“Come my friends, tis not too late to seek a newer world.”
She had just got home from teaching those fresh faced,
enthusiastic teachers, and an excerpt from Alfred Lord Tennyson was repeating
itself in her brain.
Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Is that what it was all about for her right now. Seeking a newer world? A world where bombs aren’t shattering the
peace of an evening music concert, or families aren’t being torn apart by ego
and misunderstanding? It was the morning
after the night before, a night only two days away from Armistice Day, and in
Paris all hell was breaking loose. Or
was it?
Was something else battling the darkness? Prayers, goodwill, support, strength, hope?
A student had reminded her this morning of something she had
said years ago. When light is being
brought into the world, darkness will always arise to battle it.
Had she really said that?
Had her younger self really been that aware?
Teaching this week about Zarathustra, and Gilgamesh, Osiris
and Set, all these stories about light overcoming the darkness. Coincidence?
She thought, perhaps not.
Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Were they wrong?
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