revised
August 15, 2004
It was a gentleman’s club. Not the vile, sordid and corrupt club of today’s average measure; hosting a plethora of temptations, but social gathering of friends, accountability, having an atmosphere of congeniality. It was an association for leisure, an outlet for moderate vices, a rationalization for a sociable round of cards. The sharing of drink in moderation and advocation. A small organization for the men of their day to bring their questions, conversation, understandings and wrong-doings before their fellow men and peers. A place where a man may go and lightheartedly complain of the wife, the kids and the dog. Or in a more sedated manner, consult the elderly and experienced in various matters. It was a gentleman’s club, its overall purpose being to improve the morality and quality of life for fellow men.
And on this day of normality, consistency ran its course, unbroken. However, it went not unchallenged. One fellow sat at a table, denying the drink plied to him, he took a risk and shared from his heart. So he began to quote...
“To die: to sleep; No more!! And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural
shocks that flesh is heir to. Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep! To sleep perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.”
“Look! Did not Shakespeare recapitulate the greatest freedom? ...the perchance to dream! To Dream men! Is it not worth everything we endure? Those thousands natural shocks are bodies bear. This mountain of life, these rites of passage we endure, for the chance to dream. I ask you men why are we standing this day, enjoying all the modern conveniences? Because our founding fathers took that chance to dream! They were not afraid to die; to sleep. They saw that as the chance to dream. Dream for us, to give us the freedom of thought. They died to dream, so that one day we alike could dream, and pursue our dreams! What have we done with our dreams? What have we done with our fantasies? What happened to the days of youth, when we beheld the mirror and saw not just a reflection, but a refraction. An image of not just what we were, but future of possibilities, a host of opportunities, a life that would not deny us the right to work for our dreams. We conceived with our imagination what we would and could become. But look at us now. No longer do we take those ideals with gravity, no longer do we see them worth the death our fathers died. No longer have we taken that perchance to dream. Oh Fie on us and our generation. A cruel plague be upon us. That we pay not homage to those who died for us. That we are content with the stench of mediocrity fouling our nostrils. You Malcom, what became of your ambition to become a banker? The manumission we have in our present time is that chance to aspire, without the same magnitude of peril our forefathers faced. It is what Christ died for. The chance to strive for sanctification. A freedom from death, an emancipation from the condemnation of the law. Perchance to dream, that we shall see him face to face. Yet what has become of our day and age? Here we draw an imaginary line, in the sands of time, only to be washed and covered by the swell of society. What horrendous deeds come from the rationalization of modern culture.
Two converging and convoluting ideas. And we seek a median between the two. Must the two merge? An idea of hope, opportunity, and optimism, meets an idea of shocking realism. A persuasion of pessimism, both convoluted, both at extreme ends of their spectrum. The question put to the jury of our audience is, “Where do we draw a line?” Where do we step forward and shake hands with destiny? Or where do we turn our backs against the enticing dreams of fleshly gain and lust and draw a line of morality? Amidst all this the jury strove. Two sojourning ideas met, and clashed. Some rose up proclaiming that now was the era to fight back for what we once fought for. The rising conception of old glory, heralded to invoke passion. That a revival must be wrought in the lands. That the dial of time must effectively be turned back. That a transposition of days past, must be ingrafted in the present.
Striding to meet this onslaught was the ideology of better times to come. That yes there was old glory, yes there were the times of silver linings. Nevertheless, the times of golden age were yet to come. Cast off the bonds of time and history, lay aside the glories of old for a better revelry yet to come. Do not forget the monuments of yester-year. Yes we mark them. We mark them as examples to move on for bigger and better, the enticing dream of a lifestyle, still remembered past the grave. Of a herald, still heard through time’s passage, undimmed, unfettered. Yet among the jury there remained the silent faction. In golden ages, silence had lost its luster. Of old eras, silence had lost its bluster. So silence departed and left behind a question, do we draw a line? Do we draw of line of mediocrity, and fail to dream? O what odious deeds we excuse, in the name the present culture. That we would waste the lives and the legacies of countless millions who died selflessly, giving up their aspirations, that we in our turn may dream. We will never fathom what we have lost, when we failed a perchance to dream...
It was a gentleman’s club. Not the vile, sordid and corrupt club of today’s average measure; hosting a plethora of temptations, but social gathering of friends, accountability, having an atmosphere of congeniality. It was an association for leisure, an outlet for moderate vices, a rationalization for a sociable round of cards. The sharing of drink in moderation and advocation. A small organization for the men of their day to bring their questions, conversation, understandings and wrong-doings before their fellow men and peers. A place where a man may go and lightheartedly complain of the wife, the kids and the dog. Or in a more sedated manner, consult the elderly and experienced in various matters. It was a gentleman’s club, its overall purpose being to improve the morality and quality of life for fellow men.
And on this day of normality, consistency ran its course, unbroken. However, it went not unchallenged. One fellow sat at a table, denying the drink plied to him, he took a risk and shared from his heart. So he began to quote...
“To die: to sleep; No more!! And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural
shocks that flesh is heir to. Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep! To sleep perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.”
“Look! Did not Shakespeare recapitulate the greatest freedom? ...the perchance to dream! To Dream men! Is it not worth everything we endure? Those thousands natural shocks are bodies bear. This mountain of life, these rites of passage we endure, for the chance to dream. I ask you men why are we standing this day, enjoying all the modern conveniences? Because our founding fathers took that chance to dream! They were not afraid to die; to sleep. They saw that as the chance to dream. Dream for us, to give us the freedom of thought. They died to dream, so that one day we alike could dream, and pursue our dreams! What have we done with our dreams? What have we done with our fantasies? What happened to the days of youth, when we beheld the mirror and saw not just a reflection, but a refraction. An image of not just what we were, but future of possibilities, a host of opportunities, a life that would not deny us the right to work for our dreams. We conceived with our imagination what we would and could become. But look at us now. No longer do we take those ideals with gravity, no longer do we see them worth the death our fathers died. No longer have we taken that perchance to dream. Oh Fie on us and our generation. A cruel plague be upon us. That we pay not homage to those who died for us. That we are content with the stench of mediocrity fouling our nostrils. You Malcom, what became of your ambition to become a banker? The manumission we have in our present time is that chance to aspire, without the same magnitude of peril our forefathers faced. It is what Christ died for. The chance to strive for sanctification. A freedom from death, an emancipation from the condemnation of the law. Perchance to dream, that we shall see him face to face. Yet what has become of our day and age? Here we draw an imaginary line, in the sands of time, only to be washed and covered by the swell of society. What horrendous deeds come from the rationalization of modern culture.
Two converging and convoluting ideas. And we seek a median between the two. Must the two merge? An idea of hope, opportunity, and optimism, meets an idea of shocking realism. A persuasion of pessimism, both convoluted, both at extreme ends of their spectrum. The question put to the jury of our audience is, “Where do we draw a line?” Where do we step forward and shake hands with destiny? Or where do we turn our backs against the enticing dreams of fleshly gain and lust and draw a line of morality? Amidst all this the jury strove. Two sojourning ideas met, and clashed. Some rose up proclaiming that now was the era to fight back for what we once fought for. The rising conception of old glory, heralded to invoke passion. That a revival must be wrought in the lands. That the dial of time must effectively be turned back. That a transposition of days past, must be ingrafted in the present.
Striding to meet this onslaught was the ideology of better times to come. That yes there was old glory, yes there were the times of silver linings. Nevertheless, the times of golden age were yet to come. Cast off the bonds of time and history, lay aside the glories of old for a better revelry yet to come. Do not forget the monuments of yester-year. Yes we mark them. We mark them as examples to move on for bigger and better, the enticing dream of a lifestyle, still remembered past the grave. Of a herald, still heard through time’s passage, undimmed, unfettered. Yet among the jury there remained the silent faction. In golden ages, silence had lost its luster. Of old eras, silence had lost its bluster. So silence departed and left behind a question, do we draw a line? Do we draw of line of mediocrity, and fail to dream? O what odious deeds we excuse, in the name the present culture. That we would waste the lives and the legacies of countless millions who died selflessly, giving up their aspirations, that we in our turn may dream. We will never fathom what we have lost, when we failed a perchance to dream...