When I became convinced that the Universe is natural – that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood, the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell, the dungeon was flooded with light and all the bolts, and bars, and manacles became dust. I was no longer a servant, a serf or a slave. There was for me no master in all the wide world -- not even in infinite space. I was free -- free to think, to express my thoughts -- free to live to my own ideal -- free to live for myself and those I loved -- free to use all my faculties, all my senses -- free to spread imagination's wings -- free to investigate, to guess and dream and hope -- free to judge and determine for myself -- free to reject all ignorant and cruel creeds, all the "inspired" books that savages have produced, and all the barbarous legends of the past -- free from popes and priests -- free from all the "called" and "set apart" -- free from sanctified mistakes and holy lies -- free from the fear of eternal pain -- free from the winged monsters of the night -- free from devils, ghosts and gods. For the first time I was free. There were no prohibited places in all the realms of thought -- no air, no space, where fancy could not spread her painted wings -- no chains for my limbs -- no lashes for my back -- no fires for my flesh -- no master's frown or threat – no following another's steps -- no need to bow, or cringe, or crawl, or utter lying words. I was free. I stood erect and fearlessly, joyously, faced all worlds.And then my heart was filled with gratitude, with thankfulness, and went out in love to all the heroes, the thinkers who gave their lives for the liberty of hand and brain -- for the freedom of labor and thought -- to those who fell on the fierce fields of war, to those who died in dungeons bound with chains -- to those who proudly mounted scaffold's stairs -- to those whose bones were crushed, whose flesh was scarred and torn -- to those by fire consumed -- to all the wise, the good, the brave of every land, whose thoughts and deeds have given freedom to the sons of men. And then I vowed to grasp the torch that they had held, and hold it high, that light might conquer darkness still.
In the area of linguistics, there are major languagegroups: Japanese, Chinese, Spanish, English, Portuguese,Greek, German, French, and so on. Most of us grow uplearning the language of our parents and siblings, whichbecomes our primary or native tongue. Later, we may learnadditional languages but usually with much more effort.These become our secondary languages. We speak andunderstand best our native language. We feel mostcomfortable speaking that language. The more we use asecondary language, the more comfortable we becomeconversing in it. If we speak only our primary language andencounter someone else who speaks only his or herprimary language, which is different from ours, ourcommunication will be limited. We must rely on pointing,grunting, drawing pictures, or acting out our ideas. We cancommunicate, but it is awkward. Language differences arepart and parcel of human culture. If we are to communicateeffectively across cultural lines, we must learn the languageof those with whom we wish to communicate.In the area of love, it is similar. Your emotional lovelanguage and the language of your spouse may be asdifferent as Chinese from English. No matter how hard youtry to express love in English, if your spouse understandsonly Chinese, you will never understand how to love eachother. My friend on the plane was speaking the language of“Affirming Words” to his third wife when he said, “I told herhow beautiful she was. I told her I loved her. I told her howproud I was to be her husband.” He was speaking love, andhe was sincere, but she did not understand his language.Perhaps she was looking for love in his behavior and didn’tsee it. Being sincere is not enough. We must be willing tolearn our spouse’s primary love language if we are to beeffective communicators of love.
Life is a great big beautiful three-ring circus. There are those on the floor making their lives among the heads of lions and hoops of fire, and those in the stands, complacent and wowed, their mouths stuffed with popcorn. I know less now than ever about life, but I do know its size. Life is enormous. Much grander than what we’ve taken for ourselves, so far. When the show is over and the tent is packed, the elephants, lions and dancing poodles are caged and mounted on trucks to caravan to the next town. The clown’s makeup has worn, and his bright, red smile has been washed down a sink. All that is left is another performance, another tent and set of lights. We rest in the knowledge: the show must go on. Somewhere, behind our stage curtain, a still, small voice asks why we haven’t yet taken up juggling. My seminars were like this. Only, instead of flipping shiny, black bowling balls or roaring chainsaws through the air, I juggled concepts. The world is intrinsically tied together. All things march through time at different intervals but move ahead in one fashion or another. Though we may never understand it, we are all part of something much larger than ourselves—something anchoring us to the spot we have mentally chosen. We sniff out the rules, through spiritual quests and the sciences. And with every new discovery, we grow more confused. Our inability to connect what seems illogical to unite and to defy logic in our understanding keeps us from enlightenment. The artists and insane tiptoe around such insights, but lack the compassion to hand-feed these concepts to a blind world. The interconnectedness of all things is not simply a pet phrase. It is a big “T” truth that the wise spend their lives attempting to grasp.