Dear Mr President

In clipa de existenta pe care am experimentat o pana in acest moment, am invatat sa respect si fiintele cele mai detestabile..Se spunea la un moment dat de catre un om intelept "Hitler a fost o fiinta divina" ..si toti au inceput sa arunce cu noroi si sa urle...scuze care mai de care...atatia morti..atata suferinta..si totusi daca intorci pt o clipa ochii din haotica ta existenta prezenta si vei vedea filmul desfasurarii istoriei omenirii ai sa intelegi ca tot ce s a intamplat,a avut un scop si are un sens...asa trebuia sa fie...De ce n ar fi fost Hitler divin??
N a aruncat el cu bombe..n a macelarit oameni... de ce trebuie sa i vedem pe altii rai si pe noi niste sfinti? A avut puterea sa manipuleze o natie si sa puna la incercare umanitatea..Mayasii au in traditia lor cei 13 razboinici...7 sunt cei ai luminii..6 cei ai intunericului.. dupa cei 7 razboinici ai luminii si ai pacii,cei ai intunericului sunt trimisi pentru a pune la incercare omenirea pentru a se putea vedea daca oamenii au invatat ceva si cum rezista tentatiei... Pe semne ca n am invatat nimic pana acum caci in strafundul fiintei noastre colcaie din ce in ce mai tare barbarul si crudul om din pestera...

De ce m am referit la toate aceste lucruri, pentru ca ma uit in politica,ma uit cand ajung in Romania si vad oameni din ce in ce mai confuzi,mai rai,mai speriati si toti incearca sa impinga vina spre presedinte...Cu tot respectul,el n a ajuns acolo fara voturile voastre..Imi pare rau pentru voi ca nu puteti sa depasiti stadiul de dobitoaca si veti vota cu cel care arunca mai mult cu cacat in oponenti.. E momentul sa va luati roadele recoltei... Insa... trebuie spus ca si nea Baselu,cu toate carentele domniei sale este o fiinta divina.Ca noi toti ceilalalti!

Cand va veni vremea sa incetam sa mai invinovatim pe altii si sa ne luam raspunderea pe umeri.Acest om a venit cu o lectie pentru noi..romanii... e momentul sa-l lasam in pace si sa invatam sa avem mai mult respect si sa incepem sa ne construim o lume mai frumoasa,bazate pe idealuri inalte. Nikolai Losski, in Conditiile Binelui Absolut spunea ca viata,in esenta ei,nu poate fi inteleasa in termeni fizico-chimici.. Adevarat-ai grait dragaa domnule!!

Hai pentru o clipa sa uitam de presedinti,premieri,ministri,politicieni si sa ne facem curat in curtea noastra... O revolutie spirituala nu poate incepe pana nu ti-ai facut tie curat.Nu poti schimba lumea dar te poti schimba pe tine ..Sa i multumim acestui om pentru ca ne pune la incercare..si ne pune atat de bine incat suntem aproape sa cedam ..
Domnul presedinte , are constiinta incarcata si va avea o karma foarte incarcata in vietile urmatoare..doar ..dormi asa cum iti asterni...pace voua si va las cu o melodie a lui Pink..pentru domnul Presedinte






















Dear Mr. President,
Come take a walk with me.
Let's pretend we're just two people and
You're not better than me.
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye
And tell me why?

Dear Mr. President,
Were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
How can you say
No child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind.
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell.

What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?
I can only imagine what the first lady has to say
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine.

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye?

Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Minimum wage with a baby on the way
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
Oh

How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Dear Mr. President,
You'd never take a walk with me.
Would you?

Auguries of Innocence --- William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day