--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Bronte Baxter <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > I was thinking about this incredible poem by Rudyard Kipling > today, which I memorized in high school. It was written by a > man who believed wholly in free will and our power as individuals > to create a better destiny, even a better character, for ourselves. > A pretty unpopular concept these days when zombiefication is > excused on the grounds of predetermination. Zombie aspirants, > read this and weep. This is the kind of muster you sell out on:
Bronte, Since you clearly didn't get the point I was trying to make earlier, here's an example of it, in your own words. In this post you are *trying* to present something you feel is inspiring, a nice poem. Laudable. But you can't even do *that* without flaming someone: "Zombie aspirants, read this and weep." A lot of people in the world are afflicted, in my opinion, with Flaccid Mind Syndrome. They have come to believe that bitching about something they con- sider negative is the same thing as doing something positive. It isn't. It's just being lazy. *Anyone* can complain, and find things to bitch about. But it's a different order of thinking to suggest solutions for problems instead of affixing blame for the problems, to present new ideas instead of criticizing the old ones. It's *just* preference on my part, not an attempt to declare some kind of "rule" or "should" on others, but I find myself far more impressed by those who are able to present solutions than those who harp on and on and on and on and on and on about problems. I find myself more drawn to those who seem to have new ideas than those who seem to have made a career out of badrapping the old ones. They (the ones who don't fall into the trap of believing that criticizing the negative is positivity) can still "get it up" mentally, in my opinion. Those who keep bashing away at all the things they think are wrong without ever suggesting something right are like guys waving around a limp dick and trying to convince everyone they've got a hardon. > The poem is called "If." > > If you can keep your head when all about you > Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; > If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, > But make allowance for their doubting too; > If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, > Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, > Or being hated, don't give way to hating, > And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: > > If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master; > If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim; > If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster > And treat those two imposters just the same; > If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken > Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, > Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, > And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools; > > If you can make one heap of all your winnings > And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, > And lose, and start again at your beginnings > And never breathe a word about your loss; > If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew > To serve your turn long after they are gone, > And so hold on when there is nothing in you > Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" > > If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, > Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch, > If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, > If all men count with you, but none too much; > If you can fill the unforgiving minute > With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -- > Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, > And -- which is more -- you'll be a man, my son. > > - by Rudyard Kipling > > > > --------------------------------- > Looking for a deal? Find great prices on flights and hotels with Yahoo! FareChase. >
