December 31, 2007

The shot heard round the world. Tom Brady to Randy Moss. A great moment in the history of sport. Trailing in the fourth quarter, with the first undefeated 16-0 season on the line, Brady and Moss connected on a daring touchdown bomb which not only put them in the lead but which established two huge NFL records, most touchdown passes in a season for Brady and most touchdown catches for Moss. To live in this moment again proves the transcendent spiritual power of sport. Belichick himself, the Master of football, provides one of the very top examples of excellence on the world stage, a role model for all who imagine they work so very hard to be their very best. By this standard, as if comparing against Caesar in Gaul, for instance, we seem to come up very short. The pursuit of perfection. The pursuit of excellence. Overcoming attack and despair and exhaustion. It’s all a journey, indeed. I had the wondrous experience last week of watching the Patriots 15th victory in a unique environment, sharing drinking space with a multitude of reverent and passionate devotees of the Madrid and Barcelona soccer teams in a sports bar in Amsterdam. How incredible to suddenly be inside what seemed a brilliantly-made movie of such an experience, riding the emotional ups and downs of each side, consisting mainly of Africans, existing like a shadow population of this intriguing Dutch city. And on alternate screens live from America the National Football League, consisting of without any question whatsoever the greatest athletes on earth. The racial genesis of these football players is certainly unique in world history. Armed with swords they would certainly cut through any legion or phalanx of ancient lore. Perhaps Europeans should find greater interest in this aspect of the colossus known as professional football in America. After the soccer match ended with a 1-0 score, this whole audience departed just as the Patriots game was beginning. Suddenly Brady and his team were on all the large screens with very loud volume — one could barely imagine being in such an exotic locale and experiencing in such stunning visual and aural detail the entire contest. Well, it was not much of a game in any event, and I no doubt wore out my welcome after six hours, but it was a moment in time to carry away in memory. Sacrifice. Pursuit of responsibility, and/or glory. Ms. Benazir, a heroine of my youth, of my age, in college in the same city at the same time, always somehow visible from these earliest years in public, a gentle and brilliant spirit radiating kindness and pure ambition, a parsifal chained to a society unimaginable even to its inhabitants, undefinable, unsustainable, unforgiving and unrelenting. From the midst of deep grief and bitter tears, the meaning of events may not be clear. And so we pause. And we wonder, on the meaning of life, and of our salvation in this cauldron of humanity. We wonder and doubt to the very depths of the black abyss. And the world turns despite our grief. And children play in innocence and freedom. And the struggles we face remain. Weakened by reality, and the loss of a light and energy on this earth, we still soldier on. The New Year beckons. 2008 lures us with melody and beauty, with visions of enduring love and creation. So we drink in this light and spirit as an act of will, and embrace it as we are spiritually transformed, and with renewed resources we live and seek. And though wounded deeply, and with dark knowledge of our true existence and tragedies, reminded fully of the cycle of sacrifice so brilliantly told by Ochs in The Crucifixion, we endure. And can still be lifted in spirit by triumph, in sport, in art, and the light in a child’s eye, shining forth forever in memory.
December 31, 2007

December 11, 2007

Maestro Gergiev has led some major performances of Russian Art over the last week or so, first three nights of opera and symphonic repertoire with the Kirov Orchestra and vocal soloists in Carnegie Hall, brilliant and authentic performances brimming with resonance and passion. Last night Gergiev engineered an astounding performance of War And Peace at the Met. Musically the opera seems to be a rather perfect creation, progressing forward with inevitable momentum while never seeming routine, transforming into long elegant lyrical rhapsodies melding poetry and music with sublimity. That this story, so alien from American sensibilities, could be so dramatically compelling is objectively remarkable. Before the opera finally becomes a lot of marching music and soldiers and battle scenes, the human dilemmas of men and women in early 19th century Russia transcend time and space and move the heart and spirit. This was no surprise for me, as Tolstoy’s War And Peace was a major influence on my mind and character from the moment I began reading it in the summer of 1977, on a postgraduate bus journey from across the United States for a month. My time was occupied on this journey between War And Peace and the novel I was writing, United We Stand. The confluence of circumstance was amazing and truly Divine, as United We Stand was a fictional history of an America driven to world domination in 1945, and which destroyed the Soviet Union with nuclear and massive conventional attacks. I had closely studied Soviet politics not only through the daily New York Times but with Goldman’s classic volume on Soviet diplomatic and military history from the Revolution through the Cold War as part of a master’s level course devoted exclusively to Soviet Foreign policy, and Soviet society through a book devoted to that subject by Hedrik Smith, Soviet correspondent at that time for the New York Times. But this entry into the intimate family and love relationships of historical Russians moved me profoundly. While the darker and more cynical but still enlightening effect of Dostoyevsky and Raskolnikov would come a year or two later, I was as a virgin, newly-consumed with the most wholesome and idealistic characters in Pierre and Natasha. Natasha became for me my ideal woman, and perhaps I realized last night she has never been replaced. The portrayal was brilliant, though by nature I had to imagine the performance from the premiere of this production in 2002 which enriched the artistic emotional experience. However, somehow back then I was prevented from fully absorbing this music drama, whether by distraction or exhaustion or whatever. Here, this great Russian Art, a music drama which will live for Russia as does Meistersinger for Germany, born from great literature which itself was born from a subtle and striking social fabric of historical St. Petersburg and the astonishing historical drama of Napoleon and Alexander. Now that’s another story altogether.
December 11, 2007

November 26, 2007

I was recently asked how such a small country like England had gained such a vast empire. Caught by surprise, I had little to say. Of course, major studies have been published on the subject, with no clear answer. Attitude. For one. Recently in Amsterdam, I pondered the leftist peace-loving nature of much of the capital. My thoughts turned toward the Nazi conquest and occupation, and I wondered — had there been any resistance to either conquest or occupation? This has led me to desire to study the subject soon, although I feel I know the answers already. I wondered what segments of the population seen on the streets in certain neighborhoods, tending toward those living on society’s margins in one way or another, would have been eliminated, while many others would have hidden in fear, hidden either their true selves or their physical presence completely. Thinking of attitude, it was fascinating to imagine if a country like Holland began throwing it’s weight around in international relations. One can look at England, and imagine how attitude and intelligence and courage and vision forged an empire, somehow. Imagine it also arising from some unlikely source, like Holland for instance. On another subject, in a recent performance at the opera house I had occasion to study the audience carefully, both inside the theatre and in a nearby restaurant/bar catering exclusively to the theatre audience. This naturally led to reflection upon the state of modern opera, and how seemingly open to new great creations this civilized, educated, gentle and often young Amsterdam music public would be if offered. Stunningly, the Met produces an actual new opera about once every five years, or less, in marked contrast with the practices of the major houses during the golden years of the creation of new opera, whether considering Italy, Germany, France, or Russia. America will not deserve to have created a national opera which thrives with quality and success until its few major houses actively promote a number of new operatic compositions every season. Opera is dead to so many people right now. The dilemma on the surface is that to survive the major houses, as well as everyone else except even moreso, must continue to create new productions of works hundreds of years old. It is somehow even exciting and revolutionary, certainly fashionable, to go back even farther, and further remove today’s public from these foreign works. Thus in order to maintain the public they already have, the houses continue to plant the seeds of their destruction. Well, who knows whether this will change. However, unless this Nation wishes to be forever artistically and culturally limited to the generally shallow effects of pop art and shallow celebrity culture it must nurture its highest level artists. Relative to opera, that would require five new operas produced every year. Considering maybe five major companies, that would be twenty-five new operas before sophisticated audiences each year. If only one of those twenty-five operas became a large success, then within ten years the operatic stage would be flourishing already with ten standard repertory new operas, with another twenty-five produced each year thence, pushing the weaker of those ten aside and adding an even greater number. And thus would opera once again be relevant to modern society, in its spiritual quests and expressions, in style and in substance. The concerts I mentioned earlier by the Berlin Philharmonic in Carnegie Hall were noteworthy not only for landmark performances of Mahler but also for showcasing substantial modern works. While Rattle, as well as the Philharmonic even previously under Abbado, has been admirably forcing new work down the throats of every public willing or not — in fact performances of this orchestra under this conductor in Salzburg on more than one occasion have been completely ruined for me due to the horrible quality of some of the modern works chosen to be performed — they have reached a level of refinement in the choice and execution of repertoire to the point where the pieces presented were clearly worthy of repeated lisenings and attendance, and were in fact complementary to the artistic achievement of the featured works. And in fact they constituted significant artistic achievements on their own. Is there enough talent among us to create these new music drama works, it will be asked by a wise and cynical questioner. To me, the answer is again in nurture and opportunity. But first and foremost, in inspiration. And that is what I seek to be the result of my efforts. Despite my sadly languishing Diva — I will manage her some time soon — something seems to be moving ahead. And so it goes, Within The Mist, Amidst the Storm.
November 26, 2007

November 18, 2007

The Berlin Philharmonic under Simon Rattle performed a brilliant Mahler 9 this week at Carnegie Hall. Rattle has reached a high level of both technical and emotional command. The orchestra remains the finest in the world. Meanwhile the New England Patriots, led by Brady and Belichick, take the field tonight hoping to maintain their undefeated status after a stunning victory on the road against the Colts. Both unbeaten titans were magnificent in the best regular season game in memory. Pakistan seethes in turmoil. The Benazir Bhutto story continues compelling — a beautiful and brilliant woman leading the masses of a male ideologically-driven society. I have admired her since she was the striking young daughter of a seemingly reasonable Pakistani President who was ultimately hanged for ‘corruption.’ The maverick girl became President herself, and even survived her ouster. Now she has returned, nearly murdered by suicide bombers on her first day home. What kind of ambition could drive a refined woman with a dignified life abroad to submit herself to the leadership of a nation burning with violence and discontent in a region heaving with waves of molten lava, among a people that murdered her own father. Perhaps it is not ambition at all, but the most incredible self-sacrifice on the big stage in modern times. Every day we await some tragic news. Could it be possible that the hero could be swept by her adoring multitude of adherents back into power, radiant and alive? Let’s see.
November 18, 2007

October 22, 2007

An old lion substituted for an aging tiger as Pierre Boulez triumphed in Carnegie Hall as a last moment replacement for legendary Claudio Abbado. The aurally stunning performance of the Mahler 3rd defied the skeptical malaise which grew from the cancellation and the orchestra’s prior jet-lagged grappling with another new conductor for grueling rehearsals and performances of a separate program. When Boulez appeared a new spirit grew within the orchestra, leading finally, just days later, to a monumental musical/artistic interpretation. Everyone, from conductor to singers to players, performed beyond themselves. And so a moment in history was carved on the occasion. The President of Iran has visited New York City and made a number of interesting comments. It all seemed caught up in the swirl of the local sports stories. After Federer again prevailed at the US Open, the Yankees made a valiant run and nearly created a championship season. The other baseball team, featuring legendary Pedro Martinez, collapsed at season’s end. Both football teams were immersed in troubles, with one of them now having emerged positively. The other team languishes after its fearless leader exposed his mentor and created a national football scandal known now as spygate, implicating the very center of power in today’s professional football stage. And the Metropolitan Opera, of course, with rather great opening weeks. Yes, the President was only a distraction. These distractions mask the perils, as we can see for instance in the chronicles of the two Kurdish insurgency fronts, one directed at Turkey and the second at Iran. A third could soon be directed at the American forces operating in Iraq. So many flash points briefly display their inflammatory potentials with glimmering sparks that come and go like fireflies. Seemingly. Asia? Africa? So much seething complexity. So many dangers. Meanwhile the Athens of America, dear Boston, is radiating with good energy as the sports teams are in various stages of triumph. The Red Sox have just advanced into the World Series. The Patriots are operating at a level unprecedented in recent sports history. Tom Brady continues to captain the forces commanded by Belichick, certainly the greatest tandem in modern sports history. Jackson and Jordan. Montana and Walsh. Lombardi and Starr. Auerbach and Russell. And even the Celtics just may have resurrected themselves. Is Boston really the Athens of America? Yes, it has been said. I think not, however. New York is the Athens of the World. It is known as well for its sublimity in art and intellect as for its power. In New York one finds the entire world.
October 22, 2007

September 27, 2007

My Diva is finally coming alive. It is no small matter giving birth to this woman. Originally planned to be cardboard and comic, she grows in gravitas , in richness. Her capacities are expanding — how wonderful! I have more sympathy for the nature and talents of Diva than before. And so it is with greater pleasure and effect that I paint her.
September 27, 2007

September 2, 2007 – 2

One of the more fascinating moments this summer in Salzburg occurred when Maestro Gergiev took time to have informal discourse with a group of mostly patrons of the festival, although it was open to the public. Gergiev ranged broadly in his comments concerning conducting, new music and composers, singers and their vulnerabilites exacerbated by overscheduling, and his own turning points as a young man torn between a music and a sports career! He emphasized the critical nature of both personal and artisic contacts between high-level professional musicians and young artists who are uncertain of their path and direction, and cited a few examples from his own history where these contacts proved decisive. My summer journey/music season began with the Boston Symphony at Tanglewood, where I have visited since the late 1970’s. The principal performance was the Mahler 3rd, conducted by Levine.
Ten years earlier I had been at another Mahler 3 performance, conducted by Seiji Ozawa. During the choral sections toward the end, where I was reading text and noting “Peter’s” cries for eternal peace in the hands of God, I was struck with a shocking grief. I was unable to function normally for the rest of the performance and was frozen in place when it ended. For the hours thereafter I was completely adrift, even though I had a few conversations and was later driving. I learned on my arrival home that my father had died during this time. This was my first Mahler 3 since then; as it turned out it was a strictly musical experience, which was fine. I had at first believed this grief was some similar reaction as I had to a performance of the Mahler 2nd, which experience was the defining moment in my life when I understood what music could be. In 1979 I had read a rather small but insistent listing in the Boston Globe by it’s illustrious music critic not to miss emerging star Jesseye Norman and young Italian conductor Claudio Abbado in the Mahler 2. So I went. I have never since experienced a concert hall come so alive with the life force of the art being produced. The Boston Symphony, as if in celebration at being forced to deal with the deepest musical and spiritual elements of this masterpiece, made glorious music. Abbado, employing both this great orchestra and the magnificence of the young Jeseye Norman in a spiritually moving composition, had firm hold on this life force he had brought into being. The power and beauty of the choral singing in the final movement, combined with orchestra and Norman, lifted the artistic experience into a realm far beyond mortality. Alma Mahler commented years later that one of the annoying things about her late husband was that in his compositions he had the tendency to “get God on the phone.” Interesting comment. In any event, I was similarly paralyzed and could not leave my seat unti long after everyone else had vanished. But then there had been no grief, only the most profound spiritual awakening. Of course relative to practical life it was only the planting of a seed, since I was a very young 23 year old. My summer ended with the Beethoven 9 at Tanglewood again, with the student orchestra. It was a remarkably slow and mellow 9th performance, and yet one could not help but marvel at how well the composition worked, at whatever tempo or style it was performed. Indeed we always discover new marvels within the work when we are not somewhat distracted by volume and ferocity. But indeed, the first, and even the second, movement of the 9th is ferocious and terrifying when performed in that spirit. The following season from my Mahler 2 experience I heard my first two real performances of Beethoven 9, where a much younger Colin Davis literally rocked the roof off of Symphony Hall, in the beginning and in the end, with a little blissful interval of peace in between. The first performance I had occasion to lecture a group of unruly high school students, that “this is not a rock concert.” The second performance myself and a new acquaintance, both of us desperate to get in, had for some reason pooled our money together and finally the ticket agent relented in the face of our joint passionate fanatacism and sold us something. My new friend, who had played volin in her university orchestra and played the 9th there, seemed very anxious to continue our connection after that magical and chaste concert experience, and I did as well, and yet I somehow felt wholly out of the league of a woman about to become a medical doctor. I sadly never called her. I was a young 24. This was really only the second year in my life that I had heard any classical music performances. For two years, 1979 and 1980, I heard as many performances as I could at the Boston Symphony, at Tanglewood, at the Met, and at conservatory performances in Boston. After those two years I heard no live classical music again, until aroused by Wagner in 1995, 15 years later. And here we are. In a few weeks Abbado returns to America for two performances of the Beethoven 9 and one of the Mahler 3 in one of the great halls of the world. Perhaps one or all performances may prove life-altering experiences for some young artists in the audience.
September 2, 2007

September 2, 2007

The Salzburg Festival made history this summer, in defiance of the defining sensations of the new Bayreuth premiere and the high profile cancellations in Salzburg itself. The greatest actor of the last decades, Gerard Depardieu, teamed with one of the greatest conductors of our times, Riccardo Muti, as well as with perhaps the greatest orchestra, the Vienna Philharmonic, not to mention one of the very best tenors in the world — filling in for a cancellation no less! —- to create a musical/dramatic tour de force the likes of which shall not be seen again in our lifetimes. The work in question, Lelio by Hector Berlioz, was a star-studded sensation when first presented in Paris in 1832, as notable for the celebrity-laden audience as the performers/performance, an audience which happened to include the very object of the composition, the renowned Shakespearean actress Harriet Smithson, who was so overcome by the performance that she surrendered to Berlioz the next day, if not by fainting during the performance itself. The text, written by Berlioz, focuses on the torturous rhapsodies and despairs of human love, as compared with the serene and transcendent beauties of devotion to the only true and chaste mistress, music itself, all seasoned with the heavy shadow of the life-embracing philosophy of the greatest English-language poet, William Shakespeare. In the three official performances Maestro Muti and the Philharmonic got the heavy lifting out of the way with a preliminary performance of Berlioz’ Symphony Fantastique. Lelio ensued, with a brilliant blue-hued staging which created a rich and powerful visual backdrop for the drama — a concert version, by the way — which should prove instructive to opera directors who continue to impose trivial and irrelevant visual distractions upon traditional works of genius that certainly have no need for them. Of course that is another story. Maestro Depardieu, overcoming reported physical indisposition, roared alternately like a lion and a raging sea, after first lulling the consciousness with sonorous tones evoking the calm resigned and hopeless depths of surrender to the despairs of love even amidst occasional rebounding visions of bliss and possibility in the love for women. On course the actor was given full reign by the sometimes embittered composer to rail against the shallow ignorance of the musical and artistic establishment. Tragedy, pathos, and humor both biting and charming wove seamlessly throughout these groundbreaking and historic presentations. Having experienced the first, it became clear that it would be disgraceful to miss the following two, regardless of what else would be lost, and so it was. And each performance, though of course slightly different, was richer and more profound in the deeper understanding of the composer’s genius and in the life dilemmas exposed, displayed, and exorcised. ‘Music, true mistress, pure and chaste.’ And yet what melody and feeling continues to invade my drifting consciousness but the gentle lamentations of the chorus bidding farewell to the wondrous Miranda, called away in devotion for true love to a man. Miranda. Love. But is she mortal? The sorrowful actor drifts from the stage — “I am suffering, leave me to myself.” “Again,” the strains of life and love and possibility. “Again and forever.”
Equally historic, and perhaps far more important relative to immediate objectives of sanity and coexistence on this planet, was the immense exertions of Maestro Barenboim, at once teacher, preacher, performer, conductor, impresario, and prophet. His East West Divan Orchestra was in residence in Salzburg. Not content with displaying the obvious lessons from pure musical performances by young Arab and Israeli musicians, Barenboim taught and spoke tirelessly day after day, packed in between grueling rehearsals and performances, in the hope that some path, or paths, to peace could be uncovered and begun to be traveled. The opening concert of the full orchestra, whose members later gave chamber performances in the Mozarteum, displayed the most joyful and meaningful rendition of the Beethoven Leonore Overture imaginable, a joy suffused with deep and heartfelt belief in the future of mankind. If this orchestra on this occasion did not move the conscience and the soul, it seems scarcely possible that anything else would. In the Mozarteum, perhaps the most beautiful concert hall in the world, the young musicians were joined by legends of the music world who were motivated to lend their energies to this noble effort. Yes, History was made in Salzburg in 2007. The bar has indeed been set exceptionally high. But perhaps the greatest lesson of all that occurred here is that we must create history, we must create the future. There is nothing more important, and there is no one else that can do it.
September 2, 2007

July 31, 2007

Life often is just as a fairy tale, moments passing that are scarcely imaginable. And then not. And so the story goes. The great human drama. Speaking of magic, Bruno Walter stated in his recorded interview released on cd along with his landmark CBS recording of the Mahler 9 when assessing Mahler as the greatest performing artist of his time, that a great conductor must engage elements of the occult in the creation of elevated art. This was recently evident at the Paris Opera in a performance of Lohengrin. Under Maestro Gergiev the magic elements of the occult were present immediately. Overall the performance rose and rose to higher levels of exertion by all concerned, and higher levels of art. So now I have named the last of the four Wagner gods, and indeed four of the top five conductors working in the world today. If the fifth is left unnamed it allows for some spirited debate.IfIIf the fifth the fifth is left unnamed it allows for some spirited debate. June 19, 2007
One of the joys of visiting the more ‘serious’ prisoners in Maine is visiting the small coastal town of Rockland. I arrived there recently on one of my final missions before leaving for the Marinsky Ring in New York, rehearsals and Opening Night in Bayreuth, and the ever-magical Festival at Salzburg. A necessary stop is a small cafe and used bookstore, where I unexpectedly purchased the autobiography of the radical American lawyer William Kunstler. Despite often being immersed in the heights of musical and dramatic art over the last three weeks, I have continually returned to the epic struggles and truly historic ordeals of this hero of American law and society. I was once on a similar path until the lure of Wagner and Europe pulled me into an ocean within which I remain. At the height of this peculiar journey of mine I had the honor to be in an audience of defense attorneys addressed by this Master, as well as another legendary attorney, Albert Krieger. This was sadly mere months before Kunstler’s death. Although most of Kunstler’s more famous cases occurred in the 1960’s and 1970’s, he remained in the heat of the most compelling events of our time throughout the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, while I was studying law and then engaged in my own partisan wars and scorched earth campaigns against local district attorneys and the federal government as well. Somehow, I had taken no notice of this giant. I was on my own mission, driven by my own inner fires. During this period I well-remember one of my greatest victories in federal court, defying the odds and saving a good guy who had made some serious mistakes from many years in prison. In my closing argument I stated that the actions of the government were a cancer in our society. At the announcement of the acquittal the courtroom erupted with cheers and applause from dozens of my client’s supporters, causing a rather extreme reaction by the presiding judge. It was a moment that deserved immediate retirement, as it was a pinnacle that could perhaps only be repeated but likely not surpassed. The acquittal was publicized in the local press with direct quotes from my closing, including the cancer comment. Some days later I passed a Maine Supreme Court Justice in the hallway, who was from the same community as the defendant, and he stated, “So, you are the new Bill Kunstler.” Although I knew the name and had some vague sense that he was involved with the radical 60’s, despite an undergraduate major in history and a passion for politics since 1967 and actually playing a similar role since 1988, I truly had no idea who he was. I smiled and went on my way. As I am in the classical music world today, I was Parsifal, ignorant of the ways of the world, pure in my naivette, and determined to save the world one battle at a time. The prosecutor, an extremely aggressive and driven United States Attorney, stated to me when I mentioned something about nothing personal in my attacks on the prosecution, that it did not bother him half as much as it did the judge. Again, I had no idea. For me, saving this man and his family from ruin was my only passion. I was ignorant of conflicting objectives. I was at the peak of my powers in 1995 when I heard Kunstler and Krieger lay their radical ideologies on the line, seeking to fire up an audience of defense attorneys who, except for a few, had no sense of what they were hearing. Some even complained afterward about the lack of ‘practical information’ conveyed. When I learned these addresses had been taped I pursued them until securing a copy, which I still have somewhere, as well as my own impassioned notes I scribbled at the time. After reading Kunstler’s book, and also understanding the serious nature of his health issues when he traveled to address us, I have felt much renewed with me. When he had taken the stage, he had immediately begun bemoaning how he had woken up at dawn in Manhattan and somehow made it to Portland. “Only for Lenny,” he stated, “only for Lenny(Pittsburg and now Maine criminal attorney Leonard Sharon, one of the last firebrands from the radical 60’s).” In the final pages of his autobiography, completed just before his unexpected death, Kunstler wished that he would somehow survive beyond his mortal death. In me, and no doubt in many others, he certainly remains alive. While I lack the principles and courage of this warrior, those have infused and inspired the qualities I do possess: may they bear fruit in the challenging days ahead.
July 31, 2007

June 3, 2007 – 2

We all occasionally envision how well we might survive in primitive and barbaric circumstances. Indeed, the current war provides a large canvas for specific realizations. But in reality, speaking for myself alone though I suspect for nearly everyone, we do not wish to live in such animal conditions. We have spent tens of thousands of years evolving our civilization from just such circumstances into a realm of protection by law; a precarious balance of safety and the potential for self-realization. I believe our country has the requisite strength among its people to uphold our freedoms indefinitely. America needs to be the beacon of light to inspire the world — at least those susceptible to the attraction of the best of our civilization. And from that inspiration may come the momentum to achieve a balance and peace throughout the world. This is attainable. It may not come easily, or cheaply; but for the survival of our species, it must come.
June 3, 2007