I just left a comment at a lovely writing blog that came to my attention via Google Alerts. In it she quotes from my first book, WISHCRAFT. You can see the post here:
http://writingnag.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-favorite-christmas-gift.html
and here's the relevant segment to my post today:
.........................
Possibilities, opportunities, the unknown, the power everyone has to change their life, here's hoping that 2009 is the year you achieve your goals!
In Barbara Sher's book Wishcraft How to Get What You Really Want Barbara writes that "your true goal, or target, has to be a concrete action or event, not only so you'll know for sure when you get there, but so that you can make that date with success in advance!"
Today, instead of making New Year's resolutions that your enthusiasm might wane for by January 30th what goals can you set with dates?
......................
I left a brief comment which might take a few days to go through the monitoring process, so I'd like to repeat it here because I think you ought to know about it before you start making your New Year's Resolutions -- about anything, not just writing. Here's my comment:
Great blog, writing nag. And thanks for mentioning Wishcraft. 2009 will be its 30th anniversary, if you can believe that. (I can't.)
I've found that setting a date changes everything, but be prepared: setting a date can make your goal so real that you get scared. Never underestimate fear as a deterrent to action. It's a bear.
It's like the difference between saying 'Marry me,' and saying 'Marry me on Mar 5.'
The first one just means 'I love you.' Yummy.
The second one will scare you out of your wits. Be prepared for Resistance to rear its head, in one form or another.
One way to avoid too much fear is to lower the danger level. Maybe make the goal very small at first, and the date closer. Then do it again. Then see if you can get away with setting a date for completing a chapter, or whatever might awaken your Inner Ambulance again.
Good luck and keep up the good work,
Your fellow writer,
Barbara Sher
http://writeyourownsuccessstory.com/
Friday, December 26, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Langue of Oc vs. Oil and Croissant
All credits here at the outset to Graham Robb and his fine book, The Discovery of France. He studied in libraries and rode his bike through the countryside of France for 14 years and one of the fascinating things he mentions is the sharp line that demarcates the areas that grow wheat and speak one language from the areas that are forested and speak another, and the areas that have vineyards and speak yet another.
If you've ever heard of the area in France just north of the Pyrenees called 'Languedoc' (that's where I'm running the Scanner's Retreat in April of 2009, described at 'www.geniuspress.com) or seen the words 'l'Occitaine' on a smart shop in the downtown area of your city, you might not know that they're talking about languages that are defined and differentiated from one another by the way they say the word 'Yes.'
They could have picked any word, but they picked this one. Nice touch.
After the revolution it became important to the leaders in Paris that everyone should speak one language. At the time, French was already the 'lingua franca' (as English is today), that is, the international language for all cultivated Europeans (including Russians) -- all of them, that is, excepting those in France itself. In France, a name which most of us (and many of the French) take to mean 'Paris,' this international language is really just the Parisian dialect -- and until recently (and even in some places, to this day) most of the people in France neither spoke, nor understood it.
p 51: (ca. 1794) "The fringes of France were already known to be dominated by languages quite different from French: Basquie, Breton, Flemish and Alsatian. But the two Romantic languages that covered most of the country -- French in the north, Occitan in the south -- also turned out to be a muddle of incomprehensible dialects...'Such disorder reigns that the prayer recited by fathers when the family is together at evening can be understood only by the Supreme Being.'
When the great writer, Jean Racine (who was to later write plays that would be 'hailed as the purest expression of classical French), went to visit relatives in Provence he said 'I cannot understand the French of this region and no one can understand mine.'
What he didn't know is that the language of his relatives home wasn't a form of French at all. "Long before reaching [his uncle's village], he had crossed the great divide between the northern 'oil' or French languages and the southern 'oc' or Occitan languages (so named in the Middle Ages after the words for 'yes').
Here's a little more fun and clarity from Robb: The word for 'bird' in English, Latin, Occitan and French is, in that order, 'bird,' 'aucellus, 'aucel,' and 'oisearu. 'Horse,' in the same order is: 'horse,' 'cabullus,' 'caval,' and 'cheval,' and so on.
But there's an unusually sharp divide between them that can't be explained away by the lines of old feudal holdings, and since I'm trying to see where the crops differ, I read the following words with much interest:
"The curiously sharp division of Oc and Oil does appear to follow the boundaries of medieval provinces for part of its course, but it also matches several other ancient divisions. North of the line, roofs usually have a slope of forty-five degrees and are made of flat tiles or slate; to the south, they slope at thirty degrees and are made of rounded tiles." North of the line, farmers planted 3 times a year and used a plough, where farmers in the south planted twice a year and used a primitive, wheel-less plough called an 'araire'.
I forgot that part about the roofs when I was there last fall, and kept my eyes peeled for the different crops (which I never found, of course) but today I'm looking for the passage that speaks of the different crops, right next to each other. I mean, you could step from one to the other.
"A major Roman road, the Via Agrippa ... follows the language divide quite closely. Like most Roman roads it was almost certainly build on a much earlier route...This line can still be followed on the ground. In 2005, I cycled along sections of the Oc-Oil...frontier for a total of about 50 miles [Oh, lord, gotta do that!!] ...
"By using the 1873 data, it is possible to find the point at which Oc, Oil and [a third language] Croissant, intersected [!]"
Exclamation point is mine, and if you don't think that sentence deserves an exclamation point, you might not really be a Scanner. What follows actually makes my heart beat a little faster, no kidding:
"This watershed of three language groups is one of the most obscure and significant locations in the historical geography of France. It lies on a tiny road north-east of Angouleme where the Braconne Forest ends abruptly and opens out onto the plains and valley of the Charente. By chance, the landscape has arranged itself in a textbook illustration of the north-south divide: the Croissant is marked by the forest, the northern, Oil side by a wheat field, and the southern, Oc side by a vineyard."
Okay. That's what I was trying to say. See?!
Feeling like a child who has brought in a worm to show her Mommy, I leave you to ponder what you have read and find your own delight or boredom. I am smiling happily, feeling great satisfaction and delight. And now I shall contentedly return to doing my work.
If you've ever heard of the area in France just north of the Pyrenees called 'Languedoc' (that's where I'm running the Scanner's Retreat in April of 2009, described at 'www.geniuspress.com) or seen the words 'l'Occitaine' on a smart shop in the downtown area of your city, you might not know that they're talking about languages that are defined and differentiated from one another by the way they say the word 'Yes.'
They could have picked any word, but they picked this one. Nice touch.
After the revolution it became important to the leaders in Paris that everyone should speak one language. At the time, French was already the 'lingua franca' (as English is today), that is, the international language for all cultivated Europeans (including Russians) -- all of them, that is, excepting those in France itself. In France, a name which most of us (and many of the French) take to mean 'Paris,' this international language is really just the Parisian dialect -- and until recently (and even in some places, to this day) most of the people in France neither spoke, nor understood it.
p 51: (ca. 1794) "The fringes of France were already known to be dominated by languages quite different from French: Basquie, Breton, Flemish and Alsatian. But the two Romantic languages that covered most of the country -- French in the north, Occitan in the south -- also turned out to be a muddle of incomprehensible dialects...'Such disorder reigns that the prayer recited by fathers when the family is together at evening can be understood only by the Supreme Being.'
When the great writer, Jean Racine (who was to later write plays that would be 'hailed as the purest expression of classical French), went to visit relatives in Provence he said 'I cannot understand the French of this region and no one can understand mine.'
What he didn't know is that the language of his relatives home wasn't a form of French at all. "Long before reaching [his uncle's village], he had crossed the great divide between the northern 'oil' or French languages and the southern 'oc' or Occitan languages (so named in the Middle Ages after the words for 'yes').
Here's a little more fun and clarity from Robb: The word for 'bird' in English, Latin, Occitan and French is, in that order, 'bird,' 'aucellus, 'aucel,' and 'oisearu. 'Horse,' in the same order is: 'horse,' 'cabullus,' 'caval,' and 'cheval,' and so on.
But there's an unusually sharp divide between them that can't be explained away by the lines of old feudal holdings, and since I'm trying to see where the crops differ, I read the following words with much interest:
"The curiously sharp division of Oc and Oil does appear to follow the boundaries of medieval provinces for part of its course, but it also matches several other ancient divisions. North of the line, roofs usually have a slope of forty-five degrees and are made of flat tiles or slate; to the south, they slope at thirty degrees and are made of rounded tiles." North of the line, farmers planted 3 times a year and used a plough, where farmers in the south planted twice a year and used a primitive, wheel-less plough called an 'araire'.
I forgot that part about the roofs when I was there last fall, and kept my eyes peeled for the different crops (which I never found, of course) but today I'm looking for the passage that speaks of the different crops, right next to each other. I mean, you could step from one to the other.
"A major Roman road, the Via Agrippa ... follows the language divide quite closely. Like most Roman roads it was almost certainly build on a much earlier route...This line can still be followed on the ground. In 2005, I cycled along sections of the Oc-Oil...frontier for a total of about 50 miles [Oh, lord, gotta do that!!] ...
"By using the 1873 data, it is possible to find the point at which Oc, Oil and [a third language] Croissant, intersected [!]"
Exclamation point is mine, and if you don't think that sentence deserves an exclamation point, you might not really be a Scanner. What follows actually makes my heart beat a little faster, no kidding:
"This watershed of three language groups is one of the most obscure and significant locations in the historical geography of France. It lies on a tiny road north-east of Angouleme where the Braconne Forest ends abruptly and opens out onto the plains and valley of the Charente. By chance, the landscape has arranged itself in a textbook illustration of the north-south divide: the Croissant is marked by the forest, the northern, Oil side by a wheat field, and the southern, Oc side by a vineyard."
Okay. That's what I was trying to say.
Feeling like a child who has brought in a worm to show her Mommy, I leave you to ponder what you have read and find your own delight or boredom. I am smiling happily, feeling great satisfaction and delight. And now I shall contentedly return to doing my work.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
On Eclectics, critics and how to grow up and quit fooling around.
You and I know we call them/us Scanners, not Eclectics, but google still thinks that's a piece of equipment. In case you're new to this subject, Scanners are people who are interested in so many things they have an awful time choosing just one. They shouldn't try. They're supposed to do everything. But they're given a very hard time when they follow what fascinates them, but don't 'follow through.'
I got a letter some time ago with this comment:
"My mother-in-law regularly tells me that it is not ability that counts, but stickability. I never know how to answer her."
Before I wrote Refuse To Choose (What Do I Do When I Want To Do Everything?) I gathered some interesting stuff on this subject, and went back through my files to dig it up. Truth is, there have been many studies in the past ten years or so that vindicate Scanner behavior. The next few posts will be a brief guide to some very special people who would know exactly how to answer her. I'd like you to hear from three of them in this post.
If you feel foolish because you’re constantly magnetized by mystery instead of applying what you already know, listen to the first one:
"The most beautiful thing is to gaze at a mystery and say why is this here? How does it work? The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity."
You'll know his name: Albert Einstein.
You might not know the second person, a scholar in a field most of us haven't studied. Like most Scanners, I always despaired that I would need an endless, laser-like focus and a huge tolerance for tedium to create work that would make me an authority in any field. Then, one day, after buying a book from a shelf an anthropology major had no business visiting, I found E.R. Curtius, a widely renowned scholar who dedicated his life to writing his masterpiece, 'European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages'.
He wrote something that lifts the heart of any Scanner, but unexpected from the pen of a 'dry as dust' scholar. It changed my opinion of scholars forever:
"Through loving and hating, all intuition and knowledge of value is built up…Applied to the method of scholarship, it means a flair for noticing that certain passages in a text are ‘important’—even if it is not yet clear why…The individual traits that matter cannot be sought out, they must flash upon the mind."
If you're a Scanner, you know what he means; you come upon something exciting, important, wonderful, and you run out and tell everyone and find that your listeners aren't nearly as delighted as you are. Until this year, I was only sympathetic, consoling to my fellow Scanners, and irritated at the ignorance and unkindness of people who refuse to be thrilled by their honest, childlike enthusiasm.
But I'm beginning to change my mind. That scolding, bromide-ridden mother in law above may just be mean, but even people who aren't mean often don't understand why you're so excited about your new discovery. I'm starting to see that this isn't really their fault. They don't see what you see, but no one saw what Curtius saw either, until it clicked in his head, and he understood it -- and then explained it to them.
In fact, even bright, curious people might not be enthused by what you find delightful in your travels because what you saw didn't leap off the page for them. But something else did; something that might make you scratch your head in confusion. I'm convinced that everyone has an inner magnet, different from anyone else's magnet, that pulls only relevant things to them like steel shavings, and those things come to form a pattern that not many people can see. Until, that is, you take the time to explain it to them.
Scanners don't have to keep their thrilling discoveries to themselves. No, they just have to grow up (in certain ways) and quit fooling around (in certain other ways). Here's how I believe you should do that.
First comes respect for what interests you. Curtius has given you permission. No more beating up on yourself. You can't explain anything to anyone unless you first respect, as Curtius did, the fact that if something seems 'important' to you, it is.
It is important whether or not you can justify that importance. You have to respect your own enthusiasm, and understand that it's really good, maybe unerring, in its ability to direct you to exactly the material you need to form your own best insights.
It's important that you don't get discouraged when you're not understood. It's not only important, it's irresponsible to allow yourself to feel demoralized when no one knows or cares what you're up to. Too many Scanners have a voice running in their head that belongs to critics, and that voice stops them from trusting their own enthusiasm. Too many Scanners have belittled themselves to me when there wasn't a critic in sight: "So here, again, I get all excited like some kind of 5 year old idiot, and what can I do with it? I wish I'd just grow up and stop fooling around."
You know what? If you've ever thought something like that I have to say that I, too, wish you'd grow up and stop fooling around, though I have a hunch that I mean something very different from what you think.
Scanners are vulnerable, and in the best ways, like kids: they're eager for new knowledge, they love to share, they're rarely competitive. My experience has shown me that most Scanners seem to be extremely kind, never belittling, often protective of other people's feelings. But they're as hurt by criticism and misunderstanding as a child, too.
But I'd like to make a plea that Scanners must grow up, at least enough to understand that people never understand anybody at the beginning of a new venture. If you're an original thinker, like an artist, you're always ahead of your time. But if you can 'grow up,' you'll develop the patience to forego approval at the beginning and honor the importance of what you're discovering.
And if you quit fooling around, you'll understand that you have to stick to your sleuthing as long as it fascinates you, until it yields the reason it was 'important' in the first place. And then you'll have something important to share with the world. And you must share it. You have to try to help the world understand it. That's your obligation.
See, if you're a true Scanner, when your mystery finally takes shape, you're obliged to try to explain it. And, if you're a true Scanner, you have to do it fast, almost the moment you have that Eureka! moment. Because you're not like an inventor or industrialist or gold miner who considers discovery nothing more than a path to success with all its rewards. To a Scanner, the discovery itself is the good part. But as soon as discovery becomes a commonplace to you, you'll move on to something else. And I say you have to wait a minute. You have unfinished work to do before you leave one scene and look for another.
You have to stop fooling around, and take up the challenge of pulling those important findings together and explaining it clearly and patiently to anyone who needs to know about it. (Don't talk to me about experts and credentials and publishers, either. Just start a blog and start writing, like I'm doing right now.)
And when the work of explaining your discovery is done, then you can get on to the next mystery.
If you do this, you'll be in the company of the best people there are, anywhere. Fortunately, some of them write books for us amateurs. They're usually called scientists or artists or mathematicians, but they're more than that because they're as enthusiastic as children about their interests and they want to tell the world what they've found.
Which brings me to the third very special person you should know about. Head over to TED.com and watch and listen to some amazing people go up on a stage in front of a thousand people and and enthusiastically talk about the NEATEST stuff they just found out!
I think one of the more delightful and wilder of the bunch, and the best for any Scanner to start with is Clifford Stoll.
He's had some exciting adventures; he's famous for finding KGB spies and stopping them from hacking classified information, but In his talk he explains that these days, things that used to interest him have become boring. "The first time you do something, it's science. The second time it's engineering. Third time you're just a technician. I'm a scientist. Once I do something I want to do something else."
He waves his arms and jumps around and changes the subject and reads notes he wrote on his hand, but he's totally wonderful. And he's not just a genius in a tower, enjoying himself, he's a genius who wants to talk to us.
He says, "If you want to know what the future will bring, don't ask me, don't ask a scientist, or someone who's writing code. Ask an experienced kindergarten teacher. She knows."
He says we should all volunteer to teach kids in school.
Stoll has fun and acts like a kid but he's a grownup and he really isn't fooling around anymore, and he'll tell you how to stop fooling around, too. Not only that, he'll show you how to remain a happy, childlike Scanner at the same time, one who has a delicious time just being conscious.
Check him out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gj8IA6xOpSk
Be sure to stick around until the end because Stoll says important stuff. The finale is worth waiting for, especially for a Scanner who can't defend your delight with learning new things, and your lack of 'stickability.'
He closes by telling us something he read as a student (actually, it was engraved on a bell in his college campus tower, where he found himself after escaping from a campus riot). I'll write it here, but you really want to hear him say it.
"All truth is one in this light.
May science and religion endeavor here for the steady evolution of mankind,
from darkness to light,
from narrowness to broadmindedness,
from prejudice to tolerance.
It is the voice of Life
which calls us to come and learn."
I got a letter some time ago with this comment:
"My mother-in-law regularly tells me that it is not ability that counts, but stickability. I never know how to answer her."
Before I wrote Refuse To Choose (What Do I Do When I Want To Do Everything?) I gathered some interesting stuff on this subject, and went back through my files to dig it up. Truth is, there have been many studies in the past ten years or so that vindicate Scanner behavior. The next few posts will be a brief guide to some very special people who would know exactly how to answer her. I'd like you to hear from three of them in this post.
If you feel foolish because you’re constantly magnetized by mystery instead of applying what you already know, listen to the first one:
"The most beautiful thing is to gaze at a mystery and say why is this here? How does it work? The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity."
You'll know his name: Albert Einstein.
You might not know the second person, a scholar in a field most of us haven't studied. Like most Scanners, I always despaired that I would need an endless, laser-like focus and a huge tolerance for tedium to create work that would make me an authority in any field. Then, one day, after buying a book from a shelf an anthropology major had no business visiting, I found E.R. Curtius, a widely renowned scholar who dedicated his life to writing his masterpiece, 'European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages'.
He wrote something that lifts the heart of any Scanner, but unexpected from the pen of a 'dry as dust' scholar. It changed my opinion of scholars forever:
"Through loving and hating, all intuition and knowledge of value is built up…Applied to the method of scholarship, it means a flair for noticing that certain passages in a text are ‘important’—even if it is not yet clear why…The individual traits that matter cannot be sought out, they must flash upon the mind."
If you're a Scanner, you know what he means; you come upon something exciting, important, wonderful, and you run out and tell everyone and find that your listeners aren't nearly as delighted as you are. Until this year, I was only sympathetic, consoling to my fellow Scanners, and irritated at the ignorance and unkindness of people who refuse to be thrilled by their honest, childlike enthusiasm.
But I'm beginning to change my mind. That scolding, bromide-ridden mother in law above may just be mean, but even people who aren't mean often don't understand why you're so excited about your new discovery. I'm starting to see that this isn't really their fault. They don't see what you see, but no one saw what Curtius saw either, until it clicked in his head, and he understood it -- and then explained it to them.
In fact, even bright, curious people might not be enthused by what you find delightful in your travels because what you saw didn't leap off the page for them. But something else did; something that might make you scratch your head in confusion. I'm convinced that everyone has an inner magnet, different from anyone else's magnet, that pulls only relevant things to them like steel shavings, and those things come to form a pattern that not many people can see. Until, that is, you take the time to explain it to them.
Scanners don't have to keep their thrilling discoveries to themselves. No, they just have to grow up (in certain ways) and quit fooling around (in certain other ways). Here's how I believe you should do that.
First comes respect for what interests you. Curtius has given you permission. No more beating up on yourself. You can't explain anything to anyone unless you first respect, as Curtius did, the fact that if something seems 'important' to you, it is.
It is important whether or not you can justify that importance. You have to respect your own enthusiasm, and understand that it's really good, maybe unerring, in its ability to direct you to exactly the material you need to form your own best insights.
It's important that you don't get discouraged when you're not understood. It's not only important, it's irresponsible to allow yourself to feel demoralized when no one knows or cares what you're up to. Too many Scanners have a voice running in their head that belongs to critics, and that voice stops them from trusting their own enthusiasm. Too many Scanners have belittled themselves to me when there wasn't a critic in sight: "So here, again, I get all excited like some kind of 5 year old idiot, and what can I do with it? I wish I'd just grow up and stop fooling around."
You know what? If you've ever thought something like that I have to say that I, too, wish you'd grow up and stop fooling around, though I have a hunch that I mean something very different from what you think.
Scanners are vulnerable, and in the best ways, like kids: they're eager for new knowledge, they love to share, they're rarely competitive. My experience has shown me that most Scanners seem to be extremely kind, never belittling, often protective of other people's feelings. But they're as hurt by criticism and misunderstanding as a child, too.
But I'd like to make a plea that Scanners must grow up, at least enough to understand that people never understand anybody at the beginning of a new venture. If you're an original thinker, like an artist, you're always ahead of your time. But if you can 'grow up,' you'll develop the patience to forego approval at the beginning and honor the importance of what you're discovering.
And if you quit fooling around, you'll understand that you have to stick to your sleuthing as long as it fascinates you, until it yields the reason it was 'important' in the first place. And then you'll have something important to share with the world. And you must share it. You have to try to help the world understand it. That's your obligation.
See, if you're a true Scanner, when your mystery finally takes shape, you're obliged to try to explain it. And, if you're a true Scanner, you have to do it fast, almost the moment you have that Eureka! moment. Because you're not like an inventor or industrialist or gold miner who considers discovery nothing more than a path to success with all its rewards. To a Scanner, the discovery itself is the good part. But as soon as discovery becomes a commonplace to you, you'll move on to something else. And I say you have to wait a minute. You have unfinished work to do before you leave one scene and look for another.
You have to stop fooling around, and take up the challenge of pulling those important findings together and explaining it clearly and patiently to anyone who needs to know about it. (Don't talk to me about experts and credentials and publishers, either. Just start a blog and start writing, like I'm doing right now.)
And when the work of explaining your discovery is done, then you can get on to the next mystery.
If you do this, you'll be in the company of the best people there are, anywhere. Fortunately, some of them write books for us amateurs. They're usually called scientists or artists or mathematicians, but they're more than that because they're as enthusiastic as children about their interests and they want to tell the world what they've found.
Which brings me to the third very special person you should know about. Head over to TED.com and watch and listen to some amazing people go up on a stage in front of a thousand people and and enthusiastically talk about the NEATEST stuff they just found out!
I think one of the more delightful and wilder of the bunch, and the best for any Scanner to start with is Clifford Stoll.
He's had some exciting adventures; he's famous for finding KGB spies and stopping them from hacking classified information, but In his talk he explains that these days, things that used to interest him have become boring. "The first time you do something, it's science. The second time it's engineering. Third time you're just a technician. I'm a scientist. Once I do something I want to do something else."
He waves his arms and jumps around and changes the subject and reads notes he wrote on his hand, but he's totally wonderful. And he's not just a genius in a tower, enjoying himself, he's a genius who wants to talk to us.
He says, "If you want to know what the future will bring, don't ask me, don't ask a scientist, or someone who's writing code. Ask an experienced kindergarten teacher. She knows."
He says we should all volunteer to teach kids in school.
Stoll has fun and acts like a kid but he's a grownup and he really isn't fooling around anymore, and he'll tell you how to stop fooling around, too. Not only that, he'll show you how to remain a happy, childlike Scanner at the same time, one who has a delicious time just being conscious.
Check him out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gj8IA6xOpSk
Be sure to stick around until the end because Stoll says important stuff. The finale is worth waiting for, especially for a Scanner who can't defend your delight with learning new things, and your lack of 'stickability.'
He closes by telling us something he read as a student (actually, it was engraved on a bell in his college campus tower, where he found himself after escaping from a campus riot). I'll write it here, but you really want to hear him say it.
"All truth is one in this light.
May science and religion endeavor here for the steady evolution of mankind,
from darkness to light,
from narrowness to broadmindedness,
from prejudice to tolerance.
It is the voice of Life
which calls us to come and learn."
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