Folks,
I'm thinking of my old pal, George Anderson. He might have been the most beautiful man I have ever met, aside from my own dad. George came back from Vietnam, but died from that war twenty years later. His story is heroic in the very old, tragic sense, but also is an example of what a Human can do right with what is handed off by Destiny.
George was smarter, certainly kinder, than pretty much anybody you'll likely see on the street. He taught just by letting one watch him stride proud but without any righteousness. Nothing much scared him after he came back from that horrible war. He was a Man… a MAN. He made his living for a spell by killing people and getting shot at, standing next to a stranger that he relied upon to save his own hide, and seeing that fellow torn apart by bombs to die in pieces in his arms.
Yet, George came home to the country that put his butt in the grinder of war, he was looking for Love, and he had progressed to the point that he would not squash a spider on the wall. He would gently capture it, fold it up in a napkin, walk down three floors from his room, and release it onto the porch… perhaps to repeat the operation the next day with the very same critter.
He was a Buddhist without ever reading any of those old texts. He was a Christian without religion. He became a Shinto priest without ever knowing a damn thing about that ancient tradition. George was a Human. He was beautiful, and I miss him.
George was smarter, certainly kinder, than pretty much anybody you'll likely see on the street. He taught just by letting one watch him stride proud but without any righteousness. Nothing much scared him after he came back from that horrible war. He was a Man… a MAN. He made his living for a spell by killing people and getting shot at, standing next to a stranger that he relied upon to save his own hide, and seeing that fellow torn apart by bombs to die in pieces in his arms.
Yet, George came home to the country that put his butt in the grinder of war, he was looking for Love, and he had progressed to the point that he would not squash a spider on the wall. He would gently capture it, fold it up in a napkin, walk down three floors from his room, and release it onto the porch… perhaps to repeat the operation the next day with the very same critter.
He was a Buddhist without ever reading any of those old texts. He was a Christian without religion. He became a Shinto priest without ever knowing a damn thing about that ancient tradition. George was a Human. He was beautiful, and I miss him.
S
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