The Other Side Of The "sacred" Is

Clambering Up The Cold Mountain Path, The Cold Mountain Trail Goes On And On: The Long Gorge Choked With Scree And Boulders, The Wide Creek, The Mist-blurred Grass. The Moss Is Slippery, Though There's Been No Rain The Pine Sings, But There's No Wind. Who Can Leap The World's Ties And Sit With Me Among The White Clouds?

All That We Did Was Human, Stupid, Easily Forgiven, Not Quite Right.

In Paul Friedrich's Book Proto-indo-european Trees He Identifies The "semantic Primitives" Of The Indo-european Tribe Of Languages Through A Group Of Words That Have Not Changed Much Through Twelve Thousand Years - And Those Are Tree Names: Especially Birch, Willow, Adler, Elm, Ash, Apple And Beech (bher, Wyt, Alysos, Ulmo, Os, Abul, Bhago). Seed Syllables, Bija, Of The Life Of The West.

For Those Who Can, One Of The Things To Do Is Not To Move. To Stay Put. That Doesn't Mean Don't Travel; It Means Have A Place And Get Involved In What Can Be Done In That Place. That's The Only Way We're Going To Have A Representative Democracy In America. Nobody Stays Anywhere Long Enough To Take Responsibility For A Local Community.

True Affluence Is To Not Need Anything.