I am grateful to live in a world where music is readily available at my fingertips. I can’t imagine a world without music — no, wait, yes I can.
A world without music would be a desolate place with no way to express gratitude for being alive adequately, no way to release the joy inside our hearts, no way to come to terms with the needs for which we have no words.
“I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance,” E.E. Cummings said breathtakingly in a poem.
The world is full of voices screaming, “How can you dance at a time like this?” while I am desperately listening and trying to learn how to sing in this darkness.
Allen the Alien was by himself, preparing to report to his commander, when Tommy appeared suddenly and placed himself face to face.
“You are here to conquer the world, and I’m going to stop you,” Tommy declared.
“If you’ll pardon my saying so, you are crazy,” said Allen.
“I’ve been watching you,” Tommy said. “And you’re not from Osaka, and you sidestepped my mom when she said you’re from Vulcan.”
“There is no planet named Vulcan,” Allen said, “although I concede there are millions of undiscovered planets, and so it’s possible I’m wrong.”
“You did it again!” cried Tommy. “Just because there’s no such planet as Vulcan doesn’t mean you’re not an alien.”
“I am not from an imaginary planet, and I am not here to conquer the Earth,” Allen insisted, as calmly as he could.
“Aha!” Tommy was triumphant now. “So, what planet are you from really, and what is your mission?”
Checkmate. Allen looked around for someone to interrupt and change the subject, but it was just he and Tommy.
And he had vowed never to lie.
“Who is in charge around here?” Allen asked.
“Are you asking me to take you to our leader?” Tommy grinned.
“I suppose I am,” said Allen.
“I knew it!!” cried the youth.
“Let’s just get on with it, Tommy.”
“I want to hear you say you’re an alien.”
“What? Why?”
“So I can tell Billy I told you so. Go on.”
“Fine,” Allen said. “I’m an emissary from another planet. You couldn’t pronounce its name. But we come in peace. We don’t go around conquering worlds.”
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work — I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. Shovel them under and let me work. Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor: What place is this? Where are we now?
