With Obama and McCain about to duke it out… perhaps, like me, you'll find interest in
looking to 25 of the greatest speeches to have ever changed our world. I found
a site that features a DVD where you can listen to them.
The following are thought to be the most provacative 25, each selected based on an
evaluation of their historical relevance, the events that followed, and the rhetoric used.
25. Albert Einstein… Peace in the Atomic Era
24. Ronald Reagan… President's Farewell Address
23. Richard M. Nixon… Presidential Resignation
22. Newton Minow… Program Control
21. Leonid Brezhnev… Peaceful Coexistence
20. Golda Meir… Political Problems of the Middle East
19. John F. Kennedy… Freedom's Cause
18. Jimmy Carter, Anwar Sadat, and Menachem Begin… Israeli Egyptian Peace Treaty
17. J. Edgar Hoover… Our Achilles' Heel
16. Winston Churchill… Alliance of English-Speaking People
15. George H. W. Bush… War with Iraq
14. John F. Kennedy… For the Freedom of Man
13. Douglas MacArthur… Don't Scuttle the Pacific
12. Mao Tse-tung… People's Democratic Dictatorship
11. Harry S. Truman… Communist Attach on Korea
10. Dwight D. Eisenhower… Liberty Is at Stake
9. Lyndon B. Johnson… United States Vietnam Policy
8. Harry S. Truman… Warning to Japan
7. Adlai Stevenson and Valerian A. Zorin… Has the USSR Missiles in Cuba?
6. Winston Churchill… The Retreat from Flanders
5. Franklin D. Roosevelt… Good Start Toward Lasting Peace
4. George W. Bush… The War in Iraq
3. Adolf Hitler… The Position of Goverment
2. George W. Bush… A Nation Stunned
1. Franklin D. Roosevelt… The President's War Address
Last weekend, i found myself in Syracuse, for a competitive frisbee tournament. But, the most
special part of the trip was meeting up with the Anize crew… these are the wizards behind the
curtain who stand guard at night, keeping the Anize interface running smoothly. Here's a pic of us:
Bell, James, DFC, DBGrandi
Round two (solemn faces): Bell, James, DFC, DBGrandi
Its 3:50am, and I can't sleep.
And yet, I'm determined as ever to get up when my alarm rings at 8:33am…
…so, needless to say, these next 4.5 hours are a very strange lucidity.
I can't sleep because my father died when he was 35 years old, in October of 1989. His name was Edsel Morgan Bell, Jr. He was a beautiful man, and I realized recently that I am living for the both of us. When i look out of my own eyes at something new and picturesque, I often imagine him seeing exactly what I see, for the first time too.
He had a quiet humor about him—genuine, and smooth in every way. Tall, and strong, he was a servant to those he loved, and had not a harmful bone in his body. His smile would strike you with warmth; his eyes so honest and true. He loved to take my grandma to the movies; it was always the latest Western film, and always the biggest bag of popcorn. He loved peach cobbler pie, and just about any dessert you could put under his nose. He always smelled clean and fresh, and his hands were rough around the edges. After eating french fries, he would always brush his fingers against themselves to get the salt off, and i'm told he was also known to bring some moves to the nightclub dance floor…
My dad was named Edsel Morgan Bell, Jr. The name “Edsel” means “Noble One,” and I think it fits him quite nicely. He had wanted me to be named Edsel too. I was almost “Edsel Morgan Bell, III“…but my mother insisted i be named, “Aaron.” And so, here I am. Aaron Morgan Bell, the first.
I can honestly say that what I know of my father is not enough to satisfy me. I know that he drove a cadillac, coupe deville. It was white, and with blue interior. This car was his dream, and in his final dying years, he drove it with all his pride. Before that, he and my mother owned an old, busted, boxy yellow volvo—-durable, with brown interior. My dad loved his dog, a black labrador mixed with Manchester Terrier. She was such a gorgeous dog, and her name was Clara Bell. I remember how strong and how caring she was. She respected our yard, only because we had a fence…and she used to give me piggy back rides when I was just learning to walk. When my dad was unable to live on his own, he had to give Clara Bell away. (I've always wondered how the rest of her life was). My dad was married to my mom some 5 years before they had me. I am told that I was an “unexpected” baby, and even that my mother was on birth control at the time…so my parents were quite mystified, it seems, to hear the good news. Considering I was born two weeks “late” on september 17th, i'm assuming my folks knew how to bring in the New Year with sincere celebration!
Shortly after i was born, my father discovered his lymphatic system was in the second to worst stage of Hodgkins Disease, cancer, and that it was irreversible. Once spread throughout your body's entire lymphatic system, the cancer can move virtually to any part of your body. As i understand it, shortly after my first birthday, he was given ONE year to live. By the time I was four years old, i vividly remember him still beating the odds, but still going in and out of chemotherapy, not a hair on his tall, slender body… and i remember how tired he looked, and how clamy he felt. His eyes still brought the same old warmth, and his smile still shined the same old love. I also remember a day where he stood in our living room, drinking water from a glass, and i could see, shortly after he swallowed, water spots appeared on his t-shirt on his stomach. The lining of his stomach had become so thin, that he was literally leaking out the water through his belly.
My father worked at A.O. Smith, a steel car frame factory and heating unit manufacturer. He was in and out of work while juggling the cancer. My mom was working, i believe at Brady Corporation, in customer service, just to keep the lights on. As my dad's perseverance continued to beat the odds, the hospital bills continued to climb. The emotional roller-coaster continued to roll, and it was no wonder the marriage suffered. I was only four years old, but I remember my mom bundling me up for the cold outdoors, and i watched as my parents shared one last inaudible and cacaphonic moment at our side-door step, and then I left with my mom in the volvo, never to return as a family again.
Things changed quite rapidly from that point. My mother sought refuge with her old high-school sweetheart in his apartment in the suburbs. This man is named Keith—very kind, and very fond of both my mother and I. I remember playing with toy cars, and having cool pajamas, and drinking ecto-cooler Hi-C. A year or so passed, and keith proposed to my mother. Shortly after, my half-sister, Chelsea Nicole, was born, we moved out to a safe quiet community, and all the while I continued to see my father on the weekends at the old house.
I remember climbing the crab-apple tree in his front yard, and watching television on his gigantic screen. I remember seeing my Grandma Bell at christmas, and her asking me to give her “some sugar”, which meant I had to give her a kiss on the cheek—-which I hated to do. And when i turned 8 years old, i finally understood the rhythm i was in—being a bigger brother to my little 2 year old white sister; being a good student and undiscovered artist; seeing my father on the weekends in the city; spending all the weekday's and all the holidays with my mother's and step-father's families… and every night, I'd give thanks and pray for my dad to get better. And he did. And I remember after my 8th birthday that he had a very bad re-lapse, and the doctors didn't think he'd pull through. The man had fought for 7 years, and i knew he had it in him to beat this. Then in late October, the doctors said my dad was looking much better, and that they would release him at the end of the week. My mother and I went to see him in the hospital, with tubes coming and going everywhich way, and his body so frail and pale under the sea-green sheets.
The next day, after school, my mom came and got me from daycare. She was there earlier than normal. She took me to her car, and began to cry as she told me my father had died that day, and that he wasn't coming home. I remember how sad she looked. I dont think I cried. I remember just looking out into the world through my eyes, and my face and my mind went blank.
Today, I am almost 27 years old. No one knows where Hodgkins Disease comes from, how its originated, nor if its hereditary. 1% of all the people with cancer have Hodgkins Disease, and as rare as it is, I've never lived a day thinking that the disease has my number too. But i've also never lived as if i have all the time in the world either. I can hardly imagine living beyond 45 years old. 27 years old is how old my father was when I came into his life. At this age, already i have seen more of the world than he ever saw— i have visited 14 countries, and 39 states. I have played more sports, climbed more mountains, canoed more lakes, studied more school, and made more friends. Each day I find new happiness, and I hope Edsel can see these great moments through my eyes. I know my life will one day begin to slow down, and take root. It is the natural progression… But i know now that I am living for two. This gives me great purpose. And so, in 10 days, i will begin my life in New York City.
Goodnight, Dad.
The world—it wisps us to and fro,
while its reasons it whispers not.
It delights in birth and death,
by the process of growth & rot.
By the skeleton in my being,
and the muscle on my bone,
I'm a temporary creature,
whose living on my own.
Without a sure rationale,
and without a map of how,
I'm left to walk my own path,
and discover what I will.
“Change” and “temporary”…
the conditions of my state.
And somewhere in between these lines,
grow emotions I can't escape.
Love and Faith and Hope,
propel me towards my ends.
Where from did they arise, friend?
With them, where should I begin?
Before you speak, will you agree:
One small goal at a time; each day's unique;
With each foot forward, use my eyes to see;
One's cobbled path is laid with bricks,
… of “choice” and “opportunity”.
…unfinished.
If there is a god, he wants that we trust each other… or he wouldn't have asked that his message be passed between generations.
Why is there so much personality in the world? … Birds, the way they whistle; Dogs, the way they bark; Cats, the way they stare… the list goes on. Is the one thing that makes us human the fact that we can wrestle with our inner selves?
Because we exist, there must be a reason. And believing that there is a reason, this is faith. Faith before even knowing the reason for why one is here. ~the Shivapuri Baba & JG Bennet
When I consider the lack of cooperation in human society, I can only conclude that it stems from ignorance of our interdependent nature. ~Dalai Lama
SELF-ATTENTION: it means being attentive to whatever is outside of you, while at the same time, holding an awareness of yourself observing the phenomenon. It's not getting lost in the parade before you rise. An example: You're sitting out by a river, it's a beautiful sunny day. The river is floating by, and you see debris—various things floating along in the river. You let them float by, you gaze at the river. While you're doing so, you're aware of the feeling of your body, the sun on your face. You're aware of your breathing, you're aware of your feelings—that's double attention.
Single attention, the wrong kind of attention, is now there's an object floating in that river going by, and you fixate your attention on that object. Now you are no longer aware of that sun on your face, the feel of the grass under your feet. No longer aware of your breathing, no longer aware of your body. You're completely fixated on “what is that object, floating down the river?” That's what most people call attention, and that's actually “stopping your mind.” And when you do so, you're in your stall consciousness, you're in “stall mind.” And, when you do so, the “Law of Accident” applies to you. ~James J. Traitz
- In “Talks on Beelzebub's Tales”, Bennett distinguishes four types of suffering - Unnecessary Suffering, Unavoidable Suffering, Voluntary Suffering and Intentional Suffering. Lets have a look at each of these to see if they can help our understanding:
The first is Unnecessary Suffering. This would be the type of suffering that we incur because of our unreasonable attitudes and expectations towards others, from our ill-will, hatred and rejection of others, from doubt, possessiveness, arrogance and self pity. In other words, suffering arising from our self-importance.
The second is Unavoidable Suffering. This would be the type of suffering that comes to us by accident or from events beyond our control, such as interpersonal conflicts, war, disaster, disease or death.
Third, we have Voluntary Suffering. This would be the type of suffering that we take upon ourselves in order to accomplish a personal aim, such as an athlete who disciplines himself to win a race, or a student who labours to get good grades.
And finally we have Intentional Suffering. According to Bennett, this would be the kind of suffering that we take upon ourselves in order to accomplish an impersonal or altruistic goal, one that is directed more towards service to others or to the Work, and not for any personal gain. Bennett assumes that this is what Gurdjieff & Ouspensky meant by Intentional Suffering.
Ouspensky certainly seems to recognize the general necessity of suffering, as indicated by this remark from his book 'In Search of the Miraculous':
“To destroy suffering would mean, first, destroying a whole series of perceptions for which man exists, and second, the destruction of the 'shock,' that is to say, the force which alone can change the situation.” (In Search of the Miraculous, p. 308)
… That is to say, the idea of “destroying” suffering has a dual difficulty. On the one hand, suffering is something embedded in ourselves that we most struggle to let go of, in the sense that we grow attached to our suffering—we grow attached to our habits in such a way that we almost prefer to suffer as we do, and to our own detriment, of course. And yet, on the other hand, as much as we must rid ourselves of certain unnecessary sufferings, suffering alone is what can “shock” us, or “awaken” us to those very things that we must change about ourselves…
Below is a passage that I had to omit from my MA thesis. There simply was no room, and the passage proved redundant to the other text. But, the passage holds several kernals of truth & fully embodies the spirit of my work:
“You go into life according to the shape of your personality. You encounter life, people, and so on, through your personality, not directly. Is this clear? Now you do not see your personality. It is not conscious to you. So perhaps you blame life or people, or feel disappointed, and so on. The trouble is that you have acquired a certain mechanical device for making contact with life called personality that renders life to you according to its shape, as it were.
“And so here you are, always carrying about with you your personality, your apparatus for experiencing life, and always hoping perhaps, if you had a new environment, new people, a new house, new clothes, etc. that everything would be utterly different. How can that be? You are carrying about your apparatus for contacting life—that is, your personality. You may pack your bags and fill them with new clothes and go to the Anitpodes—but you carry your personality with you, with all its acquired habits of mind, habits of emotion, habits of behaviour, habits of talking, habits of finding fault, habits of movement, habits of health, and so on.
“Now this work is about how to get away from oneself, not from life. You do not get away from yourself by changing your outer scene. For this reason it is necessary to observe oneself and see what one's personality is like and study it and see what one's appartus is like. We all have all sorts of dreams about a new life—about ideal circumstances, marvelous people, etc. But such dreams are idle because even if we were placed in exceptional and beautiful conditions, such as are said to obtain in Paradise, we would react to them through our personalities and very soon be returned out as quite unsuitable, I fancy.
“The trouble really is that none of us knows how to live, because none of us sees that the trouble lies in the personality—that is, in the receptive-reactive machine we use to contact life. And we shall never learn how to live even a little aright if we do not work on personality in us, and see what it is in us in each case and what troubles arise from ourselves and not merely from others and from life.”
~(Maurice Nicoll, Psychological Commentaries on the Teachings of Gurdjieff & Ouspensky, Vol. 1, p.278