The Global House. . . running toward a truth. . . .

The Cost Of Life. . . Priceless

Some old beliefs are a security blanket that have been dragged along through centuries and already are thread bare.  The nap has been plucked off by nervous fingers tightly holding to isolation and keeping those not like us outside the circle.  Some beliefs need to be kept and cherished like family members.  Like commitment to truths and welcoming strangers because we might be entertaining angels unaware.  But always we must be open to ideas that can enlarge the frame of understanding in a world that kaleidoscopes to everything being across the street.  No longer do vast expanses of either water or land separate us.  It is time we assume to be our brothers’ keepers for we are more than our  appearance indicates.



How Not To Attach The Fabric Of The Global House. . .

They say. .

You have to keep it singular. . .
You have to keep it nuclear. . .
You have to keep it private. . . and
remembering different in any way is not good.

I tell you. . .

You have to keep out the likes
of the stable boy
who was my grandfather.
And keep out the likes of my grandmother
who could speak seven languages and
and the likes of me from being born.

For, I, in a sometime life
blazoned with the year of 1790
walked up a hill in a country called France.
As a monk in a robe of brown burlap
with a heavy cross across my shoulders
led a group of people past boarded windows
with dust flying to save human rights.
The time was the French Revolution.

We would be immigrants
vying for freedom from
a world of oppression;
seeking liberation for a chance
to breathe fresh air.
Rich with history,
making a small difference to be sure,
infected only with Earth’s virus called learning.
Our need to know life’s passions
helped to escalate human evolution.

Was this to be called a criminal act and we the criminals?


Sculpture by
Stanley Rybacki



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