these voices, and beheld afar
These dread works wrought at his behest:
And on his forehead, lo! a star,
And on his breast.
53
And on his feet I knew the sandals were
More beautiful than flame, and white,
And on the glory of his hair
The crown of night.
And I beheld his robe, and on its hem
Were writ unlawful words to say,
Broidered like lilies, with a gem
More clear than day.
And round him shone so wonderful a light
As when on Galilee
Jesus once walked, and clove the night,
And calmed the sea.
I scarce could see his features for the fire
That dwelt about his brow,
Yet, for the whiteness of my own desire,
I see him now;
Because my footsteps follow his, and tread
The awful bounds of heaven, and make
The very graves yield up their dead,
And high thrones shake;
Because my eyes still steadily behold
And dazzle not, nor shun the night,
The foam - born lamp of beaten gold
And secret might;
Because my forehead bears the sacred Name,
And my lips bear the brand
Of Him whose heaven is one flame,
Whose holy hand
Gathers this earth, who built the vaults of space,
Moulded the stars, and fixed the iron sea,
Because His love lights through my face
And all of me.
Because my hand may fasten on the sword
54
Of my heart falter not, and smite
Those lampless limits most abhorred
Of iron night,
And pass beyond their horror to attack
Fresh foemen, light and truth to bring
Through their untrodden fields of black,
A victor king.
I know all must be well, all must be free;
I know God as I know a friend;
I conquer, and most silently
Await the end.
~ Aleister Crowley,
989:Workshops, churches, and palaces were full of these fatal works of art; he had even helped with a few himself. They were deeply disappointing be­ cause they aroused the desire for the highest and did not fulfill it. They lacked the most essential thing-mystery. That was what dreams and truly great works of art had in common : mystery. Goldmund continued his thought: It is mystery I love and pursue. Several times I have seen it beginning to take shape; as an artist, I would like to capture and express it. Some day, perhaps, I'll be able to. The figure of the universal mother, the great birthgiver, for example. Unlike other fi gures, her mystery does not consist of this or that detail, of a particular voluptuousness or sparseness, coarseness or delicacy, power or gracefulness. It consists of a fusion of the greatest contrasts of the world, those that cannot otherwise be combined, that have made peace only in this figure. They live in it together: birth and death, tenderness and cruelty, life and destruction. If I only imagined this fi gure, and were she merely the play of my thoughts, it would not matter about her, I could dismiss her as a mistake and forget about heR But the universal mother is not an idea of mine; I did not think her up, I saw her! She lives inside me. I've met her again and again. She appeared to me one winter night in a village when I was asked to hold a light over the bed of a peasant woman giving birth: that's when the image came to life within me. I often lose it; for long periods it re­ mains remote; but suddenly it Hashes clear again, as it did today. The image of my own mother, whom I loved most of all, has transformed itself into this new image, and lies encased within the new one like the pit in the cherry.

   As his present situation became clear to him, Goldmund was afraid to make a decision. It was as difficult as when he had said farewell to Narcissus and to the cloister. Once more he was on an impor­ tant road : the road to his mother. Would this mother-image one day take shape, a work of his hands, and become visible to all? Perhaps that was his goal, the hidden meaning of his life. Perhaps; he didn't know. But one thing he did know : it was good to travel toward his mother, to be drawn and called by her. He felt alive. Perhaps he'd never be able to shape her image, perhaps she'd always remain a dream, an intuition, a golden shimmer, a sacred mystery. At any rate, he had to follow her and submit his fate to her. She was his star.

   And now the decision was at his fingertips; everything had become clear. Art was a beautiful thing, but it was no goddess, no goal-not for him. He was not to follow art, but only the call of his mother.

   ~ Hermann Hesse, Narcissus and Goldmund,
990:When people start the journey towards wholeness, the pilgrimage to the promised land, there is a moment when their deepest being is touched. They have a fundamental experience, as if the stone of their egoism has been struck by Moses' staff and water starts to spring from it, or as if the stone which was over the tomb has been lifted and the deep self is able to emerge. It is an experience - and perhaps only a very faint one - of rebirth, of liberation, of forgiveness, of wonder. It is a time of betrothal with the universe, with the light, with others and with God. It is an experience of life in which we realize that we are fundamentally one with the universe and with God, while at the same time entirely ourselves in the most alive, light-filled and profound sense. It is the discovery that we are a spring of eternal life.

This experience at the start of our pilgrimage is like a foretaste of the end, like the kiss which is the foretaste of marriage. This is the call. It guides our steps in revealing our final destiny. There is nothing more deeply personal than this moment of wonder. But it happens very often in a given context. It may be a meeting with a poor person, whose call awakens a response in us; we discover that there is a living spring hidden deep within us. It may be during a visit to a community when we meet people who become models for us; in watching them and listening to them, we discover what we want to be - they reflect our own deepest self and we are mysteriously attracted to them. Or again, the call may be more secret, hidden in the depths of our heart, awakened perhaps by the Gospel or some other writing. It is hidden in our secret part; it makes us feel that we have glimpsed the promised land, found ourselves 'at home', found 'our place'. The experience is often such as to take someone into a community or change the orientation of their life.

The experience can be like an explosion of life, a luminous moment, flooded with peace, tranquility and light. Or it can be more humble - a touch of peace, a feeling of well-being, of being in 'one's place' and with people for whom one was made. The experience gives a new hope; it is possible to keep walking because we have glimpsed something beyond the material world and beyond human limitations. We have glimpsed the possibility of happiness. We have glimpsed 'heaven'.

The experience has opened our deepest being. Later, once we are in community and on our journey, clouds can obscure the sun and that deepest self can seem to be shut away again. But, nevertheless, the first experience stays hidden in the heart's memory. We know from then on that our deepest life is light and love, and that we must go on walking through the desert and the night of faith because we have had, at one moment, the revelation of our vocation. ~ Jean Vanier,
991:The Conference Of The (Underemployed) Birds
"It shows the top half of the workforce enjoying permanent, well-paid, fulltime jobs,
while the bottom half can find only casual, poorly-paid, part-time work which, as
Labour
market economist Professor Sue Richardson warned this week, was creating a
class of
"excluded and dangerous" men with incomes to low to support a
family." - The Age, October 04, 2003.
"My discourse is sans words, sans tongue, sans sound: understand it then,
sans mind, sans ear."
- Farid Ud-Din Attar, The Conference of the Birds
(i)
A Willy-Wagtails' call intercepts the morning. Birds were real once, like jobs.
The modem's dial-up scream is cut short; why is our technology suffering so?
Fake, Australian accents in the call centre aviary: Calcutta nest robbers gloat.
A taxidermy of outsourced work: ditto, we're all stuffed on the global floor.
39
Bottom of the bird market. This new flu's crashed like tech stocks, Acme trap
For the Roadrunner managerial class, the coyote - disenfranchised American?
(ii)
Magpies don't attack in the open anymore, have you noticed: phenomena?
Phone tab's the way forward. Keep an eye on your receiver, not the skies.
There are new powers afoot for dealing with these full employment refos,
Our government issues wide-brimmed hats with strings of corks attached.
The contemporary job market has a thin eggshell; depleted proteins crack.
An excluded & dangerous class birthed? They backed job terrorism not us.
(iii)
I saw a hoopoe once. Was it Jaipur? Its crown of truth strutted on the lawn,
Painted a post-colonial green. What good is spiritual knowledge without law?
40
You will play an integral role in this dynamic environment by fudging your
Work history for sure. Service orientate your brain - lively, world class, lame.
Dangerous as ideas? There's a metal storm inside your head. Try Sufism?
Was it John Lennon or Steve McQueen who went on about "ism ism ism?
"
(iv)
There are nightingales here reputedly. Wasn't it someone from myth who
Couldn't stand being unemployed anymore & turned themselves into one?
Hit an epic glass ceiling probably. Better to be amorous than under-employed?
There's no new twist in the figures though. The virtual exclusion of women
From net growth in full-time job mythology is eons old. Sumerians started it.
Gilgamesh's entrapment of Enkidu needed a woman's art: ‘Wanted Harlot.'
(v)
41
Australia has plenty of parrots, but cockatiels inhabit our universal currency
Of shame. See them locked up in Athens, Rome, Madrid, Delhi & Bangkok.
Feathered service economies, budgerigars tell beak fortunes in Iranian streets.
Collars of gold chained to human profit. Flocks flee drought & agricultural rut.
We even killed off one sub-species called ‘Paradise', cleared full-time underbrush.
& if they were flightless, then we paid out redundancies see: dodo, puffin & moa.
~ B. R. Dionysius,
992:Bullets
As bullets come to us they're thin,
They're angular, or smooth and fat,
Some spiral are, and gimlet in,
And some are sharp, and others flat.
The slim one pink you clean and neat,
The flat ones bat a solid blow
Much as a camel throws his feet,
And leave you beastly incomplete.
If lucky you don't know it through.
The flitting bullets flow and flock;
They twitter as they pass;
They're picking at the solid rock,
They're rooting in the grass.
A tiny ballet swiftly throws
Its gossamer of rust,
Brown fairies on their little toes
A-dancing in the dust.
You cower down when first they come
With snaky whispers at your ear;
And when like swarming bees they hum
You know the tinkling chill of fear.
A whining thing will pluck your heel,
A whirring insect sting your shin;
You shrink to half your size, and feel
The ripples o'er your body seal'Tis terror walking in your skin!
The bullets pelt like winter hail,
The whistle and they sigh,
They shrill like cordage in a gale,
Like mewing kittens cry;
They hiss and spit, they purring come;
Or, silent all a span,
They rap, as on a slackened drum,
The dab that kills a man.
Rage takes you next. All hot your face
36
The bitter void, and curses leap
From pincered teeth. The wide, still space
Whence all these leaden devil's sweep
Is Tophet. Fiends by day and night
Are groping for your heart to sate
In blood their diabolic spite.
You shoot in idiot delight,
Each winging slug a hymn of hate.
The futile bullets scratch and go,
They chortle and the coo.
I laugh my scorn, for now I know
The thing they cannot do.
They flit like midges in the sun,
But howso thick they be
What matter, since there is not one
That God has marked for me!
An Eastern old philosophy
Come home at length and passion stillsThe thing will be that is to be,
And all must come as Heaven wills.
Where in the swelter and the flame
The new, hot, shining bullets drip;
One in the many has an aim,
Inwove a visage and a nameNo man may give his fate the slip!
The bullets thrill along the breeze,
They drum upon the bags,
They tweak your ear, your hair they tease,
And peck your sleeve to rags.
Their voices may no more annoyI chortle at the call:
The bullet that is mine, my boy,
I shall not hear at all!
The war's a flutter very like
The tickets that we took from Tatt.
Quite possibly I'll make a strike;
The odds are all opposed to that.
Behind the dawn the Furies sway
37
The mighty globe from which to get
Those bullets which throughout the day
Will winners be to break or slay.
I have not struck a starter yet
The busy bullets rise and flock;
They whistle as they pass;
They're chipping at the solid rock,
They're skipping in the grass.
Out there the tiny dancers throw
Their sober skirts of rust,
Brown flitting figures tipping toe
Along the golden dust.
~ Edward George Dyson,
993:Why do we complain of Nature? She has shown herself kindly; life, if you know how to use it, is long. But one man is possessed by an avarice that is insatiable, another by a toilsome devotion to tasks that are useless; one man is besotted with wine, another is paralyzed by sloth; one man is exhausted by an ambition that always hangs upon the decision of others, another, driven on by the greed of the trader, is led over all lands and all seas by the hope of gain; some are tormented by a passion for war and are always either bent upon inflicting danger upon others or concerned about their own; some there are who are worn out by voluntary servitude in a thankless attendance upon the great; many are kept busy either in the pursuit of other men's fortune or in complaining of their own; many, following no fixed aim, shifting and inconstant and dissatisfied, are plunged by their fickleness into plans that are ever new; some have no fixed principle by which to direct their course, but Fate takes them unawares while they loll and yawn—so surely does it happen that I cannot doubt the truth of that utterance which the greatest of poets delivered with all the seeming of an oracle: "The part of life we really live is small."5 For all the rest of existence is not life, but merely time. Vices beset us and surround us on every side, and they do not permit us to rise anew and lift up our eyes for the discernment of truth, but they keep us down when once they have overwhelmed us and we are chained to lust. Their victims are never allowed to return to their true selves; if ever they chance to find some release, like the waters of the deep sea which continue to heave even after the storm is past, they are tossed about, and no rest from their lusts abides. Think you that I am speaking of the wretches whose evils are admitted? Look at those whose prosperity men flock to behold; they are smothered by their blessings. To how many are riches a burden! From how many do eloquence and the daily straining to display their powers draw forth blood! How many are pale from constant pleasures! To how many does the throng of clients that crowd about them leave no freedom! In short, run through the list of all these men from the lowest to the highest—this man desires an advocate,6 this one answers the call, that one is on trial, that one defends him, that one gives sentence; no one asserts his claim to himself, everyone is wasted for the sake of another. Ask about the men whose names are known by heart, and you will see that these are the marks that distinguish them: A cultivates B and B cultivates C; no one is his own master. And then certain men show the most senseless indignation—they complain of the insolence of their superiors, because they were too busy to see them when they wished an audience! But can anyone have the hardihood to complain of the pride of another when he himself has no time to attend to himself? After all, no matter who you are, the great man does sometimes look toward you even if his face is insolent, he does sometimes condescend to listen to your words, he permits you to appear at his side; but you never deign to look upon yourself, to give ear to yourself. There is no reason, therefore, to count anyone in debt for such services, seeing that, when you performed them, you had no wish for another's company, but could not endure your own. ~ Seneca,
994:There is no invariable rule of such suffering. It is not the soul that suffers; the Self is calm and equal to all things and the only sorrow of the psychic being is the sorrow of the resistance of Nature to the Divine Will or the resistance of things and people to the call of the True, the Good and the Beautiful. What is affected by suffering is the vital nature and the body. When the soul draws towards the Divine, there may be a resistance in the mind and the common form of that is denial and doubt - which may create mental and vital suffering. There may again be a resistance in the vital nature whose principal character is desire and the attachment to the objects of desire, and if in this field there is conflict between the soul and the vital nature, between the Divine Attraction and the pull of the Ignorance, then obviously there may be much suffering of the mind and vital parts. The physical consciousness also may offer a resistance which is usually that of a fundamental inertia, an obscurity in the very stuff of the physical, an incomprehension, an inability to respond to the higher consciousness, a habit of helplessly responding to the lower mechanically, even when it does not want to do so; both vital and physical suffering may be the consequence. There is moreover the resistance of the Universal Nature which does not want the being to escape from the Ignorance into the Light. This may take the form of a vehement insistence on the continuation of the old movements, waves of them thrown on the mind and vital and body so that old ideas, impulses, desires, feelings, responses continue even after they are thrown out and rejected, and can return like an invading army from outside, until the whole nature, given to the Divine, refuses to admit them. This is the subjective form of the universal resistance, but it may also take an objective form - opposition, calumny, attacks, persecution, misfortunes of many kinds, adverse conditions and circumstances, pain, illness, assaults from men or forces. There too the possibility of suffering is evident. There are two ways to meet all that - first that of the Self, calm, equality, a spirit, a will, a mind, a vital, a physical consciousness that remain resolutely turned towards the Divine and unshaken by all suggestion of doubt, desire, attachment, depression, sorrow, pain, inertia. This is possible when the inner being awakens, when one becomes conscious of the Self, of the inner mind, the inner vital, the inner physical, for that can more easily attune itself to the divine Will, and then there is a division in the being as if there were two beings, one within, calm, strong, equal, unperturbed, a channel of the Divine Consciousness and Force, one without, still encroached on by the lower Nature; but then the disturbances of the latter become something superficial which are no more than an outer ripple, - until these under the inner pressure fade and sink away and the outer being too remains calm, concentrated, unattackable. There is also the way of the psychic, - when the psychic being comes out in its inherent power, its consecration, adoration, love of the Divine, self-giving, surrender and imposes these on the mind, vital and physical consciousness and compels them to turn all their movements Godward. If the psychic is strong and master...
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - IV, Resistances, Sufferings and Falls, 669,
995:London

The Institute

Year of Our Lord 1878


“Mother, Father, my chwaer fach,

It’s my seventeenth birthday today. I know that to write to you is to break the law, I know that I will likely tear this letter into pieces when it is finished. As I have done on all my birthdays past since I was twelve. But I write anyway, to commemorate the occasion - the way some make yearly pilgrimages to a grave, to remember the death of a loved one. For are we not dead to each other?

I wonder if when you woke this morning you remembered that today, seventeen years ago, you had a son? I wonder if you think of me and imagine my life here in the Institute in London? I doubt you could imagine it. It is so very different from our house surrounded by mountains, and the great clear blue sky and the endless green. Here, everything is black and gray and brown, and the sunsets are painted in smoke and blood. I wonder if you worry that I am lonely or, as Mother always used to, that I am cold, that I have gone out into the rain again without a hat? No one here worries about those details. There are so many things that could kill us at any moment; catching a chill hardly seems important.

I wonder if you knew that I could hear you that day you came for me, when I was twelve. I crawled under the bed to block out the sound of you crying my name, but I heard you. I heard mother call for her fach, her little one. I bit my hands until they bled but I did not come down. And, eventually, Charlotte convinced you to go away. I thought you might come again but you never did. Herondales are stubborn like that.

I remember the great sighs of relief you would both give each time the Council came to ask me if I wished to join the Nephilim and leave my family, and each time I said no and I send them away. I wonder if you knew I was tempted by the idea of a life of glory, of fighting, of killing to protect as a man should. It is in our blood - the call to the seraph and the stele, to marks and to monsters.

I wonder why you left the Nephilim, Father? I wonder why Mother chose not to Ascend and to become a Shadowhunter? Is it because you found them cruel or cold? I have no fathom side. Charlotte, especially, is kind to me, little knowing how much I do not deserve it. Henry is mad as a brush, but a good man. He would have made Ella laugh. There is little good to be said about Jessamine, but she is harmless. As little as there is good to say about her, there is as much good to say about Jem: He is the brother Father always thought I should have. Blood of my blood - though we are no relation. Though I might have lost everything else, at least I have gained one thing in his friendship.

And we have a new addition to our household too. Her name is Tessa. A pretty name, is it not? When the clouds used to roll over the mountains from the ocean? That gray is the color of her eyes.

And now I will tell you a terrible truth, since I never intend to send this letter. I came here to the Institute because I had nowhere else to go. I did not expect it to ever be home, but in the time I have been here I have discovered that I am a true Shadowhunter. In some way my blood tells me that this is what I was born to do.If only I had known before and gone with the Clave the first time they asked me, perhaps I could have saved Ella’s life. Perhaps I could have saved my own.



Your Son,

Will
~ Cassandra Clare,
996:Typically only the incivility of the less powerful toward the more powerful can be widely understood as such, and thus be subject to such intense censure. Which is what made #metoo so fraught and revolutionary. It was a period during which some of the most powerful faced repercussion. The experience of having patriarchal control compromised felt, perhaps ironically, like a violation, a diminishment, a threat to professional standing—all the things that sexual harassment feels like to those who’ve experienced it. Frequently, in those months, I was asked about how to address men’s confusion and again, their discomfort: How were they supposed to flirt? What if their respectful and professional gestures of affiliation had been misunderstood? Mothers told me of sons worried about being misinterpreted, that expression of their affections might be heard as coercion, their words or intentions read incorrectly, that they would face unjust consequences that would damage their prospects. The amazing thing was the lack of acknowledgment that these anxieties are the normal state for just about everyone who is not a white man: that black mothers reasonably worry every day that a toy or a phone or a pack of Skittles might be seen as a gun, that their children’s very presence—sleeping in a dorm room, sitting at a Starbucks, barbecuing by a river, selling lemonade on the street—might be understood as a threat, and that the repercussions might extend far beyond a dismissal from a high-paying job or expulsion from a high-profile university, and instead might result in arrest, imprisonment, or execution at the hands of police or a concerned neighbor. Women enter young adulthood constantly aware that their inebriation might be taken for consent, or their consent for sluttiness, or that an understanding of them as having been either drunk or slutty might one day undercut any claim they might make about having been violently aggressed upon. Women enter the workforce understanding from the start the need to work around and accommodate the leering advances and bad jokes of their colleagues, aware that the wrong response might change the course of their professional lives. We had been told that our failures to extend sympathy to the white working class—their well-being diminished by unemployment and drug addictions—had cost us an election; now we were being told that a failure to feel for the men whose lives were being ruined by harassment charges would provoke an angry antifeminist backlash. But with these calls came no acknowledgment of sympathies that we have never before been asked to extend: to black men who have always lived with higher rates of unemployment and who have faced systemically higher prison sentences and social disapprobation for their drug use; to the women whose careers and lives had been ruined by ubiquitous and often violent harassment. Now the call was to consider the underlying pain of those facing repercussions. Rose McGowan, one of Weinstein’s earliest and most vociferous accusers, recalled being asked “in a soft NPR voice, ‘What if what you’re saying makes men uncomfortable?’ Good. I’ve been uncomfortable my whole life. Welcome to our world of discomfort.”34 Suddenly, men were living with the fear of consequences, and it turned out that it was not fun. And they very badly wanted it to stop. One of the lessons many men would take from #metoo was not about the threat they had posed to women, but about the threat that women pose to them. ~ Rebecca Traister,
997:Thanks again, sir.” Jules shook his hand again.
“You’re welcome again,” the captain said, his smile warm. “I’ll be back aboard the ship myself at around nineteen hundred. If it’s okay with you, I’ll, uh, stop in, see how you’re doing.”
Son of a bitch. Was Jules getting hit on? Max looked at Webster again. He looked like a Marine. Muscles, meticulous uniform, well-groomed hair. That didn’t make him gay. And he’d smiled warmly at Max, too. The man was friendly, personable. And yet . . .
Jules was flustered.
“Thanks,” he said. “That would be . . . That’d be nice. Would you excuse me, though, for a sec? I’ve got to speak to Max, before I, uh . . . But I’ll head over to the ship right away.”
Webster shook Max’s hand. “It was an honor meeting you, sir.” He smiled again at Jules.
Okay, he hadn’t smiled at Max like that.
Max waited until the captain and the medic both were out of earshot. “Is he—”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Jules said. “But, oh my God.”
“He seems nice,” Max said.
“Yes,” Jules said. “Yes, he does.”
“So. The White House?”
“Yeah. About that . . .” Jules took a deep breath. “I need to let you know that you might be getting a call from President Bryant.”
“Might be,” Max repeated.
“Yes,” Jules said. “In a very definite way.” He spoke quickly, trying to run his words together: “I had a very interesting conversation with him in which I kind of let slip that you’d resigned again and he was unhappy about that so I told him I might be able to persuade you to come back to work if he’d order three choppers filled with Marines to Meda Island as soon as possible.”
“You called the President of the United States,” Max said. “During a time of international crisis, and basically blackmailed him into sending Marines.”
Jules thought about that. “Yeah. Yup. Although it was a pretty weird phone call, because I was talking via radio to some grunt in the CIA office. I had him put the call to the President for me, and we did this kind of relay thing.”
“You called the President,” Max repeated. “And you got through . . .?”
“Yeah, see, I had your cell phone. I’d accidently switched them, and . . . The President’s direct line was in your address book, so . . .”
Max nodded. “Okay,” he said.
“That’s it?” Jules said. “Just, okay, you’ll come back? Can I call Alan to tell him? We’re on a first-name basis now, me and the Pres.”
“No,” Max said. “There’s more. When you call your pal Alan, tell him I’m interested, but I’m looking to make a deal for a former Special Forces NCO.”
“Grady Morant,” Jules said.
“He’s got info on Heru Nusantra that the president will find interesting. In return, we want a full pardon and a new identity.”
Jules nodded. “I think I could set that up.” He started for the helicopter, but then turned back. “What’s Webster’s first name? Do you know?”
“Ben,” Max told him. “Have a nice vacation.”
“Recovering from a gunshot wound is not a vacation. You need to write that, like, on your hand or something. Jeez.”
Max laughed. “Hey, Jules?”
He turned back again. “Yes, sir?”
“Thanks for being such a good friend.”
Jules’s smile was beautiful. “You’re welcome, Max.” But that smile faded far too quickly. “Uh-oh, heads up—crying girlfriend on your six.”
Ah, God, no . . . Max turned to see Gina, running toward him.
Please God, let those be tears of joy.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked her.
Gina said the word he’d been praying for. “Benign.”
Max took her in his arms, this woman who was the love of his life, and kissed her.
Right in front of the Marines. ~ Suzanne Brockmann,
998:Stop talking. Now.”

Deanna’s head fell back and she started laughing. It was a full-bodied belly laugh that spread over him like a breeze on a hot day. The sound was so sweet that it almost made up for how big of a disgusting pervert he felt like right now.

While she was still chuckling, she touched his arm. “Don’t feel bad. How old were you then?”

“It was senior year, so seventeen,” Lucky answered, still feeling gross.

“See? You were a teenager, too. It’s fine. Really.” She continued giggling, and he had to admit that the sound made him so happy that he didn’t even care that it was at his expense.

“It still feels wrong.” His shoulders shook as a chill ran through him, and it wasn’t the good kind. It was the grossed-out kind.

“I think it’s hilarious,” she said, clearly enjoying seeing him squirm.

“I’m so glad I can amuse you,” he said flatly.

“Well, I think it’s only fair since I seemed to have offered hours of amusement for you—”
Without even thinking, he reached over the seat and started tickling her. She wiggled and laughed, begging him to stop. He did, but only because a call came in.

When he saw the picture on his console’s display, he knew he had to answer it. Pressing the answer button, he extended his patent greeting to his publicist.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Why can’t you just play nice with others, especially the press?” Jessie Sloan-Courtland asked in her usual no nonsense tone. Jessie wasn’t one for niceties. She was all business, all the time.

Deciding to ignore her rhetorical question and her dislike for small talk, he pushed on undeterred. “I’ve been good. How about you?”

“Lucky. You can’t treat the press like that.” Jessie seemed to have the same game plan as he did.

This conversation was going to happen, so he figured he might as well just get it over with. “I wasn’t there for them. I was there for the kids.”

“It doesn’t matter. They were there, and whether you like it or not, you have a responsibility—”

“I had a responsibility to visit the kids and their families. I had a responsibility to protect the people I brought with me. And I lived up to my responsibilities.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. You’re supposed to be cleaning up your act. We agreed. And your image is your responsibility. When you elbow photographers in the nose, you open yourself up for lawsuits, and that is not something sponsors think is appealing. You know what’s on the line with this bout. Don’t screw it up.”

“Yes, Mom,” he answered—his normal response for when Jessie was right.

“You know, you’re not nearly as cute as you think you are,” she said, sounding less than impressed.

“Awww, you think I’m cute. Does Zach know? I don’t want to come betw—”

“Goodbye, Lucky.”

“Bye, beautiful.”

When the call disconnected, Lucky felt a little twinge of guilt that Jessie had even had to make that call. He knew better.

“Wow. She’s awesome.” Unlike Jessie, Deanna did sound impressed.

“Yeah. She is pretty awesome,” he agreed.

“And so beautiful.” Deanna was still looking at Jessie’s picture on the console.

He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea just because he’d called her beautiful. “Her husband sure thinks so. He’s actually a friend of mine. Have you heard of Zach Courtland?”

Deanna was quiet for a beat. Then she snapped her fingers. “Was he the one in the Calvin Klein ads?”

“That’s him.”

“Wow. She’s married to him? He’s…hot.”

Well, this conversation had taken a turn Lucky didn’t like. Not one little bit. ~ Melanie Shawn,
999:Are you all right, Vanni?” he asked. “Hmm, just a little melancholy, that’s all.” “It’s hard to tell what’s bothering you most—Midge’s passing or some problem you’re having with Paul.” She turned to look at him and he said, “Anything you want to talk about?” She shrugged. “There’s not too much to talk about, Dad.” “You could help me understand a couple of things, you know.” “For instance?” “Oh, don’t be coy—you stood Paul up to go away with the doctor and if I know anything about you, you’re not that interested in the doctor. Hell, you’ve been in a strange mood since Paul left after Mattie was born. You knew Paul was coming for the weekend—and despite his best efforts to be circumspect, you knew he was coming for you.” “I wasn’t so sure about that.” “I heard you fight with him, Vanni. Did you and Paul have some kind of falling-out?” “Not exactly, Dad.” Walt took a breath. “Vanessa, I don’t mean to pry, but it’s pretty apparent to me how you feel about Paul. And how Paul feels about you. And yet…” “Dad, while Paul was here last autumn, we got a lot closer. We were good friends before, but of course with all we went through together… Dad, before all that happened, Paul had a life in Grants Pass. One that’s not so easily left behind.” “Vanni, Paul loves you, but something happened between you recently…” “He let me know—there are complications in Grants Pass. Something he’s been struggling with. It’s kept him from being honest about his feelings,” she said. “He has commitments, Dad.” “A woman?” Walt asked. Vanni laughed softly. “We shouldn’t be so surprised that Paul actually had women in his life, should we? Yes, apparently there was a woman. Is a woman…” “Jesus,” Walt said under his breath. “He’s not married, is he?” “Of course not. He wouldn’t keep something like that from us.” “Engaged?” “He says there’s enough of an entanglement there to make his position difficult. That’s why he wasn’t around after Mattie was born.” Walt drove in silence for a while and Vanni resumed gazing out the window. After a few moments of silence Walt asked, “What about you, Vanni? I know you care about him.” “Dad, Matt’s only been gone a few months. Should I even have such feelings? Should I be completely embarrassed? I’ll miss him forever, but I—” “Please don’t do that to yourself, honey,” he said. “Haven’t we learned by now? Life is too short to suffer needlessly.” “Will people say I—” “I don’t give a good goddamn what people say,” he growled. “Everyone is entitled to a little happiness, wherever that is. And I think for you, it’s with Paul.” She sighed and said, “I’m asking myself why I thought I had some claim on him. He was very good to us all, I’m so grateful—but why didn’t I realize that a man like Paul wouldn’t have any trouble attracting the attention—the love—of a woman? I’ve been so angry with him for not telling me, but… Why didn’t I ask?” “Now what, Vanni? Is he trying to make a choice, is that it?” “We were having a discussion, not a very pleasant one, right when the call came from Shelby. It left his intentions up in the air a bit. But there’s one thing I won’t do, I can’t do—I can’t ask Paul to choose me over a woman he has an obligation to. I tried to make it very clear, his duty to me as his best friend’s widow has expired. He doesn’t have to take care of me anymore.” “I have a feeling it’s more than duty,” Walt said. “I have a feeling it always has been…” “He has to do the right thing,” she said. “I’m not getting in the way of that. A man like Paul—he could regret the wrong decision for the rest of his life. And frankly, I don’t want to be the one left to live with his regret.” “Oh, boy. You two have some talking to do.” “No. Paul has business to take care of. I have nothing more to say about this.” * ~ Robyn Carr,
1000:told me more about what happened the other night?” she asked, deciding to air her worst fears. “Am I under suspicion or something?” “Everyone is.” “Especially ex-wives who are publicly humiliated on the day of the murder, right?” Something in Montoya’s expression changed. Hardened. “I’ll be back,” he promised, “and I’ll bring another detective with me, then we’ll interview you and you can ask all the questions you like.” “And you’ll answer them?” He offered a hint of a smile. “That I can’t promise. Just that I won’t lie to you.” “I wouldn’t expect you to, Detective.” He gave a quick nod. “In the meantime if you suddenly remember, or think of anything, give me a call.” “I will,” she promised, irritated, watching as he hurried down the two steps of the porch to his car. He was younger than she was by a couple of years, she guessed, though she couldn’t be certain, and there was something about him that exuded a natural brooding sexuality, as if he knew he was attractive to women, almost expected it to be so. Great. Just what she needed, a sexy-as-hell cop who probably had her pinned to the top of his murder suspect list. She whistled for the dog and Hershey bounded inside, dragging some mud and leaves with her. “Sit!” Abby commanded and the Lab dropped her rear end onto the floor just inside the door. Abby opened the door to the closet and found a towel hanging on a peg she kept for just such occasions, then, while Hershey whined in protest, she cleaned all four of her damp paws. “You’re gonna be a problem, aren’t you?” she teased, then dropped the towel over the dog’s head. Hershey shook herself, tossed off the towel, then bit at it, snagging one end in her mouth and pulling backward in a quick game of tug of war. Abby laughed as she played with the dog, the first real joy she’d felt since hearing the news about her ex-husband. The phone rang and she left the dog growling and shaking the tattered piece of terry cloth. “Hello?” she said, still chuckling at Hershey’s antics as she lifted the phone to her ear. “Abby Chastain?” “Yes.” “Beth Ann Wright with the New Orleans Sentinel.” Abby’s heart plummeted. The press. Just what she needed. “You were Luke Gierman’s wife, right?” “What’s this about?” Abby asked warily as Hershey padded into the kitchen and looked expectantly at the back door leading to her studio. “In a second,” she mouthed to the Lab. Hershey slowly wagged her tail. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Beth Ann said, sounding sincerely rueful. “I should have explained. The paper’s running a series of articles on Luke, as he was a local celebrity, and I’d like to interview you for the piece. I was thinking we could meet tomorrow morning?” “Luke and I were divorced.” “Yes, I know, but I would like to give some insight to the man behind the mike, you know. He had a certain public persona, but I’m sure my readers would like to know more about him, his history, his hopes, his dreams, you know, the human-interest angle.” “It’s kind of late for that,” Abby said, not bothering to keep the ice out of her voice. “But you knew him intimately. I thought you could come up with some anecdotes, let people see the real Luke Gierman.” “I don’t think so.” “I realize you and he had some unresolved issues.” “Pardon me?” “I caught his program the other day.” Abby tensed, her fingers holding the phone in a death grip. “So this is probably harder for you than most, but I still would like to ask you some questions.” “Maybe another time,” she hedged and Beth Ann didn’t miss a beat. “Anytime you’d like. You’re a native Louisianan, aren’t you?” Abby’s neck muscles tightened. “Born and raised, but you met Luke in Seattle when he was working for a radio station . . . what’s the call sign, I know I’ve got it somewhere.” “KCTY.” It was a matter of public record. “Oh, that’s right. Country in the City. But you grew up here and went to local schools, right? Your ~ Lisa Jackson,
1001::::
   As an inner equality increases and with it the sense of the true vital being waiting for the greater direction it has to serve, as the psychic call too increases in all the members of our nature, That to which the call is addressed begins to reveal itself, descends to take possession of the life and its energies and fills them with the height, intimacy, vastness of its presence and its purpose. In many, if not most, it manifests something of itself even before the equality and the open psychic urge or guidance are there. A call of the veiled psychic element oppressed by the mass of the outer ignorance and crying for deliverance, a stress of eager meditation and seeking for knowledge, a longing of the heart, a passionate will ignorant yet but sincere may break the lid that shuts off that Higher from this Lower Nature and open the floodgates. A little of the Divine Person may reveal itself or some Light, Power, Bliss, Love out of the Infinite. This may be a momentary revelation, a flash or a brief-lived gleam that soon withdraws and waits for the preparation of the nature; but also it may repeat itself, grow, endure. A long and large and comprehensive working will then have begun, sometimes luminous or intense, sometimes slow and obscure. A Divine Power comes in front at times and leads and compels or instructs and enlightens; at others it withdraws into the background and seems to leave the being to its own resources. All that is ignorant, obscure, perverted or simply imperfect and inferior in the being is raised up, perhaps brought to its acme, dealt with, corrected, exhausted, shown its own disastrous results, compelled to call for its own cessation or transformation or expelled as worthless or incorrigible from the nature. This cannot be a smooth and even process; alternations there are of day and night, illumination and darkness, calm and construction or battle and upheaval, the presence of the growing Divine Consciousness and its absence, heights of hope and abysses of despair, the clasp of the Beloved and the anguish of its absence, the overwhelming invasion, the compelling deceit, the fierce opposition, the disabling mockery of hostile Powers or the help and comfort and communion of the Gods and the Divine Messengers. A great and long revolution and churning of the ocean of Life with strong emergences of its nectar and its poison is enforced till all is ready and the increasing Descent finds a being, a nature prepared and conditioned for its complete rule and its all-encompassing presence. But if the equality and the psychic light and will are already there, then this process, though it cannot be dispensed with, can still be much lightened and facilitated: it will be rid of its worst dangers; an inner calm, happiness, confidence will support the steps through all the difficulties and trials of the transformation and the growing Force profiting by the full assent of the nature will rapidly diminish and eliminate the power of the opposing forces. A sure guidance and protection will be present throughout, sometimes standing in front, sometimes working behind the veil, and the power of the end will be already there even in the beginning and in the long middle stages of the great endeavour. For at all times the seeker will be aware of the Divine Guide and Protector or the working of the supreme Mother-Force; he will know that all is done for the best, the progress assured, the victory inevitable. In either case the process is the same and unavoidable, a taking up of the whole nature, of the whole life, of the internal and of the external, to reveal and handle and transform its forces and their movements under the pressure of a diviner Life from above, until all here has been possessed by greater spiritual powers and made an instrumentation of a spiritual action and a divine purpose. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, The Ascent of the Sacrifice - 2, 179,
1002:Sicut Patribus, sit Deus Nobis)

The rocky nook with hilltops three
Looked eastward from the farms,
And twice each day the flowing sea
Took Boston in its arms;
The men of yore were stout and poor,
And sailed for bread to every shore.
And where they went on trade intent
They did what freeman can,
Their dauntless ways did all men praise,
The merchant was a man.
The world was made for honest trade,
To plant and eat be none afraid.
The waves that rocked them on the deep
To them their secret told;
Said the winds that sung the lads to sleep,
"Like us be free and bold!"
The honest waves refuse to slaves
The empire of the ocean caves.
Old Europe groans with palaces,
Has lords enough and more;
We plant and build by foaming seas
A city of the poor;
For day by day could Boston Bay
Their honest labor overpay.
We grant no dukedoms to the few,
We hold like rights and shall;
Equal on Sunday in the pew,
On Monday in the mall.
For what avail the plough or sail,
Or land or life, if freedom fail?
The noble craftsmen we promote,
Disown the knave and fool;
Each honest man shall have his vote,
Each child shall have his school.
A union then of honest men,
Or union nevermore again.
The wild rose and the barberry thorn
Hung out their summer pride
Where now on heated pavements worn
The feet of millions stride.
Fair rose the planted hills behind
The good town on the bay,
And where the western hills declined
The prairie stretched away.
What care though rival cities soar
Along the stormy coast:
Penn's town, New York, and Baltimore,
If Boston knew the most!
They laughed to know the world so wide;
The mountains said: "Good-day!
We greet you well, you Saxon men,
Up with your towns and stay!"
The world was made for honest trade,
To plant and eat be none afraid.
"For you," they said, "no barriers be,
For you no sluggard rest;
Each street leads downward to the sea,
Or landward to the West."
O happy town beside the sea,
Whose roads lead everywhere to all;
Than thine no deeper moat can be,
No stouter fence, no steeper wall!
Bad news from George on the English throne:
"You are thriving well," said he;
"Now by these presents be it known,
You shall pay us a tax on tea;
'Tis very small,no load at all,
Honor enough that we send the call."
"Not so," said Boston, "good my lord,
We pay your governors here
Abundant for their bed and board,
Six thousand pounds a year.
(Your highness knows our homely word,)
Millions for self-government,
But for tribute never a cent."
The cargo came! and who could blame
If Indians seized the tea,
And, chest by chest, let down the same
Into the laughing sea?
For what avail the plough or sail
Or land or life, if freedom fail?
The townsmen braved the English king,
Found friendship in the French,
And Honor joined the patriot ring
Low on their wooden bench.
O bounteous seas that never fail!
O day remembered yet!
O happy port that spied the sail
Which wafted Lafayette!
Pole-star of light in Europe's night,
That never faltered from the right.
Kings shook with fear, old empires crave
The secret force to find
Which fired the little State to save
The rights of all mankind.
But right is might through all the world;
Province to province faithful clung,
Through good and ill the war-bolt hurled,
Till Freedom cheered and the joy-bells rung.
The sea returning day by day
Restores the world-wide mart;
So let each dweller on the Bay
Fold Boston in his heart,
Till these echoes be choked with snows,
Or over the town blue ocean flows.
This poem was read in Faneuil Hall, on the Centennial Anniversary of the "Boston Tea-Party," at which a band of men disguised as Indians had quietly emptied into the sea the taxed tea-chests of three British ships. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Boston
,
1003:The Woodcutter's Hut
Far up in the wild and wintery hills in the heart of the cliff-broken
woods,
Where the mounded drifts lie soft and deep in the noiseless solitudes,
The hut of the lonely woodcutter stands, a few rough beams that show
A blunted peak and a low black line, from the glittering waste of snow.
In the frost-still dawn from his roof goes up in the windless,
motionless air,
The thin, pink curl of leisurely smoke; through the forest white and
bare
The woodcutter follows his narrow trail, and the morning rings and
cracks
With the rhythmic jet of his sharp-blown breath and the echoing shout of
his axe.
Only the waft of the wind besides, or the stir of some hardy bird-The call of the friendly chickadee, or the pat of the nuthatch--is
heard;
Or a rustle comes from a dusky clump, where the busy siskins feed,
And scatter the dimpled sheet of the snow with the shells of the
cedar-seed.
Day after day the woodcutter toils untiring with axe and wedge,
Till the jingling teams come up from the road that runs by the valley's
edge,
With plunging of horses, and hurling of snow, and many a shouted word,
And carry away the keen-scented fruit of his cutting, cord upon cord.
Not the sound of a living foot comes else, not a moving visitant there,
Save the delicate step of some halting doe, or the sniff of a prowling
bear.
And only the stars are above him at night, and the trees that creak and
groan,
And the frozen, hard-swept mountain-crests with their silent fronts of
stone,
As he watches the sinking glow of his fire and the wavering flames
upcaught,
Cleaning his rifle or mending his moccasins, sleepy and slow of
thought.
Or when the fierce snow comes, with the rising wind, from the grey
north-east,
He lies through the leaguering hours in his bunk like a winter-hidden
beast,
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Or sits on the hard-packed earth, and smokes by his draught-blown
guttering fire,
Without thought or remembrance, hardly awake, and waits for the storm
to tire.
Scarcely he hears from the rock-rimmed heights to the wild ravines
below,
Near and far-off, the limitless wings of the tempest hurl and go
In roaring gusts that plunge through the cracking forest, and lull,
and lift,
All day without stint and all night long with the sweep of the hissing
drift.
But winter shall pass ere long with its hills of snow and its fettered
dreams,
And the forest shall glimmer with living gold, and chime with the
gushing of streams;
Millions of little points of plants shall prick through its matted
floor,
And the wind-flower lift and uncurl her silken buds by the woodman's
door;
The sparrow shall see and exult; but lo! as the spring draws gaily on,
The woodcutter's hut is empty and bare, and the master that made it is
gone.
He is gone where the gathering of valley men another labour yields,
To handle the plough, and the harrow, and scythe, in the heat of the
summer fields.
He is gone with his corded arms, and his ruddy face, and his moccasined
feet,
The animal man in his warmth and vigour, sound, and hard, and complete.
And all summer long, round the lonely hut, the black earth burgeons and
breeds,
Till the spaces are filled with the tall-plumed ferns and the triumphing
forest-weeds;
The thick wild raspberries hem its walls, and, stretching on either
hand,
The red-ribbed stems and the giant-leaves of the sovereign spikenard
stand.
So lonely and silent it is, so withered and warped with the sun and
snow,
You would think it the fruit of some dead man's toil a hundred years
ago;
And he who finds it suddenly there, as he wanders far and alone,
Is touched with a sweet and beautiful sense of something tender and
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gone,
The sense of a struggling life in the waste, and the mark of a soul's
command,
The going and coming of vanished feet, the touch of a human hand.
~ Archibald Lampman,
1004:Saltbush Bill On The Patriarchs
Come all you little rouseabouts and climb upon my knee;
To-day, you see, is Christmas Day, and so it’s up to me
To give you some instruction like—a kind of Christmas tale—
So name your yarn, and off she goes. What, “Jonah and the Whale”?
Well, whales is sheep I’ve never shore; I’ve never been to sea,
So all them great Leviathans is mysteries to me;
But there’s a tale the Bible tells I fully understand,
About the time the Patriarchs were settling on the land.
Those Patriarchs of olden time, when all is said and done,
They lived the same as far-out men on many a Queensland run—
A lot of roving, droving men who drifted to and fro,
The same we did out Queensland way a score of years ago.
Now Isaac was a squatter man, and Jacob was his son,
And when the boy grew up, you see, he wearied of the run.
You know the way that boys grow up—there’s some that stick at home;
But any boy that’s worth his salt will roll his swag and roam.
So Jacob caught the roving fit and took the drovers’ track
To where his uncle had a run, beyond the outer back;
You see they made for out-back runs for room to stretch and grow,
The same we did out Queensland way a score of years ago.
Now, Jacob knew the ways of stock—that’s most uncommon clear—
For when he got to Laban’s Run, they made him overseer;
He didn’t ask a pound a week, but bargained for his pay
To take the roan and strawberry calves—the same we’d take to-day.
The duns and blacks and “Goulburn roans” (that’s brindles), coarse and hard,
He branded them with Laban’s brand, in Old Man Laban’s yard;
So, when he’d done the station work for close on seven year,
Why, all the choicest stock belonged to Laban’s overseer.
It’s often so with overseers—I’ve seen the same thing done
By many a Queensland overseer on many a Queensland run.
But when the mustering time came on old Laban acted straight,
And gave him country of his own outside the boundary gate.
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He gave him stock, and offered him his daughter’s hand in troth;
And Jacob first he married one, and then he married both;
You see, they weren’t particular about a wife or so—
No more were we up Queensland way a score of years ago.
But when the stock were strong and fat with grass and lots of rain,
Then Jacob felt the call to take the homeward road again.
It’s strange in every creed and clime, no matter where you roam,
There comes a day when every man would like to make for home.
So off he set with sheep and goats, a mighty moving band,
To battle down the homeward track along the Overland—
It’s droving mixed-up mobs like that that makes men cut their throats.
I’ve travelled rams, which Lord forget, but never travelled goats.
But Jacob knew the ways of stock, for (so the story goes)
When battling through the Philistines—selectors, I suppose—
He thought he’d have to fight his way, an awkward sort of job;
So what did Old Man Jacob do? of course, he split the mob.
He sent the strong stock on ahead to battle out the way;
He couldn’t hurry lambing ewes—no more you could to-day—
And down the road, from run to run, his hand ’gainst every hand,
He moved that mighty mob of stock across the Overland.
The thing is made so clear and plain, so solid in and out,
There isn’t any room at all for any kind of doubt.
It’s just a plain straightforward tale—a tale that lets you know
The way they lived in Palestine three thousand years ago.
It’s strange to read it all to-day, the shifting of the stock;
You’d think you see the caravans that loaf behind the flock,
The little donkeys and the mules, the sheep that slowly spread,
And maybe Dan or Naphthali a-ridin’ on ahead.
The long, dry, dusty summer days, the smouldering fires at night;
The stir and bustle of the camp at break of morning light;
The little kids that skipped about, the camels’ dead-slow tramp—
I wish I’d done a week or two in Old Man Jacob’s camp!
But if I keep the narrer path, some day, perhaps, I’ll know
How Jacob bred them strawberry calves three thousand years ago.
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~ Banjo Paterson,
1005:The Town Down By The River
Said the Watcher by the Way
To the young and the unladen,
To the boy and to the maiden,
"God be with you both to-day.
First your song came ringing,
Now you come, you two-Knowing naught of what you do,
Or of what your dreams are bringing.
"O you children who go singing
To the Town down the River,
Where the millions cringe and shiver,
Tell me what you know to-day;
Tell me how far you are going,
Tell me how you find your way.
O you children who are dreaming,
Tell me what you dream to-day."
"He is old and we have heard him,"
Said the boy then to the maiden;
"He is old and heavy laden
With a load we throw away.
Care may come to find us,
Age may lay us low;
Still, we seek the light we know,
And the dead we leave behind us.
"Did he think that he would blind us
Into such a small believing
As to live without achieving,
When the lights have led so far?
Let him watch or let him wither,-Shall he tell us where we are?
We know best, who go together,
Downward, onward, and so far."
II
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Said the Watcher by the Way
To the fiery folk that hastened
To the loud and the unchastened,
"You are strong, I see, to-day.
Strength and hope may lead you
To the journey's end,-Each to be the other's friend
If the Town should fail to need you.
"And are ravens there to feed you
In the Town down the River,
Where the gift appalls the giver
And youth hardens day by day?
O you brave and you unshaken,
Are you truly on your way?
And are sirens in the River,
That you come so far to-day?"
"You are old and we have listened,"
Said the voice of one who halted;
"You are sage and self-exalted,
But your way is not our way.
You that cannot aid us
Give us words to eat.
Be assured that they are sweet,
And that we are as God made us.
"Not in vain have you delayed us,
Though the river still be calling
Through the twilight that is falling
And the Town be still so far.
By the whirlwind of your wisdom
Leagues are lifted as leaves are;
But a king without a kingdom
Fails us, who have come so far."
III
Said the Watcher by the Way
To the slower folk who stumbled,
To the weak and the world-humbled,
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"Tell me how you fare to-day.
Some with ardor shaken,
All with honor scarred,
Do you falter, finding hard
The far chance that you have taken?
"Or, do you at length awaken
To an antic retribution,
Goading to a new confusion
The drugged hopes of yesterday?
O you poor mad men that hobble,
Will you not return or stay?
Do you trust, you broken people,
To a dawn without the day?"
"You speak well of what you know not,"
Muttered one; and then a second:
"You have begged, and you have beckoned,
But you see us on our way.
Who are you to scold us,
Knowing what we know?
Jeremiah, long ago,
Said as much as you have told us.
"As we are, then, you behold us:
Derelicts of all conditions,
Poets, rogues, and sick physicians,
Plodding forward from afar;
Forward now into the darkness
Where the men before us are;
Forward, onward, out of grayness,
To the light that shone so far."
IV
Said the Watcher by the Way
To some aged ones who lingered,
To the shrunken, the claw-fingered,
"So you come for me to-day."-"Yes, to give you warning;
You are old," one said;
"You have hairs on your head,
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Fit for laurel, not for scorning.
"From the first of early morning
We have toiled along to find you;
We, as others, have maligned you,
But we need your scorn to-day.
By the light that we saw shining,
Let us not be lured alway;
Let us hear no River calling
When to-morrow is to-day."
"But your lanterns are unlighted
And the Town is far before you:
Let us hasten, I implore you,"
Said the Watcher by the Way.
"Long have I waited,
Longer have I known
That the Town would have its own,
And the call be for the fated.
"In the name of all created.
Let us hear no more my brothers;
Are we older than all others?
Are the planets in our way?"-"Hark," said one; I hear the River,
Calling always, night and day."-"Forward, then! The lights are shining,"
Said the Watcher by the Way.
~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,
1006:The Night
II
Watchman, what of the night?
See you a streak of light?
Whither, O Captain of the quest,
The course we steer for Port of Rest?
How shall he answer - he
Who never put to sea?
Within his tabernacle wall
He cannot even hear us call.
Behind the jealous door
That he must pass no more,
And whence he scarcely dares to look,
He keeps his eyes upon his book.
The little candles, lit
Where the disciples sit,
Light their small refuge round about,
But show no gleam to those without Spirits that cannot dwell
In such an airless cell,
Sniffing the sea-winds from afar,
Glimpsing the light of moon and star.
We must fare forth, unsped,
From homely board and bed;
We must set sail for port unknown,
On an uncharted course, alone.
Push off. We have to go,
Whether we choose or no.
The Call, though faint and far away,
Has reached us, and we must obey.
O but the night is dark
Beyond that only ark!
The salt sea-winds blow keen and cold
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Outside the shelter of the fold!
Boom of the deep-sea swell,
Solemn as funeral bell Silence transcending sound, to make
High courage falter and heart quake . . . . .
What will the voyage cost?
We are already lost
Who turn from land and love, to face
This blank immensity of space.
Push out. We have to go,
Whether we fear or no.
And why stand shivering and appalled?
We go because the Voice has called.
Noah's inspired dove
Took wing to find her love.
The sea is His - safe as the land
Within the hollow of His hand.
Here are the breakers - pull
Before the boat is full!
'Ware the sharp reefs that line the shore!
Row for the open evermore!
O but the night is dark!
Never the faintest spark
Where surf and shore and cities were!
And not a whisper in the air.
The open - heart of grace,
It is a lonely place!
No light on any onward track!
Too far - too late - for turning back!
Where is that little ark Those candles in the dark The Rock of Ages cleft for me The Cross uprising in the sea -
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Whereto the drowning grope
With yearning faith and hope,
And cling as to their mother's breast,
And find safe shelter and sweet rest?
Gone, gone - for ever gone!
And still we must press on.
Steady, true soul, too brave to fret!
Press on - we are not drowning yet.
The night is soft and still
That was so wild and chill;
The bosom of the mighty deep
Breathes like a tired child asleep.
So peaceful, so profound,
The silence spread around!
The very breakers of the shore
Moan to the listening ear no more.
Night - but the stars are out.
Darkness of dread and doubt,
The way so lonely and so rough,
Have cleared a little, but enough.
We know not where we areLight cannot reach so far,
But shows us we have lost and gained
As the compelling Voice ordained.
Gone, gone beyond recall,
Candle and prisoning wall,
Last echo of the hue and cry,
Last glint of an accusing eye.
Too late for looking back
Over the darkening track.
How should the life-taught soul return
That cannot unlive or unlearn?
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.
Changed, changed, for ever changed,
Since hitherward we ranged,
To vision in a space so vast,
All the perspectives of the past.
How infinitely small
The once so broad and tall The aims, the pursuit and the strife
Shut in the sheltered grooves of life!
Those terrifying laws,
The wrangles and the wars
Of church with church and state with state The things men love, the things men hate Money and gauds and fame,
And neighbours' scorn and blame The passion of desire and haste
To gather, to possess, to waste . . . . . .
How infinitely high,
Broad as the sea and sky,
The loyalty of man to man,
Once almost missing from the plan The elemental law
That codes and creeds ignore,
Of duty to the trust we hold
For heirs unborn and years untold . . . . . .
Night - and the drifting soul
Still without path or goal.
Yet was the voyage worth the cost.
We are not drowned. We are not lost.
'T'is I. Be not afraid.
Moonlight and stars may fade.
One walks the ocean and the night.
We have no further need of light.
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What matters where we go?
We do not ask to know.
He called us, and we came. The quest
For us is ended, and we rest.
~ Ada Cambridge,
1007:On Love
TO the assembled folk
At great St. Kavin’s spoke
Young Brother Amiel on Christmas Eve;
I give you joy, my friends,
That as the round year ends,
We meet once more for gladness by God’s leave.
On other festal days
For penitence or praise
Or prayer we meet, or fullness of thanksgiving;
To-night we calendar
The rising of that star
Which lit the old world with new joy of living.
Ah, we disparage still
The Tidings of Good Will,
Discrediting Love’s gospel now as then!
And with the verbal creed
That God is love indeed,
Who dares make Love his god before all men?
Shall we not, therefore, friends,
Resolve to make amends
To that glad inspiration of the heart;
To grudge not, to cast out
Selfishness, malice, doubt,
Anger and fear; and for the better part,
To love so much, so well,
The spirit cannot tell
The range and sweep of her own boundary!
There is no period
Between the soul and God;
Love is the tide, God the eternal sea.…
To-day we walk by love;
To strive is not enough,
Save against greed and ignorance and might.
We apprehend peace comes
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Not with the roll of drums,
But in the still processions of the night.
And we perceive, not awe
But love is the great law
That binds the world together safe and whole.
The splendid planets run
Their courses in the sun;
Love is the gravitation of the soul.
In the profound unknown,
Illumined, fair, and lone,
Each star is set to shimmer in its place.
In the profound divine
Each soul is set to shine,
And its unique appointed orbit trace.
There is no near nor far,
Where glorious Algebar
Swings round his mighty circuit through the night,
Yet where without a sound
The winged seed comes to ground,
And the red leaf seems hardly to alight.
One force, one lore, one need
For satellite and seed,
In the serene benignity for all.
Letting her time-glass run
With star-dust, sun by sun,
In Nature’s thought there is no great nor small.
There is no far nor near
Within the spirit’s sphere.
The summer sunset’s scarlet-yellow wings
Are tinged with the same dye
That paints the tulip’s ply.
And what is colour but the soul of things?
(The earth was without form;
God moulded it with storm,
Ice, flood, and tempest, gleaming tint and hue;
Lest it should come to ill
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For lack of spirit still,
He gave it colour,—let the love shine through.)…
Of old, men said, ‘Sin not;
By every line and jot
Ye shall abide; man’s heart is false and vile.’
Christ said, ‘By love alone
In man’s heart is God known;
Obey the word no falsehood can defile.’…
And since that day we prove
Only how great is love,
Nor to this hour its greatness half believe.
For to what other power
Will life give equal dower,
Or chaos grant one moment of reprieve!
Look down the ages’ line,
Where slowly the divine
Evinces energy, puts forth control;
See mighty love alone
Transmuting stock and stone,
Infusing being, helping sense and soul.
And what is energy,
In-working, which bids be
The starry pageant and the life of earth?
What is the genesis
Of every joy and bliss,
Each action dared, each beauty brought to birth?
What hangs the sun on high?
What swells the growing rye?
What bids the loons cry on the Northern lake?
What stirs in swamp and swale,
When April winds prevail,
And all the dwellers of the ground awake?…
What lurks in the deep gaze
Of the old wolf? Amaze,
Hope, recognition, gladness, anger, fear.
But deeper than all these
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Love muses, yearns, and sees,
And is the self that does not change nor veer.
Not love of self alone,
Struggle for lair and bone,
But self-denying love of mate and young,
Love that is kind and wise,
Knows trust and sacrifice,
And croons the old dark universal tongue.…
And who has understood
Our brothers of the wood,
Save he who puts off guile and every guise
Of violence,—made truce
With panther, bear, and moose,
As beings like ourselves whom love makes wise?
For they, too, do love’s will,
Our lesser clansmen still;
The House of Many Mansions holds us all;
Courageous, glad and hale,
They go forth on the trail,
Hearing the message, hearkening to the call.…
Open the door to-night
Within your heart, and light
The lantern of love there to shine afar.
On a tumultuous sea
Some straining craft, maybe,
With bearings lost, shall sight love’s silver star.
~ Bliss William Carman,
1008:Sunflower Face
What grief is melting in your thoughtful eyes,
You with the face of the Sun? What song of sorrow
Is wafting in your tremulous lips? But perhaps
This song and grief are not yours, in fact—maybe,
I am passing on to you the fire in my chest, although
They suit you too so well—this lament of my boat
Crashing in the sea at your wharf—I did so sway
The billows that it might not enter your ears-When a solar system stops its momentum on its own,
When the dry Ganga of the Milky Way burns up
Like a sandy channel and writhes for water,
O Sunflower Face, will you come and open your ears
Like a whirlwind that tears away the roots of my vowels
And consonants, which keep flowing like a mere song?
Till now I haven't drawn even a little painting for you,
Nor have I composed a simple light song for you-And yet you have guarded the western gateway of kindness,
And guarded this sea-wharf, where my corpse is floating,
As well as the pain I have cherished like under-water fire
O Sunflower Face, words of curse are indeed on the tip
Of my tongue, sharp words seething with hellish torture,
I shall not sprinkle these singeing words on anybody's head,
Lest they should boomerang some day or other, and so
Thinking, I remain dumb even now, as always.
Look! These sea waves sometimes in the morning lie
Without motion, their vast expanse seems like a bed-sheet,
The folds will not move, they may beckon as if to tempt
Us to lie on them, hearing the call we may take a close look,
And if our eyes are O.K, in that stillness we shall learn
The thirst of the sea, the depth of the sea, the orgasmic spell
Of the sea, the cruelty of the sea, the hypnotic electric measure
Of the sea. The sea's measure is the glory of the strong goddess
Who saved the threefold powers that lay crying and crawling
In the primordial waters of primal energy at the time of Creation.
As we invoke and awaken that Sea-mother, giving her life,
Installing her figure drawn on the floor, as it were,
What is it that you whisper into my ears, strange!
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That this is the truth, that this alone is truth, do you
Whisper into my ears? Touching my cheek, you
Pour into my ears this electric charm—the spell
Of the wounds of love and affection and sweetness,
That assumes a form and pulsates here on the floor.
Sunflower Face, I am not just drawing your picture
In colours--but merely trying to mark a figure
In my home courtyard with the fresh powder of
This lengthening moonlight, just for nothing at all-Only trying to draw a new world, just like that-Seeking colours, singing the colours. Accept this,
O Sunflower Face!
Surajmukhi, the top of your head, your forehead,
Your eyebrows, your eyelids that close and open
The temples of your eyeballs, letting out a glow,
Your eyelashes that bend down along with them,
Your cheeks, bulging underneath, full of blood,
Your nostrils that keep humming the scent of birds,
Your lips blossoming below, your teeth in between,
With a little sheen, O Sunflower Face, as I inhale
The magnificence of your face, I can hear
The petals of your opening flower bud,
The gentle smile that breaks into an awareness,
And the rays of light that radiate from it, far and wide.
Is it the early soft vernal season of the rustling bosoms
Is it the hard winter of the rubbing hands and palms
Or is it the summer when toes begin to tinkle:
Tell me, Surajmukhi, how do the pictures drawn by
Your Sun turn into such strange, unexpected visions?
The thoughts that arise from your honeyed navel—
The cryptic magic formulas, the aphorisms, axioms,
How do they become the enveloping black hole enclosed
Within the very structure of this overarching universe?
Is it the fertile autumnal splendour of your cool thighs
Or the arrival of rains recalled by the roots of your arms
Or the full spring that puts out tender shoots from head to foot
Or the cycle of six seasons, stirring the mind and the body alike?
Is it not so, when the figure is lit up by the sprinkling of powders
32
Of different colours, isn't it? Are they not the fulsome bosoms
Of motherhood, aren't they? Are they not the sacred weapons
Carried in her sixty-four hands, aren't they? Are they not the stars,
Inexhaustible in enumeration, taking the shape of truth in her breasts?
Are they not sprouts of adolescent hopes thrilled at every touch?
Are they not the desires arising from the flow of fresh fragrance?
Clearing the yard of loose sand, making a circle, smearing it
With cow dung, decking it up as holy ground, the hand of joy
Picks up the bowl of powders, and sprinkling them on the ground
Draws something, writes something; is it not the swing and sway
Of strings of waves blossoming among the stream of colors,
Isn't it? The bloody points of spears are aimed at some and
Whirr fast, and blow the conch, with vigour and straight upward,
Aren't they? Hearing it, unable to bear it, do they not seek shelter,
Don't they? There comes the Kolam, enlivened rage, there comes
An awakened world, a resurrected time, there comes, there comes
Interiorized in wrath, beaming forth a tender smile, singing of colours,
Wiping off the colours, entering the grove to put on grace,
There comes the Sunflower Face!
~ Ayyappa Paniker,
1009:The Many Mansioned House
THERE looms, upon the enormous round
Where nations come and nations go,
A many-mansioned house, whose bound
Ranges so wide that none may know
Its temperate lands of corn and vine,
Its solitudes of Arctic gloom,
Its wealth of forest, plain, and mine,
Its jungle world of tropic bloom.
Yet so its architects devise
That still its boundary walls extend,
And still its guardian forts arise,
And still its builders see no end
Of plan, or labor, or the call
By which the Master of their Fate
Urges to lay the advancing wall
Of Law beyond the farthest gate.
The mortar oft is red with blood
Of men within and men without,
For hate’s incessant storm and flood
Rage round each uttermost redoubt,
And bullets sing, and shrieks are loud,
And bordering voices curse the hour
That sees the builders onward crowd,
True to the Master Mind, whose power
Impels them build by plumb and line
To give the blood-stained wall increase
And forward push the huge design
Within whose mansions dwelleth peace.
The Master Mind is in no place,
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It hath no settled rank nor name,
Its mood, as moulded by the race,
Shifts often, yet remains the same
To meditate what millions think,
And shape the deed to fit their thought,
Now raising high who seemed to sink,
Now flinging down their choice as naught.
It lauds what sons obey its calls
When time has come for hands to smite,
And when the hour to cease befalls
It chastens them it did requite;
Yet still so chooses that the change
From war to peace and peace to war
Confirms the mansions in their range,
And builds the far-built wall more far.
Within the many mansions dwell
Nations diverse of tongue and blood,—
Races whose primal anthems tell
How Ganges grew a sacred flood,
Tribes long fore-fathered when the birds
Of Egypt saw Osiris pass,
They that were ancient when the herds
Of Abraham cropped Chaldean grass,
People whose shepherd-priesthoods saw
The might of Nineveh begin,
And folk whose slaves baked mud and straw
Mid Babylon’s revelling fume of sin;
Blacks that have served in every age
Since first the yoke of Ham they wore,
Yellows who set the printed page
Ere Homer sang from shore to shore,
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Swart Browns whose glittering kreeses held
In dread the far-isled Asian seas,
Fierce Reds who waged from primal eld
Their stealthy warfare of the trees;
Men of the jaguar-haunted swamp
Whose mountain masters dwelt in pride
Of golden-citied Aztec pomp
Ages ere Montezuma died;
Builders whose blood was in the hands
That propped the circled Druid stones,
And Odin-fathered men, whose bands
Storming all winds, laid warrior bones
Round all the Roman mid-world sea,
And held the Cæsars’ might in scorn,
And kept the Viking liberty
That fairer freedom might be born.
The wall defendeth all alike,
The Master Mind on all ordains:—
Within my bound no sword shall strike,
Nor fetter bind, save law arraigns;
No prisoner here shall feel the rack,
No infant be to slavery born,
The wage shall labor’s sweat not lack,
Nor skill of just reward be shorn.
The king and hind alike shall stand
Within the peril of my law,
And though it change at time’s demand
Shall every change be held in awe.
Here every voice may freely speak
Wisdom or folly as it choose,
And though the strong must lead the weak,
The weak may yet the strong refuse;
Thus shall no change be wrought before
The wise who seek a better way
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Can win, to share their vision, more
Than praise the wise who wish delay,—
That so the Master Mind be strong
Through every drift of time and change,
To fashion either right or wrong
At will, within the mansions’ range.
Of what is wrong and what is right
The Master Mind doth ceaseless hear,
Listens intent to counselling might,
Pity or fury, hope or fear,
Sways to the evil, yet repents,
Sways to the good, yet half denies,
Follows revenge, but quick relents,
And makes its wondering foes allies;
In memory sees its frenzied hours,
And holds those fury-fits in scorn;
In gentlest aspiration towers,
Or grovels as of faith forlorn,
Yet never, never loses quite
The thought, the hope, the glory-dream,
That beacon of supernal light,
The shining, holy Grail-like beam,
The Ideal—in which alone it dares
Advance the circuit of the wall—
The faith that yet shall happy shares
Of circumstance be won for all,—
This is the vision of its law,
This is the Asgard of its dream—
That what the world yet never saw
Of justice shall arise supreme.
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The Master Mind proclaims as free
Alike, all creeds that men may name,
All worships they devise to be
Their help in hope, or ease in shame;
In Buddha, Mahmoud, Moses, Christ,
Outspokenly may any trust,
Or he whom no belief enticed
May hold the soul a dream of dust,
Yet all alike be free to teach,
And all alike be free to shun,
Because the law of freeman’s speech
Impartial guardeth every one;
If but all rites of blood be banned,
Then may each life select its God,
And every congregation stand
Past dread of persecution’s rod,—
Lo now! Is thus not Jesus set
Transcendent o’er the broad domain—
The gentle Christ whose anguished sweat
Bled for a world-wide mercy’s reign?
Yet in many Mansions flaunt,
As if they deem their place secure,
Legion, whose Christ-defying vaunt
How long, O Lord, dost Thou endure!
Belshazzar’s Feast is multiplied,
Mammon holds fabulous parade,
Thousands of Minotaurs divide
The procurers’ tribute of the maid,
Circe enchants her votary swine,
Moloch, though veiled his fire, consumes,
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And all the man-made Gods assign
Their victims self-elected dooms.
In large, the suffering and the sin
(Full well the Master Mind doth know),
From luxury and want begin,
And through unequal portions flow.
This ancient wrong doth worst defeat
The immortal yearning of His plea
To save the little, wandering feet,—
“Suffer the children come to me”;
Wherefore, on streets that Mammon makes
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The Master Mind bends ruthless eye,
Yet calm withholds the blow that breaks,
And leaves that stroke to by and by,
Since faithful memory, backward cast,
Beholds how much hath freedom won,
And lest a pomp-destroying blast
Might shrivel many a guiltless one,
And since it knows that freedom’s plan
To build secure alone is skilled,
And that firm-grounded gain for man
Is only by what man hath willed.—
Hence waits the Master Mind, in trust
That yet the hour shall Mammon rue,
Since, as the mansions grow, so must
Freedom upraise The Christ anew.
But whether He prevail at last,
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Or whether all shall pass away,
Even as Rome’s great Empire passed
When wrought the purpose of its day,
Still must the builders heed the call
By which the Master of all Fate
Ordains they lay the advancing wall
Of peace beyond the farthest gate.
And, oh! the Master Mind may well
In pride of gentleness rejoice
That in the Mansions none may quell
The lilt of any nation’s voice;
But every race may sing their joy,
May hymn their pride, their glories boast
To listeners glad without alloy—
The primal, wall-extending host,
The founding, freedom-loving race
Whose generous-visioning mind doth see
No worth in holding foremost place,
Save in an Empire of the Free.
~ Edward William Thomson,
1010:Parliament Of The Ages
OF all who’d thronged the Commons’ galleries
For early April evening’s main debate,
One student visionary sole remained.
Down on the floor the members argued yet,
Though midnight long had passed, and rosy dawn
Came streaming in through eastward glory-panes
To tint the lofty ashlared westward wall
With shining jewel-colored phantasies.
The Dreamer watched the brilliancies of morn
Descending on that opposite westward wall
From panelled ceiling down to pointed arch,
From arch to shadowy alcoves’ ruby panes,
Where luminous beamed the storied English Kings,
The Crown, the ramping Pards, the Unicorn,
With ancient mottoes of the Ancient Realm,
And new-made Arms of modern provinces
Emblazoned on the young Dominion’s shield.
Now in the watcher’s dream the sunrise merged
The Fish, the Maple Leaves, the Buffalo
With Rose and Thistle, Shamrock, Fleur-de-lys,
The Crown, the Kings, the emblem Viking-ships,
With some great banner, glorious, indistinct,
The Flag of mighty, English-speaking kin,
All beaming benison ineffable,
Such promise as no mortal ever saw
On Land or Sea, save o’er the mystic shores
And waters of a halcyon Future dreamed.
The desks, the Speaker’s Chair seemed rapt away,
No stony walls inclosed the Commons’ House,
But in the wonder-light a woodland spread
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About one venerable northland Oak
Silent, except for distant-droning bees,
And one tall, blue-eyed, sworded, yellow-haired,
Hard-panting Viking, kirtled gray, who stood
Beneath the trysting-oak, and strove to quell
His gasps, deep-laboring from a lengthy run,
While, listening keen, he heard the bees in drone,
And watched to hail his second to the tryst
Of freemen signalled for a moot of War.
Then, far around, the forest sounded live
With crackling twigs and scores of emulous feet
From every quarter of the glooming shade,
And wonder-shouts, half vexed and half of praise,
Roared at the Champion who to tree of Moot
Had speeded foremost of the valorous band.
Hard-breathing all, they ranged about the Oak
Equal alike, save one they lifted high
On shield, and named him for their Council Earl.
Then there they fell to talk of march and plan,
Of meat and meal and beer and dragon-ships,
And Ways and Means,—contentious, passionate,
Yet one man only speaking up at once,
Heard silently, approved, or laughed to scorn,
Yet hearkened closely, since th’ elected Earl
Full briskly stopt each interrupting voice
By one clear word, quite mystic, quite unknown
Unto the Dreamer in the gallery,
For whom no more the banners of the morn
In wholly visionary colors flared,
Because imperious from the Speaker’s Chair
A voice called “Order” stoutly, in a tone
So like the ancient Viking Earl’s, the two
Seemed blent as one within the Dreamer’s brain.
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Scarcely awake, the Student’s roaming thought—
Oblivious to the actual place, the dawn,
The visioned tryst of Father Odin’s men—
Pondered a Deity who shaped His world
In such a wise that they must most prevail
Who choose one Will to rule by Order’s call,
That every Manliness may freely tell
Its thought upon the public thing in hand,
And so the general common sense have sway,
Instead of Policy conceived alone
By any one hereditary Will,
Or, worse, take course tumultuous, scarce resolved
By gabblers chattering unamenable,
In whose Assemblages prehensile tails,
Inscrutable to eyesight, swing the Ape
In futile men through dizzy fooleries.
And still the talkers on the Commons’ floor
Contended voluble; while he who heard
Their drone, forgot once more, and dreamed a scene
More wondrous than the primal Viking moot.
For one came frowning in, with sword in hand
And blazoned armor, and an eye more stern
Than gleamed beneath the brow of England’s king:—
“I call,” he spoke, “The Realms to Parliament!
Present and Past, by mine, the Founder’s right,
Simon de Montfort, I, proclaim the call!”
It clanged as sounding through The Ages’ tombs
So loud that lofty-opening doors of Time
Revealed in earthly garb a Statesman throng
From every Parliament since Montfort breathed,
Majestic, turbulent, guileful, eloquent,
Profound, laborious, witty, whimsical,
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Reverend in age, or beardless chinned as boys;
Knight, Admiral, Merchant, Lawyer, Pedagogue,
Yeoman, Adventurer, Soldier, Minister,
Poet, Philosopher, Roundhead, Cavalier,
Mechanic, Theologue, Philanthropist;
Exploring wights whose bones the jackals pawed
On Lybian arid sands, and they whose forms
Lie, white as marble, stiff nigh either Pole;
Spirits whose mortal vestures braved all fates
That daring hearts or martyr hopes conceived.
It seemed not strange to view the Shapes of Eld
In formal-friendly conference of talk
With some who perished as of yesterday,
With some who founded New World congresses,
With some who wielded outland Parliaments
Which strove so English-like for Liberty
That England reeled to win against their few,
With some whose mien and accents now control
The rising younger Nations of The Race;
It seemed not strange, so clear they all alike,
Musing the ordered methods of their rule,
Blessed dear the Mother of all Parliaments,
The Many-mansioned Mother of The Free.
There prudent Cecil leaned to Laurier
While John Macdonald held them both in talk,
His “brother,” Cartier, nodding to the tale;
There Richard Seddon’s burly honest ghost
With Wilberforce and Hampden close conferred;
There Edmund Burke warned Deakin cautiously
Of tempting Innovation’s bright mirage;
There Pitt, the younger, spoke with Cecil Rhodes
And stout Oom Paul, of Empire building themes,
While Grattan unto icy Parnell sighed
65
Of angry Ireland’s immemorial wrong;
There Chatham, eagle-faced, with Washington
And Franklin nigh, declared,—“I praise again
Your English-minded fight for Liberty—
America’s victory secured it firm
For all the outland broods of England’s swarm.”
There Strafford gloomed to Russell’s lofty gaze,
The Stuart circle round each stately neck;
There honest-meaning, muddle-headed Cade,
Who lingered nigh the portal as of right,
Because he called a shirtless Parliament,
Received a courteous nod of compliment
From mighty Gladstone’s comprehensive love;
There Peel, considerate still, eyed D’Israeli
As if in wonder that the Great Jew’s heart
Should yet be counted one of England’s pride;
There Canning, of the soul-revealing face,
And bull-dog Cobbett, passionately wroth,
And Palmerston and Bright and thousands more
All moved at home within the visioned space
Until, it seemed, a Puritan Statesman stern,
With Puritan Troopers ringed, eyed Harry Vane
With “Take away that bauble.” Then the Mace
Seemed borne afar incredibly, by force,
From that great Chamber of the freeman Race,
Old Englandish, New Englandish, Canadian,
Newfoundlandish, Australian, African,
Who hold, or held, the emblem sacrosanct.
With that great sacrilege the dream dissolved,
And clear again the radiancies high
Shone o’er the Ottawa floor of Parliament,
While, down below, a high-pitched Loyalist
Declared, convinced, with querulous energy,—
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“The Empire’s tottering down! It can’t be saved
Unless we get the Preference all around.”
Touched sudden by the Sun’s imperial beams,
A gargoyle grinned upon the western wall
As if it heard the Preferentialist,
While gales of laughter echoed far below.
Whereat the dreamer, wide awake with glee,
Gazed on the golden, crown-surmounted Mace
Pillowed serene before the Speaker’s Chair;
Then marked in high-built panes, the Kings gleam clear
The Lion-shield, the mystic Unicorn,
The scrolls, the mottoes, “For my God and Right,”
And “Evil be to him who evil thinks,”
All seemed the racial Soul transfigured there,
Ages and Ages old, yet scarcely born,
So future-glorious, past all dreaming, looms
The Voluntary Empire of The Blood,
Monarchical, Republican, all’s one,
With Vikings rushing to the beacon’s flare
As long as winds shall blow and waters run.
~ Edward William Thomson,
1011:The Mosque Of Cordoba
The succession of day and night
Is the architect of events.
The succession of day and night
Is the fountain-head of life and death.
The succession of day and night
Is a two-tone silken twine,
With which the Divine Essence
Prepares Its apparel of Attributes.
The succession of day and night
Is the reverberation of the symphony of
Creation.
Through its modulations, the Infinite
demonstrates
The parameters of possibilities.
The succession of day and night
Is the touchstone of the universe;
Now sitting in judgement on you,
Now setting a value on me.
But what if you are found wanting.
What if I am found wanting.
Death is your ultimate destiny.
Death is my ultimate destiny.
What else is the reality of your days
and nights,
Besides a surge in the river of time,
Sans day, sans night.
Frail and evanescent, all miracles of
ingenuity,
Transient, all temporal attainments;
Ephemeral, all worldly accomplishments.
Annihilation is the end of all
beginnings.
Annihilation is the end of all ends.
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Extinction, the fate of everything;
Hidden or manifest, old or new.
Yet in this very scenario
Indelible is the stamp of permanence
On the deeds of the good and godly.
Deeds of the godly radiate with Love,
The essence of life,
Which death is forbidden to touch.
Fast and free flows the tide of time,
But Love itself is a tide that stems all tides.
In the chronicle of Love there are times
Other than the past, the present and the
future;
Times for which no names have yet
been coined.
Love
Love
Love
Love
is
is
is
is
the
the
the
the
breath of Gabriel.
heart of Mustafa.
messenger of God.
Word of God.
Love is ecstasy lends luster to earthly
forms.
Love is the heady wine,
Love is the grand goblet.
Love is the commander of marching troops.
Love is a wayfarer with many a way-side
abode.
Love is the plectrum that brings
Music to the string of life.
Love is the light of life.
Love is the fire of life.
To Love, you owe your being,
O, Harem of Cordoba,
To Love, that is eternal;
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Never waning, never fading.
Just the media these pigments, bricks
and stones;
This harp, these words and sounds, just
the media.
The miracle of art springs from the
lifeblood of the artist!
A droplet of the lifeblood
Transforms a piece of dead rock into a living
heart;
An impressive sound, into a song of
solicitude,
A refrain of rapture or a melody of mirth.
The aura you exude, illumines the
heart.
My plaint kindles the soul.
You draw the hearts to the Presence
Divine,
I inspire them to bloom and blossom.
No less exalted than the Exalted Throne,
Is the throne of the heart, the human breast!
Despite the limit of azure skies,
Ordained for this handful of dust.
Celestial beings, born of light,
Do have the privilege of supplication,
But unknown to them
Are the verve and warmth of
prostration.
An Indian infidel, perchance, am I;
But look at my fervour, my ardour.
‘Blessings and peace upon the Prophet,' sings
my heart.
‘Blessings and peace upon the Prophet,' echo
my lips.
My song is the song of aspiration.
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My lute is the serenade of longing.
Every fibre of my being
Resonates with the refrains of Allah hoo!
Your beauty, your majesty,
Personify the graces of the man of faith.
You are beautiful and majestic.
He too is beautiful and majestic.
Your foundations are lasting,
Your columns countless,
Like the profusion of palms
In the plains of Syria.
Your arches, your terraces, shimmer with the
light
That once flashed in the valley of Aiman
Your soaring minaret, all aglow
In the resplendence of Gabriel's glory.
The Muslim is destined to last
As his Azan holds the key to the
mysteries
Of the perennial message of Abraham
and Moses.
His world knows no boundaries,
His horizon, no frontiers.
Tigris, Danube and Nile:
Billows of his oceanic expanse.
Fabulous, have been his times!
Fascinating, the accounts of his
achievements!
He it was, who bade the final adieu
To the outworn order.
A cup-bearer is he,
With the purest wine for the connoisseur;
A cavalier in the path of Love
With a sword of the finest steel.
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A combatant, with la ilah
As his coat of mail.
Under the shadow of flashing
scimitars,
'La ilah' is his protection.
Your edifice unravels
The mystery of the faithful;
The fire of his fervent days,
The bliss of his tender nights.
Your grandeur calls to mind
The loftiness of his station,
The sweep of his vision,
His rapture, his ardour, his pride, his
humility.
The might of the man of faith
Is the might of the Almighty:
Dominant, creative, resourceful, consummate.
He is terrestrial with celestial aspect;
A being with the qualities of the
Creator.
His contented self has no demands
On this world or the other.
His desires are modest; his aims exalted;
His manner charming; his ways winsome.
Soft in social exposure,
Tough in the line of pursuit.
But whether in fray or in social
gathering,
Ever chaste at heart, ever clean in
conduct.
In the celestial order of the macrocosm,
His immutable faith is the centre of the Divine
Compass.
All else: illusion, sorcery, fallacy.
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He is the journey's end for reason,
He is the raison d 'etre of Love.
An inspiration in the cosmic
communion.
O, Mecca of art lovers,
You are the majesty of the true tenet.
You have elevated Andalusia
To the eminence of the holy Harem.
Your equal in beauty,
If any under the skies,
Is the heart of the Muslim
And no one else.
Ah, those men of truth,
Those proud cavaliers of Arabia;
Endowed with a sublime character,
Imbued with candour and conviction.
Their reign gave the world an
unfamiliar concept;
That the authority of the brave and
spirited
Lay in modesty and simplicity,
Rather than pomp and regality.
Their sagacity guided the East and the West.
In the dark ages of Europe,
It was the light of their vision
That lit up the tracks.
A tribute to their blood it is,
That the Andalusians, even today,
Are effable and warm-hearted,
Ingenuous and bright of countenance.
Even today in this land,
Eyes like those of gazelles are a common
sight.
And darts shooting out of those eyes,
Even today, are on target.
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Its breeze, even today,
Is laden with the fragrance of Yemen.
Its music, even today,
Carries strains of melodies from Hijaz.
Stars look upon your precincts as a piece of
heaven.
But for centuries, alas!
Your porticoes have not resonated
With the call of the muezzin.
What distant valley, what way-side abode
Is holding back
That valiant caravan of rampant Love.
Germany witnessed the upheaval of religious
reforms
That left no trace of the old perspective.
Infallibility of the church sage began to
ring false.
Reason, once more, unfurled its sails.
France too went through its revolution
That changed the entire orientation of
Western life.
Followers of Rome,
Feeling antiquated worshipping the
ancientry,
Also rejuvenated themselves
With the relish of novelty.
The same storm is raging today
In the soul of the Muslim.
A Divine secret it is,
Not for the lips to utter.
Let us see what surfaces
From the depths of the deep.
Let us see what colour
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The blue sky changes into.
Clouds in the yonder valley
Are drenched in roseate twilight.
The parting sun has left behind
Mounds and mounds of rubies, the best from
Badakhshan.
Simple and doleful is the song
Of the peasant's daughter:
Tender feelings adrift in the tide of
youth.
O, the ever-flowing waters of Guadalquivir1,
Someone on your banks
Is seeing a vision of some other period of
time.
Tomorrow is still in the womb of
intention,
But its dawn is flashing before my
mind's eye.
Were I to lift the veil
From the profile of my reflections,
The West would be dazzled by its brilliance.
Life without change is death.
The tumult and turmoil of revolution
Keep the soul of a nation alive.
Keen, as a sword in the hands of Destiny
Is the nation
That evaluates its actions at each step.
Incomplete are all creations
Without the lifeblood of the creator.
Soulless is the melody
Without the lifeblood of the maestro.
[Translated by Saleem A. Gilani]
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Not: This poem was written in in Spain, especially Cordoba
~ Allama Muhammad Iqbal,
1012:Prairie
I WAS born on the prairie and the milk of its wheat, the red of its clover, the
eyes of its women, gave me a song and a
slogan.
Here the water went down, the icebergs slid with gravel, the gaps and the valleys
hissed, and the black loam came, and the
yellow sandy loam.
Here between the sheds of the Rocky Mountains and the Appalachians, here now
a morning star fixes a fire sign over the timber
claims and cow pastures, the corn belt, the cotton belt, the cattle ranches.
Here the gray geese go five hundred miles and back with a wind under their
wings honking the cry for a new home.
Here I know I will hanker after nothing so much as one more sunrise or a sky
moon of fire doubled to a river moon of water.
The prairie sings to me in the forenoon and I know in the night I rest easy in the
prairie arms, on the prairie heart.. .
After the sunburn of the day
handling a pitchfork at a hayrack,
after the eggs and biscuit and coffee,
the pearl-gray haystacks
in the gloaming
are cool prayers
to the harvest hands.
In the city among the walls the overland passenger train is choked and the
pistons hiss and the wheels curse.
On the prairie the overland flits on phantom wheels and the sky and the soil
between them muffle the pistons and cheer the
wheels.. . .
I am here when the cities are gone.
I am here before the cities come.
I nourished the lonely men on horses.
I will keep the laughing men who ride iron.
I am dust of men.
The running water babbled to the deer, the cottontail, the gopher.
You came in wagons, making streets and schools,
340
Kin of the ax and rifle, kin of the plow and horse,
Singing Yankee Doodle, Old Dan Tucker, Turkey in the Straw,
You in the coonskin cap at a log house door hearing a lone wolf howl,
You at a sod house door reading the blizzards and chinooks let loose from
Medicine Hat,
I am dust of your dust, as I am brother and mother
To the copper faces, the worker in flint and clay,
The singing women and their sons a thousand years ago
Marching single file the timber and the plain.
I hold the dust of these amid changing stars.
I last while old wars are fought, while peace broods mother-like,
While new wars arise and the fresh killings of young men.
I fed the boys who went to France in great dark days.
Appomattox is a beautiful word to me and so is Valley Forge and the Marne and
Verdun,
I who have seen the red births and the red deaths
Of sons and daughters, I take peace or war, I say nothing and wait.
Have you seen a red sunset drip over one of my cornfields, the shore of night
stars, the wave lines of dawn up a wheat
valley?
Have you heard my threshing crews yelling in the chaff of a strawpile and the
running wheat of the wagonboards, my
cornhuskers, my harvest hands hauling crops, singing dreams of women, worlds,
horizons?. . .
Rivers cut a path on flat lands.
The mountains stand up.
The salt oceans press in
And push on the coast lines.
The sun, the wind, bring rain
And I know what the rainbow writes across the east or west in a half-circle:
A love-letter pledge to come again.. . .
Towns on the Soo Line,
Towns on the Big Muddy,
Laugh at each other for cubs
And tease as children.
Omaha and Kansas City, Minneapolis and St. Paul, sisters in a house together,
throwing slang, growing up.
Towns in the Ozarks, Dakota wheat towns, Wichita, Peoria, Buffalo, sisters
throwing slang, growing up.. . .
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Out of prairie-brown grass crossed with a streamer of wigwam smoke—out of a
smoke pillar, a blue promise—out of
wild ducks woven in greens and purples—
Here I saw a city rise and say to the peoples round world: Listen, I am strong, I
know what I want.
Out of log houses and stumps—canoes stripped from tree-sides—flatboats
coaxed with an ax from the timber
claims—in the years when the red and the white men met—the houses and
streets rose.
A thousand red men cried and went away to new places for corn and women: a
million white men came and put up skyscrapers,
threw out rails and wires, feelers to the salt sea: now the smokestacks bite the
skyline with stub teeth.
In an early year the call of a wild duck woven in greens and purples: now the
riveter's chatter, the police patrol, the
song-whistle of the steamboat.
To a man across a thousand years I offer a handshake.
I say to him: Brother, make the story short, for the stretch of a thousand years
is short.. . .
What brothers these in the dark?
What eaves of skyscrapers against a smoke moon?
These chimneys shaking on the lumber shanties
When the coal boats plow by on the river—
The hunched shoulders of the grain elevators—
The flame sprockets of the sheet steel mills
And the men in the rolling mills with their shirts off
Playing their flesh arms against the twisting wrists of steel:
what brothers these
in the dark
of a thousand years?. . .
A headlight searches a snowstorm.
A funnel of white light shoots from over the pilot of the Pioneer Limited crossing
Wisconsin.
In the morning hours, in the dawn,
The sun puts out the stars of the sky
And the headlight of the Limited train.
The fireman waves his hand to a country school teacher on a bobsled.
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A boy, yellow hair, red scarf and mittens, on the bobsled, in his lunch box a pork
chop sandwich and a V of gooseberry pie.
The horses fathom a snow to their knees.
Snow hats are on the rolling prairie hills.
The Mississippi bluffs wear snow hats.. . .
Keep your hogs on changing corn and mashes of grain,
O farmerman.
Cram their insides till they waddle on short legs
Under the drums of bellies, hams of fat.
Kill your hogs with a knife slit under the ear.
Hack them with cleavers.
Hang them with hooks in the hind legs.. . .
A wagonload of radishes on a summer morning.
Sprinkles of dew on the crimson-purple balls.
The farmer on the seat dangles the reins on the rumps of dapple-gray horses.
The farmer's daughter with a basket of eggs dreams of a new hat to wear to the
county fair.. . .
On the left-and right-hand side of the road,
Marching corn—
I saw it knee high weeks ago—now it is head high—tassels of red silk creep at
the ends of the ears.. . .
I am the prairie, mother of men, waiting.
They are mine, the threshing crews eating beefsteak, the farmboys driving steers
to the railroad cattle pens.
They are mine, the crowds of people at a Fourth of July basket picnic, listening to
a lawyer read the Declaration of
Independence, watching the pinwheels and Roman candles at night, the young
men and women two by two hunting the bypaths and
kissing bridges.
They are mine, the horses looking over a fence in the frost of late October saying
good-morning to the horses hauling wagons
of rutabaga to market.
They are mine, the old zigzag rail fences, the new barb wire.. . .
The cornhuskers wear leather on their hands.
There is no let-up to the wind.
Blue bandannas are knotted at the ruddy chins.
Falltime and winter apples take on the smolder of the five-o'clock November
sunset: falltime, leaves, bonfires, stubble,
the old things go, and the earth is grizzled.
The land and the people hold memories, even among the anthills and the
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angleworms, among the toads and woodroaches—among
gravestone writings rubbed out by the rain—they keep old things that never grow
old.
The frost loosens corn husks.
The Sun, the rain, the wind
loosen corn husks.
The men and women are helpers.
They are all cornhuskers together.
I see them late in the western evening
in a smoke-red dust.. . .
The phantom of a yellow rooster flaunting a scarlet comb, on top of a dung pile
crying hallelujah to the streaks of daylight,
The phantom of an old hunting dog nosing in the underbrush for muskrats,
barking at a coon in a treetop at midnight, chewing
a bone, chasing his tail round a corncrib,
The phantom of an old workhorse taking the steel point of a plow across a fortyacre field in spring, hitched to a harrow in
summer, hitched to a wagon among cornshocks in fall,
These phantoms come into the talk and wonder of people on the front porch of a
farmhouse late summer nights.
"The shapes that are gone are here," said an old man with a cob pipe
in his teeth one night in Kansas with a hot
wind on the alfalfa.. . .
Look at six eggs
In a mockingbird's nest.
Listen to six mockingbirds
Flinging follies of O-be-joyful
Over the marshes and uplands.
Look at songs
Hidden in eggs.. . .
When the morning sun is on the trumpet-vine blossoms, sing at the kitchen
pans: Shout All Over God's Heaven.
When the rain slants on the potato hills and the sun plays a silver shaft on the
last shower, sing to the bush at the
backyard fence: Mighty Lak a Rose.
When the icy sleet pounds on the storm windows and the house lifts to a great
breath, sing for the outside hills: The Ole
Sheep Done Know the Road, the Young Lambs Must Find the Way.. . .
Spring slips back with a girl face calling always: "Any new songs for me?
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Any new songs?"
O prairie girl, be lonely, singing, dreaming, waiting—your lover comes—your child
comes—the years creep with
toes of April rain on new-turned sod.
O prairie girl, whoever leaves you only crimson poppies to talk with, whoever
puts a good-by kiss on your lips and never
comes back—
There is a song deep as the falltime redhaws, long as the layer of black loam we
go to, the shine of the morning star over
the corn belt, the wave line of dawn up a wheat valley.. . .
O prairie mother, I am one of your boys.
I have loved the prairie as a man with a heart shot full of pain over love.
Here I know I will hanker after nothing so much as one more sunrise or a sky
moon of fire doubled to a river moon of water..
. .
I speak of new cities and new people.
I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.
I tell you yesterday is a wind gone down,
a sun dropped in the west.
I tell you there is nothing in the world
only an ocean of to-morrows,
a sky of to-morrows.
I am a brother of the cornhuskers who say
at sundown:
To-morrow is a day.
~ Carl Sandburg,
1013:The Princess (Part 1)
A prince I was, blue-eyed, and fair in face,
Of temper amorous, as the first of May,
With lengths of yellow ringlet, like a girl,
For on my cradle shone the Northern star.
There lived an ancient legend in our house.
Some sorcerer, whom a far-off grandsire burnt
Because he cast no shadow, had foretold,
Dying, that none of all our blood should know
The shadow from the substance, and that one
Should come to fight with shadows and to fall.
For so, my mother said, the story ran.
And, truly, waking dreams were, more or less,
An old and strange affection of the house.
Myself too had weird seizures, Heaven knows what:
On a sudden in the midst of men and day,
And while I walked and talked as heretofore,
I seemed to move among a world of ghosts,
And feel myself the shadow of a dream.
Our great court-Galen poised his gilt-head cane,
And pawed his beard, and muttered 'catalepsy'.
My mother pitying made a thousand prayers;
My mother was as mild as any saint,
Half-canonized by all that looked on her,
So gracious was her tact and tenderness:
But my good father thought a king a king;
He cared not for the affection of the house;
He held his sceptre like a pedant's wand
To lash offence, and with long arms and hands
Reached out, and picked offenders from the mass
For judgment.
Now it chanced that I had been,
While life was yet in bud and blade, bethrothed
To one, a neighbouring Princess: she to me
Was proxy-wedded with a bootless calf
At eight years old; and still from time to time
Came murmurs of her beauty from the South,
And of her brethren, youths of puissance;
And still I wore her picture by my heart,
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And one dark tress; and all around them both
Sweet thoughts would swarm as bees about their queen.
But when the days drew nigh that I should wed,
My father sent ambassadors with furs
And jewels, gifts, to fetch her: these brought back
A present, a great labour of the loom;
And therewithal an answer vague as wind:
Besides, they saw the king; he took the gifts;
He said there was a compact; that was true:
But then she had a will; was he to blame?
And maiden fancies; loved to live alone
Among her women; certain, would not wed.
That morning in the presence room I stood
With Cyril and with Florian, my two friends:
The first, a gentleman of broken means
(His father's fault) but given to starts and bursts
Of revel; and the last, my other heart,
And almost my half-self, for still we moved
Together, twinned as horse's ear and eye.
Now, while they spake, I saw my father's face
Grow long and troubled like a rising moon,
Inflamed with wrath: he started on his feet,
Tore the king's letter, snowed it down, and rent
The wonder of the loom through warp and woof
From skirt to skirt; and at the last he sware
That he would send a hundred thousand men,
And bring her in a whirlwind: then he chewed
The thrice-turned cud of wrath, and cooked his spleen,
Communing with his captains of the war.
At last I spoke. 'My father, let me go.
It cannot be but some gross error lies
In this report, this answer of a king,
Whom all men rate as kind and hospitable:
Or, maybe, I myself, my bride once seen,
Whate'er my grief to find her less than fame,
May rue the bargain made.' And Florian said:
'I have a sister at the foreign court,
Who moves about the Princess; she, you know,
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Who wedded with a nobleman from thence:
He, dying lately, left her, as I hear,
The lady of three castles in that land:
Through her this matter might be sifted clean.'
And Cyril whispered: 'Take me with you too.'
Then laughing 'what, if these weird seizures come
Upon you in those lands, and no one near
To point you out the shadow from the truth!
Take me: I'll serve you better in a strait;
I grate on rusty hinges here:' but 'No!'
Roared the rough king, 'you shall not; we ourself
Will crush her pretty maiden fancies dead
In iron gauntlets: break the council up.'
But when the council broke, I rose and past
Through the wild woods that hung about the town;
Found a still place, and plucked her likeness out;
Laid it on flowers, and watched it lying bathed
In the green gleam of dewy-tasselled trees:
What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth?
Proud looked the lips: but while I meditated
A wind arose and rushed upon the South,
And shook the songs, the whispers, and the shrieks
Of the wild woods together; and a Voice
Went with it, 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win.'
Then, ere the silver sickle of that month
Became her golden shield, I stole from court
With Cyril and with Florian, unperceived,
Cat-footed through the town and half in dread
To hear my father's clamour at our backs
With Ho! from some bay-window shake the night;
But all was quiet: from the bastioned walls
Like threaded spiders, one by one, we dropt,
And flying reached the frontier: then we crost
To a livelier land; and so by tilth and grange,
And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness,
We gained the mother city thick with towers,
And in the imperial palace found the king.
His name was Gama; cracked and small his voice,
But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind
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On glassy water drove his cheek in lines;
A little dry old man, without a star,
Not like a king: three days he feasted us,
And on the fourth I spake of why we came,
And my bethrothed. 'You do us, Prince,' he said,
Airing a snowy hand and signet gem,
'All honour. We remember love ourselves
In our sweet youth: there did a compact pass
Long summers back, a kind of ceremony-I think the year in which our olives failed.
I would you had her, Prince, with all my heart,
With my full heart: but there were widows here,
Two widows, Lady Psyche, Lady Blanche;
They fed her theories, in and out of place
Maintaining that with equal husbandry
The woman were an equal to the man.
They harped on this; with this our banquets rang;
Our dances broke and buzzed in knots of talk;
Nothing but this; my very ears were hot
To hear them: knowledge, so my daughter held,
Was all in all: they had but been, she thought,
As children; they must lose the child, assume
The woman: then, Sir, awful odes she wrote,
Too awful, sure, for what they treated of,
But all she is and does is awful; odes
About this losing of the child; and rhymes
And dismal lyrics, prophesying change
Beyond all reason: these the women sang;
And they that know such things--I sought but peace;
No critic I--would call them masterpieces:
They mastered ~me~. At last she begged a boon,
A certain summer-palace which I have
Hard by your father's frontier: I said no,
Yet being an easy man, gave it: and there,
All wild to found an University
For maidens, on the spur she fled; and more
We know not,--only this: they see no men,
Not even her brother Arac, nor the twins
Her brethren, though they love her, look upon her
As on a kind of paragon; and I
(Pardon me saying it) were much loth to breed
Dispute betwixt myself and mine: but since
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(And I confess with right) you think me bound
In some sort, I can give you letters to her;
And yet, to speak the truth, I rate your chance
Almost at naked nothing.'
Thus the king;
And I, though nettled that he seemed to slur
With garrulous ease and oily courtesies
Our formal compact, yet, not less (all frets
But chafing me on fire to find my bride)
Went forth again with both my friends. We rode
Many a long league back to the North. At last
From hills, that looked across a land of hope,
We dropt with evening on a rustic town
Set in a gleaming river's crescent-curve,
Close at the boundary of the liberties;
There, entered an old hostel, called mine host
To council, plied him with his richest wines,
And showed the late-writ letters of the king.
He with a long low sibilation, stared
As blank as death in marble; then exclaimed
Averring it was clear against all rules
For any man to go: but as his brain
Began to mellow, 'If the king,' he said,
'Had given us letters, was he bound to speak?
The king would bear him out;' and at the last-The summer of the vine in all his veins-'No doubt that we might make it worth his while.
She once had past that way; he heard her speak;
She scared him; life! he never saw the like;
She looked as grand as doomsday and as grave:
And he, he reverenced his liege-lady there;
He always made a point to post with mares;
His daughter and his housemaid were the boys:
The land, he understood, for miles about
Was tilled by women; all the swine were sows,
And all the dogs'-But while he jested thus,
A thought flashed through me which I clothed in act,
Remembering how we three presented Maid
Or Nymph, or Goddess, at high tide of feast,
In masque or pageant at my father's court.
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We sent mine host to purchase female gear;
He brought it, and himself, a sight to shake
The midriff of despair with laughter, holp
To lace us up, till, each, in maiden plumes
We rustled: him we gave a costly bribe
To guerdon silence, mounted our good steeds,
And boldly ventured on the liberties.
We followed up the river as we rode,
And rode till midnight when the college lights
Began to glitter firefly-like in copse
And linden alley: then we past an arch,
Whereon a woman-statue rose with wings
From four winged horses dark against the stars;
And some inscription ran along the front,
But deep in shadow: further on we gained
A little street half garden and half house;
But scarce could hear each other speak for noise
Of clocks and chimes, like silver hammers falling
On silver anvils, and the splash and stir
Of fountains spouted up and showering down
In meshes of the jasmine and the rose:
And all about us pealed the nightingale,
Rapt in her song, and careless of the snare.
There stood a bust of Pallas for a sign,
By two sphere lamps blazoned like Heaven and Earth
With constellation and with continent,
Above an entry: riding in, we called;
A plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench
Came running at the call, and helped us down.
Then stept a buxom hostess forth, and sailed,
Full-blown, before us into rooms which gave
Upon a pillared porch, the bases lost
In laurel: her we asked of that and this,
And who were tutors. 'Lady Blanche' she said,
'And Lady Psyche.' 'Which was prettiest,
Best-natured?' 'Lady Psyche.' 'Hers are we,'
One voice, we cried; and I sat down and wrote,
In such a hand as when a field of corn
Bows all its ears before the roaring East;
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'Three ladies of the Northern empire pray
Your Highness would enroll them with your own,
As Lady Psyche's pupils.'
This I sealed:
The seal was Cupid bent above a scroll,
And o'er his head Uranian Venus hung,
And raised the blinding bandage from his eyes:
I gave the letter to be sent with dawn;
And then to bed, where half in doze I seemed
To float about a glimmering night, and watch
A full sea glazed with muffled moonlight, swell
On some dark shore just seen that it was rich.
As through the land at eve we went,
And plucked the ripened ears,
We fell out, my wife and I,
O we fell out I know not why,
And kissed again with tears.
And blessings on the falling out
That all the more endears,
When we fall out with those we love
And kiss again with tears!
For when we came where lies the child
We lost in other years,
There above the little grave,
O there above the little grave,
We kissed again with tears.
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson,
1014:A Poem On The Last Day - Book Ii
Now man awakes, and from his silent bed,
Where he has slept for ages, lifts his head;
Shakes off the slumber of ten thousand years,
And on the borders of new worlds appears.
Whate'er the bold, the rash adventure cost,
In wide Eternity I dare be lost.
The Muse is wont in narrow bounds to sing,
To teach the swain, or celebrate the king.
I grasp the whole, no more to parts confined,
I lift my voice, and sing to human kind:
I sing to men and angels; angels join,
While such the theme, their sacred songs with mine.
Again the trumpet's intermitted sound
Rolls the wide circuit of creation round,
An universal concourse to prepare
Of all that ever breathed the vital air;
In some wide field, which active whirlwinds sweep,
Drive cities, forests, mountains to the deep,
To smooth and lengthen out the' unbounded space,
And spread an area for all human race.
Now monuments prove faithful to their trust,
And render back their long committed dust.
Now charnels rattle; scatter'd limbs, and all
The various bones, obsequious to the call,
Self-moved, advance; the neck perhaps to meet
The distant head; the distant legs, the feet.
Dreadful to view, see through the dusky sky
Fragments of bodies in confusion fly,
To distant regions journeying, there to claim
Deserted members, and complete the frame.
When the world bow'd to Rome's almighty sword,
Rome bow'd to Pompey, and confess'd her lord.
Yet, one day lost, this deity below
Became the scorn and pity of his foe.
His blood a traitor's sacrifice was made,
14
And smoked indignant on a ruffian's blade.
No trumpet's sound, no gasping army's yell,
Bid, with due horror, his great soul farewell.
Obscure his fall: all weltering in his gore,
His trunk was cast to perish on the shore!
While Julius frown'd the bloody monster dead,
Who brought the world in his great rival's head.
This sever'd head and trunk shall join once more,
Though realms now rise between, and oceans roar.
The trumpet's sound each vagrant-mote shall hear,
Or fix'd in earth, or if afloat in air,
Obey the signal wafted in the wind,
And not one sleeping atom lag behind.
So swarming bees, that, on a summer's day,
In airy rings and wild meanders play,
Charm'd with the brasen sound, their wanderings end,
And, gently circling, on a bough descend.
The body thus renew'd, the conscious soul,
Which has perhaps been fluttering near the pole,
Or midst the burning planets wondering stray'd,
Or hover'd o'er where her pale corpse was laid;
Or rather coasted on her final state,
And fear'd or wish'd for her appointed fate:
This soul, returning with a constant flame,
Now weds for ever her immortal frame.
Life, which ran down before, so high is wound,
The springs maintain an everlasting round.
Thus a frail model of the work design'd
First takes a copy of the builder's mind,
Before the structure firm with lasting oak,
And marble bowels of the solid rock,
Turns the strong arch, and bids the columns rise,
And bear the lofty palace to the skies;
The wrongs of Time enabled to surpass,
With bars of adamant, and ribs of brass.
That ancient, sacred, and illustrious dome,
Where soon or late fair Albion's heroes come,
From camps and courts, though great, or wise, or just,
15
To feed the worm, and moulder into dust;
That solemn mansion of the royal dead,
Where passing slaves o'er sleeping monarchs tread,
Now populous o'erflows: a numerous race
Of rising kings fill all the' extended space.
A life well-spent, not the victorious sword,
Awards the crown, and styles the greater lord.
Nor monuments alone, and burial earth,
Labour with man to this his second birth;
But where gay palaces in pomp arise,
And gilded theatres invade the skies,
Nations shall wake, whose unrespected bones
Support the pride of their luxurious sons.
The most magnificent and costly dome
Is but an upper chamber to a tomb.
No spot on earth but has supplied a grave,
And human skulls the spacious ocean pave.
All's full of man; and at this dreadful turn,
The swarm shall issue, and the hive shall burn.
Not all at once, nor in like manner, rise:
Some lift with pain their slow unwilling eyes;
Shrink backward from the terror of the light,
And bless the grave, and call for lasting night.
Others, whose long-attempted virtue stood
Fix'd as a rock, and broke the rushing flood;
Whose firm resolve nor beauty could melt down,
Nor raging tyrants from their posture frown:Such, in this day of horrors, shall be seen
To face the thunders with a godlike mien:
The planets drop, their thoughts are fix'd above;
The centre shakes, their hearts disdain to move:
An earth dissolving, and a heaven thrown wide,
A yawning gulf, and fiends on every side,
Serene they view, impatient of delay,
And bless the dawn of everlasting day.
Here greatness prostrate falls; there strength gives place:
Here lazars smile; there beauty hides her face.
Christians, and Jews, and Turks, and Pagans stand,
A blended throng, one undistinguish'd band.
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Some who, perhaps, by mutual wounds expired,
With zeal for their distinct persuasions fired,
In mutual friendship their long slumber break,
And hand in hand their Saviour's love partake.
But none are flush'd with brighter joy, or, warm
With juster confidence, enjoy the storm,
Than those whose pious bounties, unconfined,
Have made them public fathers of mankind.
In that illustrious rank, what shining light
With such distinguish'd glory fills my sight?
Bend down, my grateful Muse, that homage show
Which to such worthies thou art proud to owe.
Wykeham, Fox, Chicheley! hail, illustrious names,
Who to far-distant times dispense your beams!
Beneath your shades, and near your crystal springs,
I first presumed to touch the trembling strings.
All hail, thrice-honour'd! 'Twas your great renown
To bless a people, and oblige a crown.
And now you rise, eternally to shine,
Eternally to drink the rays Divine.
Indulgent God! O how shall mortal raise
His soul to due returns of grateful praise,
For bounty so profuse to human kind,
Thy wondrous gift of an eternal mind?
Shall I, who, some few years ago, was less
Than worm, or mite, or shadow can express,Was nothing; shall I live, when every fire
And every star shall languish and expire?
When earth's no more, shall I survive above,
And through the radiant files of angels move?
Or, as before the throne of God I stand,
See new worlds rolling from His spacious hand,
Where our adventures shall perhaps be taught,
As we now tell how Michael sung or fought?
All that has being in full concert join,
And celebrate the depths of Love Divine!
But O! before this blissful state, before
The' aspiring soul this wondrous height can soar,
17
The Judge, descending, thunders from afar,
And all mankind is summon'd to the bar.
This mighty scene I next presume to draw:
Attend, great Anna, with religious awe.
Expect not here the known successful arts
To win attention, and command our hearts: