Great men often are like great trees, in reaching for the sky they climb ever higher, paying no heed to the comforting shade they provide below.
Every man who takes the breathe of life, has conflict written for him. A boy makes his conflict about power and the school yard his battlefield he will be a bully, yet mere meters away another man makes war against ignorance and the classroom his front line, he emerges the teacher. It is the great separator of men, not race, nor class but what he fights for and where he stages it.
It is liars that tend to be the loudest, for their words must reach the back of rooms. Honest men in my experience by nature are quiet, for their words need not concern itself with the size of venues, the power of their words of an honest man come not from the volume of which they are spoken but from truth.Where falsehoods are limited by acoustics, the truth however, can be heard across centuries even as whispers.
Take a hurricane, a storm that stretches hundreds of miles wreaking destruction its path, Yet in the center lies the eye, a region of uncharacteristic calm unaffected by the havoc that surrounds it. Peculiar how nature allows such a contradiction, yet many a man does not, how they suffer in not allowing themselves to find a measure of peace despite the engulfing difficulties.
Inspiring people do not insert new ideas or feelings in others. The secret to their gift lies in their words and actions, their supernatural ability to cast light into the dark recesses mankind’s minds and hearts allowing to people to bare witness the truths that were already within them but not readily seen.
The religious tomes speak of a god creating man in his own image. I cannot speak of the veracity of that for its matter of faith and not facts. However what I do know is that man and his kind has and continues to, shape this world in his own reflecting both the great cruelties and compassion that resides within him.
Just as to gain a glimpse of the soul of an artist one must first begin to appreciate and understand his works, so too must the appreciation and understanding of mankind take place, in order to gain a glimpse of the supreme force that created it.
Houses I find are commonly haunted by the memory of the dead, men however are more often than not haunted by the memory of the living.
Men have always died. In dying they take nothing, so it was a man gives, what he leaves behind that defines him, each man building upon his predecessors legacy. Long forgotten ancestors left us an identity, a name. In taking a name Forefathers pass on lands and property.the men of this era are no different. In being given wealth and lands they ought to aspire and build, leave behind a world, a better one.
When a man reads history its in ink, but when he is making it, its written in his blood, sweat and tears.