＃Cool~!! 문워크랑 덴싱더 드림 책을 다운받았는데;; (일딴 첨부도;)

[카소]

문워크는 중간에 쓰다 마셨네요;;

덴싱 더 드림은  다쓰셨는지 안쓰셨는지 모르겠지만;;(너무 길어서..=_=)

나중에 심심할때마다 조분조분 해석이나;;;

이러다가 영어 읽고 듣고 쓰는건 잘하겠어요;;

혹시나 필요한 분이 있을지 몰라서 붙여 봅니다.....=_=

스크롤 압박이 상당한;;

(업다운에 올릴까 했는데;; 11월 10일자로 끝난다고 해서 왠지 기분이 찜찜해서;;ㄷㄷㄷㄷ)

Moonwalk

I've always wanted to be able to tell stories, you know, stories that came from my soul. I'd like to sit by a fire and tell people stories - make them see pictures, make them cry and laugh, take them anywhere emotionally with something as deceptively simple as words. I'd like to tell tales to move their souls and transform them. I've always wanted to be able to do that. Imagine how the great writers must feel, knowing they have that power. I sometimes feel I could do it. It's something I'd like to develop. In a way, songwriting uses the same skills, creates the emotional highs and lows, but the story is a sketch. It's quicksilver. There are very few books written on the art of storytelling, how to grip listeners, how to get a group of people together and amuse them. No costumes, no makeup, no nothing, just you and your voice, and your powerful ability to take them anywhere, to transform their lives, if only for minutes.

As I begin to tell my story, I want to repeat what I usually say to people when they ask me about my earliest days with the Jackson 5: I was so little when we began to work on our music that I really don't remember much about it. Most people have the luxury of careers that start when they're old enough to know exactly what they're doing and why, but, of course, that wasn't true of me. They remember everything that happened to them, but I was only five years old. When you're a show business child, you really don't have the maturity to understand a great deal of what is going on around you. People make a lot of decisions concerning your life when you're out of the room. So here's what I remember. I remember singing at the top of my voice and dancing with real joy and working too hard for a child. Of course, there are many details I don't remember at all. I do remember the Jackson 5 really taking off when I was only eight or nine.

I was born in Gary, Indiana, on a late summer night in 1958, the seventh of my parents' nine children. My father, Joe Jackson, was born in Arkansas, and in 1949 he married my mother, Katherine Scruse, whose people came from Alabama. My sister Maureen was born the following year and had the tough job of being the oldest. Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, LaToya, and Marlon were all next in line. Randy and Janet came after me.

A part of my earliest memories is my father's job working in the steel mill. It was tough, mind-numbing work and he played music for escape. At the same time, my mother was working in a department store. Because of my father, and because of my mother's own love of music, we heard it all the time at home. My father and his brother had a group called the Falcons who were the local R&B band. My father played the guitar, as did his brother. They would do some of the great early rock 'n' roll and blues songs by Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Otis Redding, you name it. All those styles were amazing and each had an influence on Joe and on us, although we were too young to know it at the time. The Falcons practiced in the living room of our house in Gary, so I was raised on R&B. Since we were nine kids and my father's brother had eight of his own, our combined numbers made for a huge family. Music was what we did for entertainment and those times helped keep us together and kind of encouraged my father to be a family-oriented man. The Jackson 5 were born out of this tradition - we later became the Jacksons - and because of this training and musical tradition, I moved out on my own and established a sound that is mine.

I remember my childhood as mostly work, even though I loved to sing. I wasn't forced into this business by stage parents the way Judy Garland was. I did it because I enjoyed it and because it was as natural to me as drawing a breath and exhaling it. I did it because I was compelled to do it, not my parents or family, but by my own inner life in the world of music.

There were times, let me make that clear, when I'd come home from school and I'd only have time to put my books down and get ready for the studio. Once there, I'd sing until late at night, until it was past my bedtime, really. There was a park across the street from the Motown studio, and I can remember looking at those kids playing games. I'd just stare at them in wonder - I couldn't imagine such freedom, such a carefree life - and wish more than anything that I had that kind of freedom, that I could walk away and be like them. So there were sad moments in my childhood. It's true for any child star. Elizabeth Taylor told me she felt the same way. When you're young and you're working, the world can seem awfully unfair. I wasn't forced to be little Michael the lead singer - I did it and I loved it - but it was hard work. If we were doing an album, for example, we'd go off to the studio after school and I might or might not get a snack. Sometimes there just wasn't time. I'd come home, exhausted, and it'd be eleven or twelve and past time to go to bed.

So I very much identify with anyone who worked as a child. I know how they struggled, I know what they sacrificed. I also know what they learned. I've learned that it becomes more of a challenge as one gets older. I feel old for some reason. I really feel like an old soul, someone who's seen a lot and experienced a lot. Because of all the years I've clocked in, it's hard for me to accept that I am only twenty-nine. I've been in the business for twenty-four years. Sometimes I feel like I should be near the end of my life, turning eighty, with people patting me on the back. That's what comes from starting so young.

When I first performed with my brothers, we were known as the Jacksons. We would later become the Jackson 5. Still later, after we left Motown, we would reclaim the Jacksons name again.

Every one of my albums or the group's albums has been dedicated to our mother, Katherine Jackson, since we took over our own careers and began to produce our own music. My first memories are of her holding me and singing songs like "You Are My Sunshine" and "Cotton Fields." She sang to me and to my brothers and sisters often. Even though she had lived in Indiana for some time, my mother grew up in Alabama, and in that part of the country it was just as common for black people to be raised with country and western music on the radio as it was for them to hear spirituals in church. She likes Willie Nelson to this day. She has always had a beautiful voice and I suppose I got my singing ability from my mother and, of course, from God.

Mom played the clarinet and the piano, which she taught my oldest sister, Maureen, whom we call Rebbie, to play, just as she'd teach my other older sister, LaToya. My mother knew, from an early age, that she would never perform the music she loved in front of others, not because she didn't have the talent and the ability, but because she was crippled by polio as a child. She got over the disease, but not without a permanent limp in her walk. She had to miss a great deal of school as a child, but she told us that she was lucky to recover at a time when many died from the disease. I remember how important it was to her that we got the sugar-cube vaccine. She even made us miss a youth club show one Saturday afternoon - that's how important it was in our family.

My mother knew her polio was not a curse but a test that God gave her to triumph over, and she instilled in me a love of Him that I will always have. She taught me that my talent for singing and dancing was as much God's work as a beautiful sunset or a storm that left snow for children to play in. Despite all the time we spent rehearsing and traveling, Mom would find time to take me to the Kingdom Hall of the Jehovah's Witnesses, usually with Rebbie and LaToya.

Years later, after we had left Gary, we performed on "The Ed Sullivan Show", the live Sunday night variety show where America first saw the Beatles, Elvis, and Sly and the Family Stone. After the show, Mr. Sullivan complimented and thanked each of us; but I was thinking about what he had said to me before the show. I had been wandering around backstage, like the kid in the Pepsi commercial, and ran into Mr. Sullivan. He seemed glad to see me and shook my hand, but before he let it go he had a special message for me. It was 1970, a year when some of the best people in rock were losing their lives to drugs and alcohol. An older, wiser generation in show business was unprepared to lose its very young. Some people had already said that I reminded them of Frankie Lymon, a great young singer of the 1950s who lost his life that way. Ed Sullivan may have been thinking of all this when he told me, "Never forget where your talent came from, that your talent is a gift from God."

I was grateful for his kindness, but I could have told him that my mother had never let me forget. I never had polio, which is a frightening thing for a dancer to think about, but I knew God had tested me and my brothers and sisters in other ways - our large family, our tiny house, the small amount of money we had to make ends meet, even the jealous kids in the neighborhood who threw rocks at our windows while we rehearsed, yelling that we'd never make it. When I think of my mother and our early years, I can tell you there are rewards that go far beyond money and public acclaim and awards.

My mother was a great provider. If she found out that one of us had an interest in something, she would encourage it if there was any possible way. If I developed an interest in movie stars, for instance, she'd come home with an armful of books about famous stars. Even with nine children she treated each of us like an only child. There isn't one of us who's ever forgotten what a hard worker and great provider she was. It's an old story. Every child thinks their mother is the greatest mother in the world, but we Jacksons never lost that feeling. Because of Katherine's gentleness, warmth, and attention, I can't imagine what it must be like to grow up without a mother's love.

One thing I know about children is that if they don't get the love they need from their parents, they'll get it from someone else and cling to that person, a grandparent, anyone. We never had to look for anyone else with my mother around. The lessons she taught us were invaluable. Kindness, love, and consideration for other people headed her list. Don't hurt people. Never beg. Never freeload. Those were sins at our house. She always wanted us to give , but she never wanted us to ask or beg. That's the way she is.

I remember a good story about my mother that illustrates her nature. One day, back in Gary, when I was real little, this man knocked on everybody's door early in the morning. He was bleeding so badly you could see where he'd been around the neighborhood. No one would let him in. Finally he got to our door and he started banging and knocking. Mother let him in at once. Now, most people would have been too afraid to do that, but that's my mother. I can remember waking up and finding blood on our floor. I wish we could all be more like Mum.

The earliest memories I have of my father are of him coming home from the steel mill with a big bag of glazed doughnuts for all of us. My brothers and I could really eat back then and that bag would disappear with a snap of the fingers. He used to take us all to the merry-go-round in the park, but I was so young I don't remember that very well.

My father has always been something of a mystery to me and he knows it. One of the few things I regret most is never being able to have a real closeness with him. He built a shell around himself over the years and, once he stopped talking about our family business, he found it hard to relate to us. We'd all be together and he'd just leave the room. Even today it's hard for him to touch on father and son stuff because he's too embarrassed. When I see that he is, I become embarrassed, too.

My father did always protect us and that's no small feat. He always tried to make sure people didn't cheat us. He looked after our interests in the best ways. He might have made a few mistakes along the way, but he always thought he was doing what was right for his family. And, of course, most of what my father helped us accomplish was wonderful and unique, especially in regard to our relationships with companies and people in the business. I'd say we were among a fortunate few artists who walked away from a childhood in the business with anything substantial - money, real estate, other investments. My father set all these up for us. He looked out for both our interests and his. To this day I'm so thankful he didn't try to take all our money for himself the way so many parents of child stars have. Imagine stealing from your own children. My father never did anything like that. But I still don't know him, and that's sad for a son who hungers to understand his own father. He's still a mystery man to me and he may always be one.

What I got from my father wasn't necessarily God-given, though the Bible says you reap what you sow. When we were coming along, Dad said that in a different way, but the message was just as clear: You could have all the talent in the world, but if you didn't prepare and plan, it wouldn't do you any good.

Joe Jackson had always loved singing and music as much as my mother did, but he also knew there was a world beyond Jackson Street. I wasn't old enough to remember his band, the Falcons, but they came over to our house to rehearse on weekends. The music took them away from their jobs at the steel mill, where Dad drove a crane. The Falcons would play all over town, and in clubs and colleges around northern Indiana and Chicago. At the rehearsals at our house, Dad would bring his guitar out of the closet and plug it into the amp he kept in the basement. He'd always loved rhythm and blues and that guitar was his pride and joy. The closet where the guitar was kept was considered an almost sacred place. Needless to say, it was off-limits to us kids. Dad didn't go to Kingdom Hall with us, but both Mom and Dad knew that music was a way of keeping our family together in a neighborhood where gangs recruited kids my brothers' ages. The three oldest boys would always have an excuse to around when the Falcons came over. Dad let them think they were being given a special treat by being allowed to listen, but he was actually eager to have them there.

Tito watched everything that was going on with the greatest interest. He'd taken saxophone in school, but he could tell his hands were big enough to grab the chords and slip the riffs that my father played. It made sense that he'd catch on, because Tito looked so much like my father that we all expected him to share Dad's talents. The extent of the resemblance was scary as he got older. Maybe my father noticed Tito's zeal because he laid down rules for all my brothers: No one was to touch the guitar while he was out. Period.

Therefore, Jackie, Tito, and Jermaine were careful to see that Mom was in the kitchen when they "borrowed" the guitar. They were also careful not to make any noise while removing it. They would then go back to our room and put on the radio or the little portable record player so they could play along. Tito would hoist the guitar onto his belly as he sat on the bed and prop it up. He took turns with Jackie and Jermaine, and they'd all try the scales they were learning in school as well as try to figure out how to get the "Green Onions" part they'd hear on the radio.

By now I was old enough to sneak in and watch if I promised not to tell. One day Mom finally caught them, and we were all worried. She scolded the boys, but said she wouldn't tell Dad as long as we were careful. She knew that guitar was keeping them from running with a bad crowd and maybe getting beat up, so she wasn't about to take away anything that kept them within arm's reach.

Of course, something had to give sooner or later, and one day a string broke. My brothers panicked. There wasn't time to get it repaired before Dad came home, and besides, none if us knew how to go about getting it fixed. My brothers never figured out what to do, so they put the guitar back in the closet and hoped fervently that my father would think it broke by itself. Of course, Dad didn't buy that, and he was furious. My sisters told me to stay out of it and keep a low profile. I heard Tito crying after Dad found out and I went to investigate, of course. Tito was on his bed crying when Dad came back and motioned for him to get up. Tito was scared, but my father just stood there, holding his favorite guitar. He gave Tito a hard, penetrating look and said, "Let me see what you can do."

My brother pulled himself together and started to play a few runs he had taught himself. When my father saw how well Tito could play, he knew he'd obviously been practicing and he realized that Tito and the rest of us didn't treat his favorite guitar as if it were a toy. It became clear to him that what had happened had been only an accident. At this point my mother stepped in and voiced her enthusiasm for our musical ability. She told him that we boys had talent and he should listen to us. She kept pushing for us, so one day he began to listen and he liked what he heard. Tito, Jackie, and Jermaine started rehearsing together in earnest. A couple of years later, when I was about five, Mom pointed out to my father that I was a good singer and could play the bongos. I became a member of the group.

About then my father decided that what was happening in his family was serious. Gradually he began spending less time with the Falcons and more with us. We'd just woodshed together and he'd give us some tips and teach us techniques on the guitar. Marlon and I weren't old enough to play, but we'd watch when my father rehearsed the older boys and we were learning when we watched. The ban on using Dad's guitar still held when he wasn't around, but my brothers loved using it when they could. The house on Jackson Street was bursting with music. Dad and Mom had paid for music lessons for Rebbie and Jackie when they were little kids, so they had a good background. The rest of us had music class and band in the Gary schools, but no amount of practice was enough to harness all that energy.

The Falcons were still earning money, however infrequent their gigs, and that extra money was important to us. It was enough to keep food on the table for a growing family but not enough to give us things that weren't necessary. Mom was working part-time at Sears, Dad was still working the mill job, and no one was going hungry, but I think, looking back, that things must have seemed one big dead end.

One day Dad was late coming home and Mom began to get worried. By the time he arrived, she was ready to give him a piece of her mind, something we boys didn't mind witnessing once in a while just to see if he could take it like he dished it out, but when he poked his head through the door, he had a mischievous look on his face and he was hiding something behind his back. We were all shocked when he produced a gleaming red guitar, slightly smaller than the one in the closet. We were all hoping this meant we'd get the old one. But Dad said the new guitar was Tito's. We gathered around to admire it, while Dad told Tito he had to share it with anyone who would practice . We were not to take it to school to show it off. This was a serious present and that day was a momentous occasion for the Jackson family.

Mom was happy for us, but she also knew her husband. She was more aware than we of the big ambitions and plans he had for us. He'd begun talking to her at night after we kids were asleep. He had dreams and those dreams didn't stop with one guitar. Pretty soon we were dealing with equipment, not just gifts. Jermaine got a bass and an amp. There were shakers for Jackie. Our bedroom and living room began to look like a music store. Sometimes I'd hear Mom and Dad fight when the subject of money was brought up, because all those instruments and accessories meant having to go without a little something we needed each week. Dad was persuasive, though, and he didn't miss a trick.

We even had microphones in the house. They seemed like a real luxury at the time, especially to a woman who was trying to stretch a very small budget, but I've come to realize that having those microphones in our house wasn't just an attempt to keep up with the Joneses or anyone else in amateur night competitions. They were there to help us prepare. I saw people at talent shows, who probably sounded great at home, clam up the moment they got in front of a microphone. Others started screaming their songs like they wanted to prove they didn't need the mikes. They didn't have the advantage that we did - an advantage that only experience can give you. I think it probably made some people jealous because they could tell our expertise with the mikes gave us an edge. If that was true, we made so many sacrifices - in free time, schoolwork, and friends - that no one had the right to be jealous. We were becoming very good, but we were working like people twice our age.

While I was watching my older brothers, including Marlon on the bongo drums, Dad got a couple of young guys named Johnny Jackson and Randy Rancifer to play trap drums and organ. Motown would later claim they were our cousins, but that was just an embellishment from the P.R. people, who wanted to make us seem like one big family. We had become a real band! I was like a sponge, watching everyone, and trying to learn everything I could. I was totally absorbed when my brothers were rehearsing or playing at charity events or shopping centers. I was most fascinated when watching Jermaine because he was the singer at the time and he was a big brother to me - Marlon was too close to me in age for that. It was Jermaine who would walk me to kindergarten and whose clothes would be handed down to me. When he did something, I tried to imitate him. When I was successful at it, my brothers and Dad would laugh, but when I began singing, they listened. I was singing in a baby voice then and just imitating sounds. I was so young I didn't know what many of the words meant, but the more I sang, the better I got.

I always knew how to dance. I would watch Marlon's moves because Jermaine had the big bass to carry, but also because I could keep up with Marlon, who was only a year older then me. Soon I was doing most of the singing at home and preparing to join my brothers in public. Through our rehearsals, we were all becoming aware of our particular strengths and weaknesses as members of the group and the shift in responsibilities was happening naturally.

Our family's house in Gary was tiny, only three rooms really, but at the time it seemed much larger to me. When you're that young, the whole world seems so huge that a little room can seem four times its size. When we went back to Gary years later, we were all surprised at how tiny that house was. I had remembered it as being large, but you could take five steps from the front door and you'd be out the back. It was really no bigger then a garage, but when we lived there it seemed fine to us kids. You see things from such a different perspective when you're young. Our school days in Gary are a blur for me. I vaguely remember being dropped off in front of my school on the first day of kindergarten, and I clearly remember hating it. I didn't want my mother to leave me, naturally, and I didn't want to be there.

In time I adjusted, as all kids do, and I grew to love my teachers, especially the women. They were always very sweet to us and they just loved me. Those teachers were so wonderful; I'd be promoted from one grade to the next and they'd all cry and hug me and tell me how much they hated to see me leave their classes. I was so crazy about my teachers that I'd steal my mother's jewelry and give it to them as presents. They'd be very touched, but eventually my mother found out about it, and put an end to my generosity with her things. That urge that I had to give them something in return for all I was receiving was a measure of how much I loved them at that school.

One day, in the first grade, I participated in a program that was put on before the whole school. Everyone of us in each class had to do something, so I went home and discussed it with my parents. We decided I should wear black pants and a white shirt and sing "Climb Ev'ry Mountain" from The Sound of Music . When I finished that song, the reaction in the auditorium overwhelmed me. The applause was thunderous and people were smiling; some of them were standing. My teachers were crying and I just couldn't believe it. I had made them all happy. It was such a great feeling. I felt a little confused too, because I didn't do anything special. I was just singing the way I sang at home every night. When you're performing, you don't realize what you sound like or how you're coming across. You just open your mouth and sing.

Soon Dad was grooming us for talent contests. He was a great trainer, and he spent a lot of money and time working with us. Talent is something that God gives to a performer, but our father taught us how to cultivate it. I think we also had a certain instinct for show business. We loved to perform and we put everything we had into it. He's sit at home with us every day after school and rehearse us. We'd perform for him and he'd critique us. If you messed up, you got hit, sometimes with a belt, sometimes with a switch. My father was real strict with us - real strict. Marlon was the one who got in trouble all the time. On the other hand, I'd get beaten for things that happened mostly outside rehearsal. Dad would make me so mad and hurt that I'd try to get back at him and get beaten all the more. I'd take a shoe and throw it at him, or I'd just fight back, swinging my fists. That's why I got it more than all my brothers combined. I would fight back and my father would kill me, just tear me up. Mother told me I'd fight back even when I was very little, but I don't remember that. I do remember running under tables to get away from him, and making him angrier. We had a turbulent relationship.

Most of the time, however, we just rehearsed. We always rehearsed. Sometimes, late at night, we'd have time to play games or with our toys. There might be a game of hide-and-go-seek or we'd jump rope, but that was about it. The majority of our time was spent working. I clearly remember running into the house with my brothers when my father came home, because we'd be in big trouble if we weren't ready to start rehearsals on time.

Through all this, my mother was completely supportive. She had been the one who first recognized our talent and she continued to help us realize our potential. It's hard to imagine that we would have gotten where we did without her love and good humor. She worried about the stress we were under and the long hours of rehearsal, but we wanted to be the best we could be and we really loved music.

Music was important in Gary. We had our own radio stations and nightclubs, and there was no shortage of people who wanted to be on them. After Dad ran our Saturday afternoon rehearsals, he'd go see a local show or even drive all the way to Chicago to see someone perform. He was always watching for things that could help us down the road. He'd come home and tell us what he'd seen and who was doing what. He kept up on all the latest stuff, whether it was a local theater that ran contests we could enter or a Cavalcade of Stars show with great acts whose clothes or moves we might adapt. Sometimes I wouldn't see Dad until I got back from Kingdom Hall on Sundays, but as soon as I ran into the house he'd be telling me what he'd seen the night before. He'd assure me I could dance on one leg like James Brown if I'd only try this step. There I'd be, fresh out of church, and back in show business.

We started collecting trophies with our act when I was six. Our lineup was set; the group featured me at second from the left, and Jackie on my right. Tito and his guitar took stage right, with Marlon next to him. Jackie was getting tall and he towered over Marlon and me. We kept that setup for contest after contest and it worked well. While other groups we'd meet would fight among themselves and quit, we were becoming more polished and experienced. The people in Gary who came regularly to see the talent shows got to know us, so we would try to top ourselves and surprise them. We didn't want them to begin to feel bored by our act. We knew change was always good, that it helped us grow, so we were never afraid of it.

Winning an amateur night or talent show in a ten-minute, two-song set took as much energy as a ninety-minute concert. I'm convinced that because there's no room for mistakes, your concentration burns you up inside more on one or two songs than it does when you have the luxury of twelve or fifteen in a set. These talent shows were our professional education. Sometimes we'd drive hundreds of miles to do one song or two and hope the crowd wouldn't be against us because we weren't local talent. We were competing against people of all ages and skills, from drill teams to comedians to other singers and dancers like us. We had to grab that audience and keep it. Nothing was left to chance, so clothes, shoes, hair, everything had to be the way Dad planned it. We really looked amazingly professional. After all this planning, if we performed the songs the way we rehearsed them, the awards would take care of themselves. This was true even when we were in the Wallace High part of town where the neighborhood had its own performers and cheering sections and we were challenging them right in their own backyards. Naturally, local performers always had their own very loyal fans, so whenever we went off our turf and onto someone else's, it was very hard. When the master of ceremonies held his hand over our heads for the "applause meter," we wanted to make sure that the crowd knew we had given them more than anyone else.

As players, Jermaine, Tito, and the rest of us were under tremendous pressure. Our manger was the kind who reminded us that James Brown would fine his Famous Flames if they missed a cue or bent a note during a performance. As lead singer, I felt I - more than the others - couldn't afford an "off night." I can remember being onstage at night after being sick in bed all day. It was hard to concentrate at those times, yet I knew all the things my brothers and I had to do so well that I could have performed the routines in my sleep. At times like that, I had to remind myself not to look in the crowd for someone I knew, or at the emcee, both of which can distract a young performer. We did songs that people knew from the radio or songs that my father knew were already classics. If you messed up, you heard about it because the fans knew those songs and they knew how they were supposed to sound. If you were going to change an arrangement, it needed to sound better than the original.

We won the citywide talent show when I was eight with our version of the Temptations' song "My Girl." The contest was held just a few blocks away at Roosevelt High. From Jermaine's opening bass notes and Tito's first guitar licks to all of us singing the chorus, we had people on their feet for the whole song. Jermaine and I traded verses while Marlon and Jackie spun like tops. It was a wonderful feeling for all of us to pass that trophy, our biggest yet, back and forth between us. Eventually it was propped on the front seat like a baby and we drove home with Dad telling us, "When you do it like you did tonight they can't not give it to you."

We were now Gary city champions and Chicago was our next target because it was the area that offered the steadiest work and the best word of mouth for miles and miles. We began to plan our strategy in earnest. My father's group played the Chicago sound of Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf, but he was open-minded enough to see that the more upbeat, slicker sounds that appealed to us kids had a lot to offer. We were lucky because some people his age weren't that hip. In fact, we knew musicians who thought the sixties sound was beneath people their age, but not Dad. He recognized great singing when he heard it, even telling us that he saw the great doo-wop group from Gary, the Spaniels, when they were stars not that much older than we. When Smokey Robinson of the Miracles sang a song like "Tracks of My Tears" or "Ooo, Baby Baby," he'd be listening as hard as we were. The sixties didn't leave Chicago behind musically, Great singers like the Impressions with Curtis Mayfield, Jerry Butler, Major Lance, and Tyrone Davis were playing all over the city at the same places we were. At this point my father was managing us full-time, with only a part-time shift at the mill. Mom had some doubts about the soundness of this decision, not because she didn't think we were good but because she didn't know anyone else who was spending the majority of his time trying to break his children into the music business. She was even less thrilled when Dad told her he had booked us as a regular act at Mr. Lucky's, a Gary nightspot. We were being forced to spend our weekends in Chicago and other places trying to win an ever-increasing number of amateur shows, and these trips were expensive, so the job at Mr. Lucky's was a way to make it all possible. Mom was surprised at the response we were getting and she was very pleased with the awards and the attention, but she worried about us a lot. She worried about me because of my age. "This is quite a life for a nine-year-old," she would say, staring intently at my father.

I don't know what my brothers and I expected, but the nightclub crowds weren't the same as the Roosevelt High crowds. We were playing between bad comedians, cocktail organists, and strippers. With my Witness upbringing, Mom was concerned that I was hanging out with the wrong people and getting introduced to things I'd be better off learning much later in life. She didn't have to worry; just one look at some of those strippers wasn't going to get me that interested in trouble - certainly not at nine years old! That was an awful way to live, though, and it made us all the more determined to move on up the circuit and as far away from that life as we could go.

Being at Mr. Lucky's meant that for the first time in our lives we had a whole show to do - five sets a night, six nights a week - and if Dad could get us something out of town for the seventh night, he was going to do it. We were working hard, but the bar crowds weren't bad to us. They liked James Brown and Sam and Dave just as much as we did and, besides, we were something extra that came free with the drinking and the carrying on, so they were surprised and cheerful. We even had some fun with them on one number, the Joe Tex song "Skinny Legs and All." We'd start the song and somewhere in the middle I'd go out into the audience, crawl under the tables, and pull up the ladies' skirts to look under. People would throw money as I scurried by, and when I began to dance, I'd scoop up all the dollars and coins that had hit the floor earlier and push them into the pockets of my jacket.

I wasn't really nervous when we began playing in because of all the experience I'd had with talent show audiences. I was always ready to go out and perform, you know, just do it - sing and dance and have some fun.

We worked in more than one club that had strippers in those days. I used to stand in the wings of this one place in Chicago and watch a lady whose name was Mary Rose. I must have been nine or ten. This girl would take off her clothes and her panties and throw them to the audience. The men would pick them up and sniff them and yell. My brothers and I would be watching all this, taking it in, and my father wouldn't mind. We were exposed to a lot doing that kind of circuit. In one place they had cut a little hole in the musician's dressing room wall that also happened to act as a wall in the ladies' bathroom. You could peek through this hole, and I saw stuff I've never forgotten. Guys on that circuit were so wild, they did stuff like drilling little holes into the walls of the ladies' loo all the time. Of course, I'm sure that my brothers and I were fighting over who got to look through the hole. "Get outta the way, it's my turn!" Pushing each other away to make room for ourselves.

Later, when we did the Apollo Theater in New York, I saw something that really blew me away because I didn't know things like that existed. I had seen quite a few strippers, but that night this one girl with gorgeous eyelashes and long hair came out and did her routine. She put on a great performance. All of a sudden, at the end, she took off her wig, pulled a pair of big oranges out of her bra, and revealed that she was a hard-faced guy under all that makeup. That blew me away. I was only a child and couldn't even conceive of anything like that. But I looked out at the theater audience and they were going for it. applauding wildly and cheering. I'm just a little kid, standing in the wings, watching this crazy stuff.

I was blown away.

As I said, I received quite an education as a child. More than most. Perhaps this freed me to concentrate on other aspects of my life as an adult.

One day, not long after we'd been doing successfully in Chicago clubs, Dad brought home a tape of some songs we'd never heard before. We were accustomed to doing popular stuff off the radio, so we were curious why he began playing these songs over and over again, just one guy singing none too well with some guitar chords in the background. Dad told us that the man on the tape wasn't really a performer but a songwriter who owned a recording studio in Gary. His name was Mr. Keith and he had given us a week to practice his songs to see if we could make a record out of them. Naturally, we were excited. We wanted to make a record, any record.

We worked strictly on the sound, ignoring the dancing routines we'd normally work up for a new song. It wasn't as much fun to do a song that none of us knew, but we were already professional enough to hide our disappointment and give it all we could. When we were ready and felt we had done our best with the material, Dad got us on tape after a few false starts and more than a few pep talks, of course. After a day or two of trying to figure out whether Mr. Keith liked the tape we had made for him, Dad suddenly appeared with more of his songs for us to learn for our first recording session.

Mr. Keith, like Dad, was a mill worker who loved music, only he was more into the recording and business end. His studio and label were called Steeltown. Looking back on all this, I realize Mr. Keith was just as excited as we were. His studio was downtown, and we went early one Saturday morning before "The Road Runner Show," my favorite show at the time. Mr. Keith met us at the door and opened the studio. He showed us a small glass booth with all kinds of equipment in it and explained what various tasks each performed. It didn't look like we'd have to lean over any more tape recorders, at least not in this studio. I put on some big metal headphones, which came halfway down my neck, and tried to make myself look ready for anything.

As my brothers were figuring out where to plug in their instruments and stand, some backup singers and a horn section arrived. At first I assumed they were there to make a record after us. We were delighted and amazed when we found out they were there to record with us. We looked over at Dad, but he didn't change expression‎. He'd obviously known about it and approved. Even then people knew not to throw Dad surprises. We were told to listen to Mr. Keith, who would instruct us while we were in the booth. If we did as he said, the record would take care of itself.

After a few hours, we finished Mr. Keith's first song. Some of the backup singers and horn players hadn't made records either and found it difficult, but they also didn't have a perfectionist for a manager, so they weren't used to doing things over and over the way we were. It was at times like these that we realized how hard Dad worked to make us consummate professionals. We came back the next few Saturdays, putting the songs we'd rehearsed during the week into the can and taking home a new tape of Mr. Keith's each time. One Saturday, Dad even brought his guitar in to perform with us. It was the one and only time he ever recorded with us. After the records were pressed, Mr. Keith gave us some copies so that we could sell them between sets and after shows. We knew that wasn't how the big groups did it, but everyone had to start someplace, and in those days, having a record with your group's name on it was quite something. We felt very fortunate.

That first Steeltown single, "Big Boy," had a mean bass line. It was a nice song about a kid who wanted to fall in love with some girl. Of course, in order to get the full picture, you have to imagine a skinny nine-year-old singing this song. The words said I didn't want to hear fairy tales any more, but in truth I was far too young to grasp the real meanings of most of the words in these songs. I just sang what they gave me.

When that record with its killer bass line began to get radio play in Gary, we became a big deal in out neighborhood. No one could believe we had our own record. We had a hard time believing it.

After that first Steeltown record, we began to aim for all the big talent shows in Chicago. Usually the other acts would look me over carefully when they met me, because I was so little, particularly the ones who went on after us. One day Jackie was cracking up, like someone had told him the funniest joke in the world. This wasn't a good sign right before a show, and I could tell Dad was worried he was going to screw up onstage. Dad went over to say a word to him, but Jackie whispered something in his ear and soon Dad was holding his sides, laughing. I wanted to know the joke too. Dad said proudly that Jackie had overheard the headlining act talking among themselves. One guy said, "We'd better not let those Jackson 5 cut us tonight with that midget they've got."

I was upset at first because my feelings were hurt. I thought they were being mean. I couldn't help it that I was the shortest, but soon all the other brothers were cracking up too. Dad explained that they weren't laughing at me. He told me that I should be proud, the group was talking trash because they thought I was a grown- up posing as a child like one of the Munchkins in The Wizard Of Oz. Dad said that if I had those slick guys talking like the neighborhood kids who gave us grief back in Gary, then we had Chicago on the run.

We still had some running of our own to do. After we played some pretty good clubs in Chicago, Dad signed us up for the Royal Theater amateur night competition in town. He had gone to see B. B. King at the Regal the night he made his famous live album. When Dad gave Tito that sharp red guitar years earlier, we had teased him by thinking of girls he could name his guitar after, like B. B. King's Lucille. We won that show for three straight weeks, with a new song every week to keep the regular members of the audience guessing. Some of the other performers complained that it was greedy for us to keep coming back, but they were after the same thing we were. There was a policy that if you won the amateur night three straight times, you'd be invited back to do a paid show for thousands of people, not dozens like the audiences we were playing to in bars. We got that opportunity and the show was headlined by Gladys Knight and the Pips, who were breaking in a new song no one knew called "I Heard It Through The Grapevine." It was a heady night.

After Chicago, we had one more big amateur show we really felt we needed to win: the Apollo Theater in New York City. A lot of Chicago people thought a win at the Apollo was just a good luck charm and nothing more, but Dad saw it as much more than that. He knew New York had a high caliber of talent just like Chicago and he knew there were more record people and professional musicians in New York than Chicago. If we could make it in New York, we could make it anywhere. That's what a win at the Apollo meant to us.

Chicago had sent a kind of scouting report on us to New York and our reputation was such that the Apollo entered us in the "Superdog" finals, even though we hadn't been to any of the preliminary competitions. By this time, Gladys Knight had already talked to us about coming to Motown, as had Bobby Taylor, a member of the Vancouvers, with whom my father had become friendly. Dad had told them we'd be happy to audition for Motown, but that was in out future. We got to the Apollo at 125th Street early enough to get a guided tour. We walked through the theater and stared at all of the pictures of the stars who'd played there, white as well as black. The manager concluded by showing us to the dressing room, but by then I had found pictures of all my favorites.

While my brothers and I were paying dues on the so-called "chitlin' circuit," opening for other acts, I carefully watched all the stars because I wanted to learn as much as I could. I'd stare at their feet, the way they held their arms, the way they gripped a microphone, trying to decipher what they were doing and why they were doing it. After studying James Brown from the wings, I knew every step, every grunt, every spin and turn. I have to say he would give a performance that would exhaust you, just wear you out emotionally. His whole physical presence, the fire coming out of his pores, would be phenomenal. You'd feel every bead of sweat on his face and you'd know what he was going through. I've never seen anybody perform like him. Unbelievable, really. When I watched somebody I liked, I'd be there. James Brown, Jackie Wilson, Sam and Dave, the O'Jays - they all used to really work an audience. I might have learned more from watching Jackie Wilson than from anyone or anything else. All of this was a very important part of my education.

We would stand offstage, behind the curtains, and watch everyone come off after performing and they'd be all sweaty. I'd just stand aside in awe and watch them walk by. And they would all wear these beautiful patent-leather shoes. My whole dream seemed to center on having a pair of patent-leather shoes. I remember being so heartbroken because they didn't make them in little boys' sizes. I'd go from store to store looking for patent-leather shoes and they'd say, "We don't make them that small." I was so sad because I wanted to have shoes that looked the way those stage shoes looked, polished and shining, turning red and orange when the lights hit them. Oh, how I wanted some patent-leather shoes like the ones Jackie Wilson wore.

Most of the time I'd be alone backstage. My brothers would be upstairs eating and talking and I'd be down in the wings, crouching real low, holding on to the dusty, smelly curtain and watching the show. I mean, I really did watch every step, every move, every twist, every turn, every grind, every emotion, every light move. That was my education and my recreation. I was always there when I had free time. My father, my brothers, other musicians, they all knew where to find me. They would tease me about it, but I was so absorbed in what I was seeing, or in remembering what I had just seen, that I didn't care. I remember all those theaters: the Regal, the Uptown, the Apollo - too many to name. The talent that came out of those places is of mythical proportions. The greatest education in the world is watching the masters at work. You couldn't teach a person what I've learned just standing and watching. Some musicians - Springsteen and U2, for example - may feel they got their education from the streets. I'm a performed at heart. I got mine from the stage.

Jackie Wilson was on the wall at the Apollo. The photographer captured him with one leg up, twisted, but not out of position from catching the mike stand he'd just whipped back and forth. He could have been singing a sad lyric like "Lonely Teardrops," and yet he had that audience so bug-eyed with his dancing that no one could feel sad or lonely.

Sam and Dave's picture was down the corridor, next to an old big-band shot. Dad had become friendly with Sam Moore. I remember being happily amazed that he was nice to me when I met him for the first time. I had been singing his songs for so long that I thought he'd want to box my ears. And not far from them was "The King of Them All, Mr. Dynamite, Mr. Please Please Himself," James Brown. Before he came along, a singer was a singer and a dancer was a dancer. A singer might have danced and a dancer might have sung, but unless you were Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly, you probably did one better than the other, especially in a live performance. But he changed all that. No spotlight could keep up with him when he skidded across the stage - you had to flood it! I wanted to be that good.

We won the Apollo amateur night competition, and I felt like going back to those photos on the walls and thanking my "teachers." Dad was so happy he said he could have flown back to Gary that night. He was on top of the world and so were we. My brothers and I had gotten straight A's and we were hoping we might get to skip a "grade." I certainly sensed that we wouldn't be doing talent shows and strip joints much longer.

In the summer of 1968 we were introduced to the music of a family group that was going to change our sound and our lives. They didn't all have the same last name, they were black and white, men and women, and they were called Sly and the Family Stone. They had some amazing hits over the years, such as "Dance to the Music," "Stand," "Hot Fun in the Summertime." My brothers would point at me when they heard the line about the midget standing tall a   <- 여기서 끝나버렸습니다;;; 안읽어봐서 어디가 어딘지를 모르겠어요;;;

Dancing The Dream

Poems And Reflections by Michael Jackson

Child Is A Song

When children listen to music, they don't just listen. They melt into the melody and flow with the
rhythm. Something inside starts to unfold its wings - soon the child and the music are one. I feel
that way, too, in the presence of music, and my best moments of creativity have often been spent
with children. When I am around them, music comes to me as easily as breathing.

Each song is a child I nourish and give my love to. But even if you have never written a song, your
life is a song. How can it not be? In wave after wave, Nature caresses you - the rhythm of each
dawn and each sunset is part of you, the falling rain touches your soul, and you see yourself in the
clouds that are playing tag with the sun. To live is to be musical, starting with the blood dancing in
your veins. Everything living has a rhythm. To feel each one, softly and attentively, brings out its
music.

Angel Of Light

It's hard to see angels, although I've stared at their pictures for hours. Some people can see them
without pictures, and they tell interesting tales. Guardian angels are all female, for instance, which
didn't surprise me once I found out. A birth angel, recruited from the younger ranks, attends every
baby when it appears, while another angel, older but not grim, helps the dying to leave this world
without grief or pain.
You can pray to the angels and they will listen, but the best way to call them, I am told, is to laugh.
Angels respond to delight, because that is what they're made of. In fact, when people's minds are
clouded by anger or hatred, no angel can reach them.
Not all angels have wings -- so the visionaries claim -- but those who do can unfurl a span of
golden feathers stretching over the entire world. If you had eyes that could look straight into the
sun, you would see an overwhelming angel presiding there; a more serene one smiles out from the
face of the moon.
Angels spend their entire lives, which are forever, spinning around the Creator's throne, singing His
praise. People with keen ears have listened in. The harmonies of the angelic choir are incredibly
complex, they say, but the rhythm is simple. "It's mostly march time," one eavesdropper affirmed.
For some reason, that fact is almost the best I have learned so far.
After a while it got lonely hearing about angels you couldn't see for yourself. When an
angel-watcher heard that, she was shocked. "Not see?" she said. "But you have an angel in you.
Everybody does. I can see it right now, and I thought you could, too." "No," I said sadly, and I asked
what it looked like. "Did it look like me?"
"Well, yes and no," the angel-watcher mysterious answered. "It all depends on what you think you

Are You Listening?

Who am I?
Who are you?
Where did we come from?
Where are we going?
What's it all about?
Do you have the answers?

Immortality's my game
From Bliss I came
In Bliss I am sustained
To Bliss I return
If you don't know it now
It's a shame
Are you listening?
This body of mine
Is a flux of energy
In the river of time
Eons pass, ages come and go
I appear and disappear
Playing hide-and-seek
In the twinkling of an eye

I am the particle
I am the wave
Whirling at lightning speed
I am the fluctuation
That takes the lead
I am the Prince
I am the Knave
I am the doing
That is the deed
I am the galaxy, the void of space
In the Milky Way
I am the craze

I am the thinker, the thinking, the thought
I am the seeker, the seeking, the sought
I am the dewdrop, the sunshine, the storm
I am the phenomenon, the field, the form
I am the desert, the ocean, the sky
I am the Primeval‎ Self
In you and I

Pure unbounded consciousness
Truth, existence, Bliss am I
In infinite expressions I come and go
Playing hide-and-seek
In the twinkling of an eye
But immortality's my game

Eons pass
Deep inside
I remain
Ever the same
From Bliss I came
In Bliss I am sustained

Join me in my dance
Please join me now
If you forget yourself
You'll never know how
This game is played
In the ocean bed of Eternity

Stop this agony of wishing
Play it out
Don't think, don't hesitate
Curving back within yourself
Just create...just create

Immortality's my game
From Bliss I came
In Bliss I'm sustained
To Bliss I return
If you don't know it now
It's a shame
Are you listening?

Berlin 1989

They hated the Wall, but what could they do? It was too strong to break through.

They feared the Wall, but didn't that make sense? Many who tried to climb over it were killed.

They distrusted the Wall, but who wouldn't? Their enemies refused to tear down one brick, no
matter how long the peace talks dragged on.

The Wall laughed grimly. "I'm teaching you a good lesson," it boasted. "If you want to build for
eternity, don't bother with stones. Hatred, fear, and distrust are so much stronger."

They knew the Wall was right, and they almost gave up. Only one thing stopped them. They
remembered who was on the other side. Grandmother, cousin, sister, wife. Beloved faces that
yearned to be seen.

"What's happening?" the Wall asked, trembling. Without knowing what they did, they were looking
through the Wall, trying to find their dear ones. Silently, from one person to another, love kept up its
invisible work.

"Stop it!" the Wall shrieked. "I'm falling apart." But it was too late. A million hearts had found each
other. The Wall had fallen before it came down.

Breaking Free

All this hysteria, all this commotion
Time, space, energy are just a notion
What we have conceptualized we have created
All those loved, all those hated

Where is the beginning, where's the end
Time's arrow, so difficult to bend
Those broken promises, what they meant
Those love letters, never sent

But The Heart Said No

They saw the poor living in cardboard shacks, so they knocked the shacks down and built projects.
Huge blocks of cement and glass towered over asphalt parking lots. Somehow it wasn't much like
home, even home in a shack. "What do you expect?" they asked impatiently. "You're too poor to
live like us. Until you can do better for yourselves, you should be grateful, shouldn't you?"
The head said yes, but the heart said no.

They needed more electricity in the city, so they found a mountain stream to dam. As the waters
rose, dead rabbits and deer floated by; baby birds too young to fly drowned in the nest while mother
birds cried helplessly. "It's not a pretty sight," they said, "but now a million people can run their air
conditioners all summer. That's more important than one mountain stream, isn't it?"
The head said yes, but the heart said no.

They saw oppression and terrorism in a far-off land, so they made war against it. Bombs reduced
the country to rubble. Its population cowered in fear, and every day more villagers were buried in
rough wooden coffins. "You have to be prepared to make sacrifices," they said. "If some innocent
bystanders get hurt, isn't that just the price one must pay for peace?"
The head said yes, but the heart said no.

The years rolled by and they got old. Sitting in their comfortable houses, they took stock. "We've
had a good life," they said, "and we did the right thing." Their children looked down and asked why
poverty, pollution, and war were still unsolved. "You'll find out soon enough," they replied. "Human
beings are weak and selfish. Despite our best efforts, these problems will never really end."

The head said yes, but the children looked into their hearts and whispered, "No!"

Child Of Innocence

Child of innocence, I miss your sunny days
We joyously frolicked in extended plays
Ever since you've left the scene
The streets are lonely, dark, and mean

Child of innocence, return to me now
With your simple smile show them how
This world once again can respond to your glance
And heartbeats flutter to the rhythm of your dance

Child of innocence, your elegance, your beauty
Beckons me now beyond the call of duty
Come fly with me far and above
Over the mountains in the land of love

Child of innocence, messenger of joy
You've touched my heart without a ploy
My soul is ablaze with a flagrant fire
To change this world is my deepest desire.

Children Of The World

Children of the world, we'll do it
We'll meet on endless shores
Making sandcastles and floating our boats
While people fight and defend their point of view
Forever putting on masks that are new
We'll swing the tide of time and do it.

Children of the world, we'll do it
With song and dance and innocent bliss
And the soft caress of a loving kiss
We'll do it.

While traders trade and haggle their price
And politicians try so hard to be nice
We'll meet on endless shores and floating our boats
We'll do it.

While lawyers argue and doctors treat
Stockbrokers quote the price on meat
While preachers preach and ring the bell
Carpetbaggers with something to sell
We'll sing and dance in innocent bliss
With the soft caress of a loving kiss
We'll do it

Meeting on endless shores
Making sandcastles and floating our boats
We'll do it.

We'll ride a rainbow, a cloud, a storm
Flying in the wind, we'll change our form
We'll touch the stars, embrace the moon
We'll break the barrier and be there soon

While architects plan their buildings high
And trade unions raise their hue and cry
While boardroom squabbles generate heat
And in secret places dealers meet
We'll sing and dance in innocent bliss
With the soft caress of a loving kiss
We'll do it.

While philosophers grapple and continue to tackle
Endless dilemmas of body and mind
Physicists wander, continue to ponder
Perennial questions of space and time
Archaeologists survey, continue to dig
Bygone treasures small and big
Psychologists probe, analyze the tears
Of hysterical notions, phobias, fears

While priests take confession
In a serious session
And people struggle
In the hustle and bustle
In the noise and din
On the meaning of sin
We'll touch the stars, embrace the moon
Break the barrier, arrive there soon
Ride the rainbow, the cloud, the storm
Flying in the wind, changing our form

Children of the world, we'll do it
With song and dance and innocent bliss
The soft caress of a loving kiss
We'll do it.

Children

Children show me in their playful smiles the divine in everyone. This simple goodness shines
straight from their hearts. This has so much to teach. If a child wants chocolate ice cream, he just
asks for it. Adults get tangled up in complications over whether to eat the ice cream or not. A child
simply enjoys.

What we need to learn from children isn't childish. Being with them connects us to the deep
wisdom of life, which is ever present and only asks to be lived. Now, when the world is so
confused and its problems so complicated, I feel we need our children more than ever. Their
natural wisdom points the way to solutions that lie, waiting to be recognized, within our own hearts.

Courage

It's curious what takes courage and what doesn't. When I step out on stage in front of thousands of
people, I don't feel that I'm being brave. It can take much more courage to express true feelings to
one person. When I think of courage, I think of the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz. He was
always running away from danger. He often cried and shook with fear. But he was also sharing his
real feelings with those he loved, even though he didn't always like those feelings.

That takes real courage, the courage to be intimate. Expressing your feelings is not the same as
falling apart in front of someone else -- it's being accepting and true to your heart, whatever it may
say. When you have the courage to be intimate, you know who you are, and you're willing to let
others see that. It's scary, because you feel so vulnerable, so open to rejection. But without
self-acceptance, the other kind of courage, the kind heroes show in movies, seems hollow. In spite
of the risks, the courage to be honest and intimate opens the way to self-discovery. It offers what
we all want, the promise of love.

Dance Of Life

I cannot escape the moon. Its soft beams push aside the curtains at night. I don't even have to see it -- a cool
blue energy falls across my bed and I am up. I race down the dark hall and swing open the door, not to leave
home but to go back into it. "Moon, I'm here!" I shout.

"Good," she replies. "Now give us a little dance."

But my body has started moving long before she says anything. When did it start? I can't remember -- my
body has always been moving. Since childhood I have reacted to the moon this way, as her favorite lunatic,
and not just hers. The stars draw me near, close enough so that I see through their twinkling act. They're
dancing, too, doing a soft molecular jiggle that makes my carbon atoms jump in time.

With my arms flung wide, I head for the sea, which brings out another dance in me. Moon dancing is slow
inside, and soft as blue shadows on the lawn. When the surf booms, I hear the heart of the earth, and the
tempo picks up. I feel the dolphins leaping in the white foam, trying to fly, and almost flying when the waves
curl high to the heavens. Their tails leave arcs of light as plankton glow in the waves. A school of minnows
rises up, flashing silver in the moonlight like a new constellation.

"Ah!" the sea says, "Now we're gathering a crowd."

I run along the beach, catching waves with one foot and dodging them with the other. I hear faint popping
sounds -- a hundred panicky sand crabs are ducking into their holes, just in case. But I'm racing now,
sometimes on my toes, sometimes running flat-out.
I throw my head back and a swirling nebula says, "Fast now, twirl!"
Grinning, ducking my head for balance, I start to spin as wildly as I can. This is my favorite dance, because it
contains a secret. The faster I twirl, the more I am still inside. My dance is all motion without, all silence
within. As much as I love to make music, it's the unheard music that never dies. And silence is my real
dance, though it never moves. It stands aside, my choreographer of grace, and blesses each finger and toe.

I have forgotten the moon now and the sea and the dolphins, but I am in their joy more than ever. As far
away as a star, as near as a grain of sand, the presence rises, shimmering with light. I could be in it forever,
it is so loving and warm. But touch it once, and light shoots forth from the stillness. It quivers and thrills me,
and I know my fate is to show others that this silence, this light, this blessing is my dance. I take this gift only
to give it again.

"Quick, give!" says the light.

As never before, I try to obey, inventing new steps, new gestures of joy. All at once I sense where I am,
running back up the hill. The light in my bedroom is on. Seeing it brings me back down. I begin to feel my
pounding heart, the drowsiness in my arms, the warm blood in my legs. My cells want to dance slower. "Can
we walk a little?" they ask. "It's been kind of wild."
"Sure." I laugh, slowing to an easy amble.

I turn the doorknob, panting lightly, glad to be tired. Crawling back into bed, I remember something that I
always wonder at. They say that some of the stars that we see overhead aren't really there. Their light takes
millions of years to reach us, and all we are doing is looking into the past, into a bygone moment when those
stars could still shine.

"So what does a star do after it quits shining?" I ask myself. "Maybe it dies."
"Oh, no," a voice in my head says. "A star can never die. It just turns into a smile and melts back into the
cosmic music, the dance of life." I like that thought, the last one I have before my eyes close. With a smile, I
melt back into the music myself.

Dancing The Dream

Consciousness expresses itself through creation. This world we live in is the dance of the creator.
Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye but the dance lives on. On many an occasion
when I'm dancing, I've felt touched by something sacred. In those moments, I've felt my spirit soar
and become one with everything that exists. I become the stars and the moon. I become the lover
and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished. I become the master and the slave. I
become the singer and the song. I become the knower and the known. I keep on dancing and then,
it is the eternal dance of creation. The creator and creation merge into one wholeness of joy.

I keep on dancing and dancing...........
and dancing, until there is only........
the dance.

Do you feel your music?

Children do, but once we grow up, life becomes a burden and a chore, and the music grows
fainter. Sometimes the heart is so heavy that we turn away from it and forget that its throbbing is
the wisest message of life, a wordless message that says, "Live, be, move, rejoice - - you are
alive!" Without the heart's wise rhythm, we could not exist.

When I begin to feel a little tired or burdened, children revive me. I turn to them for new life, for new
music. Two brown eyes look at me so deeply, so innocently, and inside I murmur, "This child is a
song." It is so true and direct an experience that instantly I realize again, "I am a song also." I am
back to myself once more.

Ecstasy

I was born to never die
To live in bliss, to never cry
To speak the truth and never lie
To share my love without a sigh
To stretch my arms without a tie
This is my dance, this is my high
It's not a secret, can't you see
Why can't we all live in ecstasy

Ecstasy....Ecstasy
Why can't we all
Live in Ecstasy.

Without a guilt, without regret
I am here to forget
Tainted memories of imagined sin
In every friend, kith and kin

We have come to celebrate here
The getting rid of every fear
Of every notion, every seed
Of any separation, caste, or creed.

This alienation, fragmentation, abomination
Of separation, exploitation, isolation
This cruelty, hysteria, absolute madness
This anger, anxiety, overflowing sadness
Disrupted ecology, wanton destruction
Diseased biology, nature's obstruction
Endangered species, environmental pollution
Holes in the ozone, defying solution
Is not knowing the spark that lights my interior
Is the same fire, glowing in every man, child, and mother superior

We have come to celebrate here
The getting rid of every fear
Of every notion, every seed
Of any separation, caste, or creed.

Feeling free, let us fly
Into the boundless, beyond the sky
For we were born to never die
To live in bliss, to never cry
To speak the truth and never lie
To share our love without a sigh
To stretch our arms without a tie

This is our dance, this is our high
It's not a secret, can't you see
Why can't we all live in ecstasy

Ecstasy.....Ecstasy
Why can't we all
Live in Ecstasy.

Enough For Today

Dance rehearsals can go on past midnight, but this time I stopped at ten. "I hope you don't mind," I said,
looking up into space, "but that's enough for today."

A voice from the control room spoke. "You okay?"

"A little tired, I guess," I said.

I slipped on a windbreaker and headed down the hall. Running footsteps came up behind me. I was pretty
sure who they belonged to. "I know you too well," she said, catching up with me. "What's really wrong?"

I hesitated. "Well, I don't know how this sounds, but I saw a picture today in the papers. A dolphin had
drowned in a fishing net. From the way its body was tangled in the lines, you could read so much agony. Its
eyes were vacant, yet there was still that smile, the one dolphins never lose, even when they die..." My voice
trailed off.

She put her hand lightly in mine. "I know, I know."

"No, you don't know all of it yet. It's not just that I felt sad, or had to face the fact that an innocent being had
died. Dolphins love to dance....of all the creatures in the sea, that's their mark. Asking nothing from us, they
cavort in the waves while we marvel. They race ahead of ships, not to get there first but to tell us, 'It's all
meant to be play. Keep to your course, but dance while you do it.' "So there I was, in the middle of rehearsal,
and I thought, 'They're killing a dance.' And then it seemed only right to stop. I can't keep the dance from
being killed, but at least I can pause in memory, as one dancer to another. Does that make any sense?"

Her eyes were tender. "Sure, in its way. Probably we'll wait years before everyone agrees on how to solve
this thing. So many interests are involved. But it's too frustrating waiting for improvements tomorrow. Your
heart wanted to have its say now."

"Yes," I said, pushing the door open for her. "I just had this feeling, and that's enough for today."

God

It's strange that God doesn't mind expressing Himself / Herself in all the religions of the world, while
people still cling to the notion that their way is the only right way. Whatever you try to say about
God, someone will take offense, even if you say everyone's love of God is right for them.

For me the form God takes is not the most important thing. What's most important is the essence.
My songs and dances are outlines for Him to come in and fill. I hold out the form. She puts in the
sweetness.

I've looked up at the night sky and beheld the stars so intimately close, it was as if my grandmother
had made them for me. "How rich, how sumptuous," I thought. In that moment I saw God in His
creation. I could as easily have seen Her in the beauty of a rainbow, the grace of a deer bounding
through a meadow, the truth of a father's kiss. But for me the sweetest contact with God has no
form. I close my eyes, look within, and enter a deep soft silence. The infinity of God's creation
embraces me. We are one.

Heal The World
Han Gan The Gioi

There's a place in your heart
And I know that it is love
And this place could be much brighter
than tomorrow.
And if you really try
You'll find there's no need to cry
In this place I feel there's no hurt or sorrow.

There are ways to get there
If you care enough for the living
Make a little space
Make a better place.
Heal the world
Make it a better place
For you and for me
And the entire human race

There are people dying
If you care enough for the living
Make a better place
For you and for me.

If you want to know why
There's a love that cannot lie
Love is strong
It cares for only joyful giving
If we try, we shall see
In this bliss we cannot feel
Fear or dread

Then we just stop existing and start living
Then it feels that always
Love's enough for us growing
Make a better world
Make a better world.
Heal the world
Make it a better place
For you and for me
And the entire human race

There are people dying
If you care enough for the living
Make a better place for you and for me.

And the dream we were conceived in
Will reveal its joyful face
And the world we once believed in
Will shine again in grace

Then why do we keep strangling life
Wound this earth, crucify its soul
Tho it's plain to see
This world is heavenly
We could be God's glow.
We could fly so high
Let our spirits never die
In my heart I feel you are all my brothers

Create a world with no fear
Together we'll cry happy tears
So that nations turn their swords into plowshares
We could really get there
If you cared enough for the living
Make a little space
To make a better place

Heal the world
Make it a better place
For you and for me
And the entire human race
There are people dying
If you care enough for the living
Make a better place for
You and for me
Heal the world
Make it a better place
For you and for me
And the entire human race

There are people dying
If you care enough for the living
Make a better place
For you and for me

Heal the world
Make it a better place
For you and for me
And the entire human race
There are people dying
If you care enough for the living
Make a better place
For you and for me.

There are people dying
If you care enough for the living
Make a better place
For you and for me
For you and for me
For you and for me
For you and for me
For you and for me
You and for me
You and for me

Heaven Is Here

You and I were never separate
It's just an illusion
Wrought by the magical lens of
Perception

There is only one Wholeness
Only one Mind
We are like ripples
In the vast Ocean of Consciousness

Come, let us dance
The Dance of Creation
Let us celebrate
The Joy of Life

The birds, the bees
The infinite galaxies
Rivers, Mountains
Clouds and Valleys
Are all a pulsating pattern
Living, breathing
Alive with cosmic energy

Full of Life, of Joy
This Universe of Mine
Don't be afraid
To know who you are
You are much more
Than you ever imagined

You are the Sun
You are the Moon
You are the wildflower in bloom
You are the Life-throb
That pulsates, dances
From a speck of dust
To the most distant star

And you and I
Were never separate
It's just an illusion
Wrought by the magical lens of
Perception

Let us celebrate
The Joy of Life
Let us dance
The Dance of Creation

Curving back within ourselves
We create
Again and again
Endless cycles come and go
We rejoice
In the infinitude of Time

There never was a time
When I was not
Or you were not
There never will be a time
When we will cease to be

Infinite....Unbounded
In the Ocean of Consciousness
We are like ripples
In the Sea of Bliss

You and I were never separate
It's just an illusion
Wrought by the magical lens of
Perception

Heaven is Here
Right now is the moment
of Eternity
Don't fool yourself
Reclaim your Bliss

Once you were lost
But now you're home
In a non-local Universe
There is nowhere to go
From Here to Here
Is the Unbounded
Ocean of Consciousness
We are like ripples
In the Sea of Bliss

Come, let us dance
The Dance of Creation
Let us celebrate
The Joy of Life

And
You and I were never separate
It's just an illusion
Wrought by the magical lens of Perception

Heaven is Here
Right now, this moment of Eternity
Don't fool yourself
Reclaim your Bliss

How I Make Music

People ask me how I make music. I tell them I just step into it. It's like stepping into a
river and joining the flow. Every moment in the river has its song. So I stay in the
moment and listen.

What I hear is never the same. A walk through the woods brings a light crackling song
: Leaves rustle in the wind, birds chatter and squirrels scold, twigs crunch underfoot,
and the beat of my heart holds it all together. When you join the flow, the music is
inside and outside, and both are the same. As long as I can listen to the moment,
I'll always have music.

I Searched For My Own Star

When I was little, I used to lie on my back in the grass at night. I began to tell
one star from another and wished that one of them could be mine, like an imaginary friend.

First I picked the Pole Star, because it is the easiest for a child to find, once you
know that the Big Dipper is about to catch it. But I wanted my star to be a moving
star, and not such a constant one. Besides, the sailors at sea would be lost without the Pole Star to guide them.

Next I picked out two special stars in the heart of the Swan. All the other stars looked white - but
these were bright blue and gold. They reminded me of twin jewels, but before I could choose, I
stopped. They belonged to each other, and it wouldn't be fair to take just one.

Orion's belt caught my eye for a moment, but I'm not a hunter. I had better leave the Dog Star
alone, too, with its nose pressed to the celestial trail and its tail thumping the sky.

Last of all I turned to my favorites, the Seven Sisters. To me they were like elegant ladies getting
ready for a ball, wrapped in a gossamer blue cloud. But who has the heart to tear seven sisters
apart?

My game taught me a lot about the night sky, but I was growing up. The whole idea of having my
own star faded, and it was hard to remember if I had ever chosen one in the end. People began to
tell me that the word "star" meant something quite different. I half believed them, then one night I
was tossing in bed, hurt and worried. My heart felt heavy with troubles. Stumbling to my feet, I
looked out the window. Thick clouds masked the midnight sky. No stars!

I trembled to think of a world without stars. No guide for the sailor to trust at sea, no jewels to
dazzle our sense of beauty, no hunter pointing to the next horizon, no lovely ladies trailing perfume
to heaven's ballroom. But all around the globe, the air is so dirty and the lights from the cities are
so bright that for some people few stars can be seen anymore. A generation of children may grow
up seeing a blank sky and asking, "Did there used to be stars there?"

Let's give them back the sky and let's do it now - before it's too late. I'm going to search for my star
until I find it. It's hidden in the drawer of innocence, wrapped in a scarf of wonder. I'll need a map to
tell me which hole it should fill, and that will be a small one. But there are nearly five billion of us on
earth, and we all need the sky. Find your star and throw it up to heaven. You still have it, don't you?

I You We

I said you had to do it. You said you didn't want to. We talked about it, and we agreed that maybe I
could help.
I said you were wrong. You insisted you were right. We held each other's hand, and right and
wrong disappeared.
I began crying. You began crying, too. We embraced, and between us grew a flower of peace.
How I love this mystery called We! Where does it come from, out of thin air? I thought about this
mystery, and I realized something : We must be love's favorite child, because until I reach out for
you, We is not even there. It arrives on the wings of tenderness : it speaks through our silent
understanding. When I laugh at myself, it smiles. When I forgive you, it dances in jubilation.
So We is not a choice anymore, not if you and I want to grow with one another. We unites us,
increases our strength; it picks up our burden when you and I are ready to let it fall. The truth is that
you and I would have given up long ago, but We won't let us. It is too wise. "Look into your hearts,"
it says. "What do you see? Not you and I, but only We."

Innocence

It's easy to mistake being innocent for being simpleminded or naive. We all want to seem
sophisticated; we all want to seem street-smart. To be innocent is to be "out of it."

Yet there is a deep truth in innocence. A baby looks in his mother's eyes, and all he sees is love.
As innocence fades away, more complicated things take its place. We think we need to outwit
others and scheme to get what we want. We begin to spend a lot of energy protecting ourselves.
Then life turns into a struggle. People have no choice but to be street-smart. How else can they
survive?

When you get right down to it, survival means seeing things the way they really are and
responding. It means being open. And that's what innocence is. It's simple and trusting like a child,
not judgmental and committed to one narrow point of view. If you are locked into a pattern of
thinking and responding, your creativity gets blocked. You miss the freshness and magic of the
moment. Learn to be innocent again, and that freshness never fades.

Look Again, Baby Seal

One of the most touching nature photographs is of a baby fur seal lying on the ice alone. I'm sure you have
seen it -- the picture seems to be all eyes, the trusting dark eyes of a small animal gazing up at the camera
and into your heart. When I first looked at them, the eyes asked, "Are you going to hurt me?" I knew the
answer was yes, because thousands of baby seals were being killed every year.

Many people were touched by one baby seal's helplessness. They gave money to save the seals, and public
awareness started to shift. As I returned to the picture, those two wide eyes began to say something
different. Now they asked, "Do you know me?" This time I didn't feel so much heartache as when I felt the
violence man inflicts upon animals. But I realized that there was still a big gap. How much did I really know
about life on earth? What responsibility did I feel for creatures outside my little space? How could I lead my
life so that every cell of living matter was also benefited?

Everyone who began to wonder about these things found, I think, that their feelings were shifting away from
fear toward more closeness with life as a whole. The beauty and wonder of life began to seem very
personal; the possibility of making the planet a garden for all of us to grow in began to dawn. I looked into
the eyes of the baby seal, and for the first time they smiled. "Thank you," they said. "You have given me
hope."

Is that enough? Hope is such a beautiful word, but it often seems very fragile. Life is still being needlessly
hurt and destroyed. The image of one baby seal alone on the ice or one baby girl orphaned in war is still
frightening in its helplessness. I realized that nothing would finally save life on earth but trust in life itself, in
its power to heal, in its ability to survive our mistakes and welcome us back when we learn to correct those
mistakes.

With these thoughts in my heart, I looked at the picture again. The seal's eyes seemed much deeper now,
and I saw something in them that I had missed before: unconquerable strength. "You have not hurt me," they
said. "I am not one baby alone. I am life, and life can never be killed. It is the power that brought me forth
from the emptiness of space; it cared for me and nourished my existence against all dangers. I am safe
because I am that power. And so are you. Be with me, and let us feel the power of life together, as one
creature here on earth."

Baby seal, forgive us. Look at us again and again to see how we are doing. Those men who raise their clubs
over you are also fathers and brothers and sons. They have loved and cared for others. One day they will
extend that love to you. Be sure of it and trust.

Love

Love is a funny thing to describe. It's so easy to feel and yet so slippery to talk about. It's like a bar
of soap in the bathtub -- you have it in your hand until you hold on too tight.

Some people spend their lives looking for love outside themselves. They think they have to grasp it
in order to have it. But loves slips away like that wet bar of soap.

Holding on to love is not wrong, but you need to learn to hold it lightly, caressingly. Let it fly when it
wants. When it's allowed to be free, love is what makes life alive, joyful, and new. It's the juice and
energy that motivates my music, my dancing, everything. As long as love is in my heart, it's
everywhere.

Magic

My idea of magic doesn't have much to do with stage tricks and illusions. The whole world
abounds in magic. When a whale plunges out of the sea like a newborn mountain, you gasp in
unexpected delight. What magic! But a toddler who sees his first tadpole flashing in a mud puddle
feels the same thrill. Wonder fills his heart, because he has glimpsed for an instant the playfulness
of life.

When I see the clouds whisked away from a snow-capped peak, I feel like shouting, "Bravo!"
Nature, the best of all magicians, has delivered another thrill. She has exposed the real illusion, our
inability to be amazed by her wonders. Every time the sun rises, Nature is repeating one
command: "Behold!" Her magic is infinitely lavish, and in return all we have to do is appreciate it.

What delight Nature must feel when she makes stars out of swirling gas and empty space. She
flings them like spangles from a velvet cape, a billion reasons for us to awaken in pure joy. When
we open our hearts and appreciate all she has given us, Nature finds her reward. The sound of
applause rolls across the universe, and she bows.

Magical Child, Part 1

Once there was a child and he was free
Deep inside, he felt the laughter
The mirth and play of nature's glee
He was not troubled by thoughts of hereafter
Beauty, love was all he'd see

He knew his power was the power of God
He was so sure, they considered him odd
This power of innocence, of compassion, of light
Threatened the priests and created a fright
In endless ways they sought to dismantle
This mysterious force which they could not handle

In endless ways they tried to destroy
His simple trust, his boundless joy
His invincible armor was a shield of bliss
Nothing could touch it, no venom, no hiss

The child remained in a state of grace
He wasn't confined in time or place
In Technicolor dreams, he frolicked and played
While acting his part, in Eternity he stayed

Soothsayers came and fortunes were told
Some were vehement, others were bold
In denouncing this child, this perplexing creature
With the rest of the world he shared no feature
Is he real? He is so strange
His unpredictable nature knows no range
He puzzles us so, is he straight?
What's his destiny? What's his fate?

And while they whispered and conspired
Through endless rumors to get him tired
To kill his wonder, trample him near
Burn his courage, fuel his fear
The child remained just simple, sincere

All he wanted was the mountain high
Color the clouds, paint the sky
Beyond these boundaries, he wanted to fly
In nature's scheme, never to die

Don't stop this child, he's the father of man
Don't cross his way, he's part of the plan
I am that Child, but so are you
You've just forgotten, just lost the clue

Inside your heart sits a Seer
Between his thoughts, he can hear
A melody simple but wondrously clear
The music of life, so precious, so dear

If you could for one moment know
This spark of creation, this exquisite glow
You would come and dance with me
Kindle this fire so we could see
All the children of the Earth
Weave their magic and give new birth
To a world of freedom with no pain
A world of joy, much more sane

Deep inside, you know it's true
Just find that child, it's hiding in you.

Magical Child, Part 2

Magical child once felt a twinge
A faint recollection, a memory unhinged
In the colors, the forms, the hue
There seemed a mystery with a subtle clue
Behind the wind, the storm, the gale
Within the shroud, beyond the veil
Hidden from view in a wondrous pattern
There seemed a force that he could not fathom
Its music and cadence were playful and sweet
He danced in bliss to its throbbing beat
He did not mind either cold or heat
On the mountain high was his royal seat

Strangers came and scorned his joy
With ridicule and banter they tried to destroy
What in their minds was a skillful play
With cruel darts they tried to plunder
To suffocate and strangle his innocent wonder
Fighting hard, despite their blunder
Again and again to steal his thunder
Despite their attacks, they could not break
With all their barbs they could not take
God's gift of love, which they could not fake
Not knowing his strength or what he sought to seek
They complained aloud and called him a freak

But the mysterious force just kept its hold
Magical child grew brave and bold
Diving deep into his soul
In exquisite ecstasy he discovered his role
In his Self was infinite scope
This mysterious force was mankind's hope
Piercing through that mask of Being
In that silence beyond all seeing
Was a field with a different story
A field of power, of awesome glory
With other children, if unfurled
Its tidal wave would change the world

Magical child was ready to bow
Sow the seed, pick up the plough
With effortless ease, without a sigh
Without a tear, without a cry
With silent perfection
Under God's direction
To sing together as one race
Stem the tide, transform this place
Magical children, don't worry how
Don't delay, this moment's now.

Mark Of The Ancients

He had lived in the desert all his life, but for me it was all new. "See that footprint in the sand?" he asked,
pointing to a spot by the cliff. I looked as close as I could. "No, I don't see anything."

"That's just the point." He laughed. "Where you can't see a print, that's where the Ancient Ones walked."

We went on a little farther, and he pointed to an opening, high up on the sandstone wall. "See that house up
there?" he asked. I squinted hard. "There's nothing to see."

"You're a good student." He smiled. "Where there's no roof or chimney, that's where the Ancient Ones are
most likely to have lived."

We rounded a bend, and before us was spread a fabulous sight -- thousands upon thousands of desert
flowers in bloom. "Can you see any missing?" he asked me. I shook my head. "It's just wave after wave of
loveliness."

"Yes," he said in a low voice. "Where nothing is missing, that's where the Ancient Ones harvested the most."

I thought about all this, about how generations had once lived in harmony with the earth, leaving no marks to
scar the places they inhabited. At camp that night I said, "You left out one thing."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Where are the Ancient Ones buried?"

Without reply, he poked his stick into the fire. A bright flame shot up, licked the air, and disappeared. My
teacher gave me a glance to ask if I understood this lesson. I sat very still, and my silence told him I did.

Mother Earth

I was walking along the beach one winter day. Looking down, I saw a wave push a feather up on the sand.
It was a sea gull feather stained with oil. I picked it up and felt the dark slick film on my fingers. I couldn't
help wondering if the bird had survived. Was it all right out there? I knew it wasn't.

I felt sad to think how carelessly we treat our home. The earth we all share is not just a rock tossed through
space but a living, nurturing being. She cares for us; she deserves our care in return. We've been treating
Mother Earth the way some people treat a rental apartment. Just trash it and move on.

But there's no place to move on to now. We have brought our garbage and our wars and our racism to every
part of the world. We must begin to clean her up, and that means cleaning up our own hearts and minds first,
because they led us to poison our dear planet. The sooner we change, the easier it will be to feel our love for
Mother Earth and the love she so freely gives back to us.

Mother

Eons of time I've been gestating
To take a form been hesitating
From the unmanifest this cosmic conception
On this earth a fantastic reception
And then one fateful August morn
From your being I was born
With tender love you nurtured a seed
To your own distress you paid no heed
Unmindful of any risk and danger
You decided upon this lonely stranger

Rainbows, clouds, the deep blue sky
Glittering birds that fly on high
Out of fragments you've made my whole
From the elements you fashioned my soul
Mother dear, you gave me life
Because of you, no struggle or strife
You gave me joy and position
Cared for me without condition
And if I ever change this world
It's from the emotions you've unfurl'd
Your compassion is so sweet and dear
Your finest feelings I can hear
I can sense your faintest notion
The wondrous magic of your love potion

And now that I have come so far
Met with every king and czar
Encountered every color and creed
Of every passion, every greed
I go back to that starry night
With not a fear for muscle or might
You taught me how to stand and fight
For every single wrong and right
Every day without a hold
I will treasure what you've mold
I will remember every kiss
Your sweet words I'll never miss
No matter where I go from here
You're in my heart, my mother dear

On children Of The World

We have to heal our wounded world. The chaos, despair, and senseless destruction we see today
are a result of the alienation that people feel from each other and their environment. Often this
alienation has its roots in an emotionally deprived childhood. Children have had their childhood
stolen from them. A child's mind need the nourishment of mystery, magic, wonder, and
excitement. I want my work to help people rediscover the child that's hiding in them.

Once We Were There

Before the beginning, before the violence
Before the anguish of the broken silence
A thousand longings, never uttered
Pangs of sorrow, brutally smothered

But I have chosen to break and be free
Cut those ties, so I can see
Those bonds that imprisoned me in memories of pain
Those judgments, interpretations that cluttered my brain

Those festering wounds that lingered have gone
In their place a new life has dawned
That lonely child, still clutching his toy
Has made his peace, discovered his joy

Where time is not, immortality's clear
Where love abounds, there is no fear
The child has grown to weave his magic
Left behind
His life of sorrow, once so tragic

He is now, ready to share
Ready to love, ready to care
Unfold his heart, with nothing to spare
Join him now, if you dare.

Planet Earth

Planet Earth, my home, my place
A capricious anomaly in the sea of space
Planet Earth are you just
Floating by, a cloud of dust
A minor globe, about to bust
A piece of metal bound to rust
A speck of matter in a mindless void
A lonely spaceship, a large asteroid

Cold as a rock without a hue
Held together with a bit of glue
Something tells me this isn't true
You are my sweetheart, soft and blue
Do you care, have you a part
In the deepest emotions of my own heart
Tender with breezes, caressing and whole
Alive with music, haunting my soul.

In my veins I've felt the mystery
Of corridors of time, books of history
Life songs of ages throbbing in my blood
Have danced the rhythm of the tide and flood
Your misty clouds, your electric storm
Were turbulent tempests in my own form
I've licked the salt, the bitter, the sweet
Of every encounter, of passion, of heat
Your riotous color, your fragrance, your taste
Have thrilled my senses beyond all haste
In your beauty, I've known the how
Of timeless bliss, this moment of now

Planet Earth are you just
Floating by, a cloud of dust
A minor globe, about to bust
A piece of metal bound to rust
A speck of matter in a mindless void
A lonely spaceship, a large asteroid

Cold as a rock without a hue
Held together with a bit of glue
Something tells me this isn't true
You are my sweetheart gentle and blue
Do you care, have you a part
In the deepest emotions of my own heart
Tender with breezes, caressing and whole
Alive with music, haunting my soul.

Planet Earth, gentle and blue
With all my heart, I love you.

Quantum Leap

I looked for you in hill and dale
I sought for you beyond the pale
I searched for you in every nook and cranny
My probing was at times uncanny
But everywhere I looked I found
I was just going round and round
In every storm, in every gale
I could hear your silent tale

You appeared wherever I went
In every taste, in every scent
I thought I was in a trance
In every quiver I felt your dance
In every sight I saw your glance
You were there, as if by chance

Even so, I have faltered
Despite the fact, my life has altered
All my doubts were struggles in vain
Of judgments made in memories of pain
Only now, by letting go
I can bask in your glow
No matter where I stray or flow
I see the splendor of your show
In every drama I am the actor
In every experience the timeless factor

In every dealing, every deed
You are there, as the seed
I know now, for I have seen
What could have happened could have been
There is no need to try so hard
For in your sleeve you hold the card
For every fortune, every fame
The Kingdom's here for us to claim
In every fire, every hearth
There's a spark gives new birth

To all those songs never sung
All those longings in hearts still young
Beyond all hearing, beyond all seeing
In the core of your Being
Is a field that spans infinity
Unbounded pure is the embryo of divinity
If we could for one moment BE
In an instant we would see
A world where no one has suffered or toiled
Of pristine beauty never soiled
Of sparkling waters, singing skies
Of hills and valleys where no one dies

That enchanted garden, that wondrous place
Where we once frolicked in times of grace
In ourselves a little deep
In that junkyard in that heap
Beneath that mound of guilt and sorrow
Is the splendor of another tomorrow
If you still have promises to keep
Just take that plunge, take that leap.

Ryan White

Ryan White, symbol of justice
Or child of innocence, messenger of love
Where are you now, where have you gone?

Ryan White, I miss your sunny days
We carelessly frolicked in extended plays

I miss you, Ryan White
I miss your smile, innocent and bright
I miss your glory, I miss your light

Ryan White, symbol of contradiction
Child of Irony, of child of fiction?

I think of your shattered life
Of your struggle, of your strife

While ladies dance in the moonlit night
Champagne parties on chartered cruises
I see your wasted form, your ghostly sight
I feel your festering wounds, your battered bruises

Ryan White, symbol of agony and pain
Of ignorant fear gone insane
In a hysterical society
With free-floating anxiety
And feigned piety

I miss you, Ryan White
You showed us how to stand and fight
In the rain you were a cloudburst of joy
The sparkle of hope in every girl and boy

In the depths of your anguished sorrow
Was the dream of another tomorrow.

So The Elephants March

A curious fact about elephants is this: In order to survive, they mustn't fall down. Every other animal
can stumble and get back up again. But an elephant always stands up, even to sleep. If one of the
herd slips and falls, it is helpless. It lies on its side, a prisoner of its own weight. Although the other
elephants will press close around it in distress and try to lift it up again, there isn't usually much
they can do. With slow heaving breaths, the fallen elephant dies. The others stand vigil, then slowly
move on.

This is what I learned from nature books, but I wonder if they are right. Isn't there another reason
why elephants can't fall down? Perhaps they have decided not to. Not to fall down is their mission.
As the wisest and most patient of the animals, they made a pact -- I imagine it was eons ago,
when the ice ages were ending. Moving in great herds across the face of the earth, the elephants
first spied tiny men prowling the tall grasses with their flint spears.
"What fear and anger this creature has," the elephants thought. "But he is going to inherit the earth.
We are wise enough to see that. Let us set an example for him."

Then the elephants put their grizzled heads together and pondered. What kind of example could
they show to man? They could show him that their power was much greater that his, for that was
certainly true. They could display their anger before him, which was terrible enough to uproot whole
forests. Or they could lord it over man through fear, trampling his fields and crushing his huts.
In moments of great frustration, wild elephants will do all of these things, but as a group, putting
their heads together, they decided that man would learn best from a kinder message.

"Let us show him our reverence for life," they said. And from that day on, elephants have been
silent, patient, peaceful creatures. They let men ride them and harness them like slaves. They
permit children to laugh at their tricks in the circus, exiled from the great African plains where they
once lived as lords.
But the elephants' most important message is in their movement. For they know that to live is to
move. Dawn after dawn, age after age, the herds march on, one great mass of life that never falls
down, an unstoppable force of peace.

Innocent animals, they do not suspect that after all this time, they will fall from a bullet by the
thousands. They will lie in the dust, mutilated by our shameless greed. The great males fall first, so
that their tusks can be made into trinkets. Then the females fall, so that men may have trophies.
The babies run screaming from the smell of their own mothers' blood, but it does them no good to
run from the guns. Silently, with no one to nurse them, they will die, too, and all their bones bleach
in the sun.

In the midst of so much death, the elephants could just give up. All they have to do is drop to the
ground. That is enough. They don't need a bullet: Nature has given them the dignity to lie down and
find their rest. But they remember their ancient pact and their pledge to us, which is sacred.
So the elephants march on, and every tread beats out words in the dust: "Watch, learn, love.
Watch, learn, love." Can you hear them? One day in shame, the ghosts of ten thousand lords of
the plains will say, "We do not hate you. Don't you see at last? We were willing to fall, so that you,
dear small ones, will never fall again."

That One In The Mirror

I wanted to change the world, so I got up one morning and looked in the mirror. That one looking back said,
"There is not much time left. The earth is wracked with pain. Children are starving. Nations remain divided
by mistrust and hatred. Everywhere the air and water have been fouled almost beyond help. Do something!"

That one in the mirror felt very angry and desperate. Everything looked like a mess, a tragedy, a disaster. I
decided he must be right. Didn't I feel terrible about these things, too, just like him? The planet was being
used up and thrown away. Imagining earthly life just one generation from now made me feel panicky.

It was not hard to find the good people who wanted to solve the earth's problems. As I listened to their
solutions, I thought, "There is so much good will here, so much concern." At night before going to bed, that
one in the mirror looked back at me seriously, "Now we'll get somewhere," he declared. "If everybody does
their part."

But everybody didn't do their part. Some did, but were they stopping the tide? Were pain, starvation, hatred,
and pollution about to be solved? Wishing wouldn't make it so -- I knew that. When I woke up the next
morning, that one in the mirror looked confused. "Maybe it's hopeless," he whispered.. Then a sly look came
into his eyes, and he shrugged. "But you and I will survive. At least we are doing all right."

I felt strange when he said that. There was something very wrong here. A faint suspicion came to me, one
that had never dawned so clearly before. What if that one in the mirror isn't me? He feels separate. He sees
problems "out there" to be solved. Maybe they will be, maybe they won't. He'll get along. But I don't feel that
way -- those problems aren't "out there," not really. I feel them inside me. A child crying in Ethiopia, a sea
gull struggling pathetically in an oil spill, a mountain gorilla being mercilessly hunted, a teenage soldier
trembling with terror when he hears the planes fly over : Aren't these happening in me when I see and hear
about them?

The next time I looked in the mirror, that one looking back had started to fade. It was only an image after all.
It showed me a solitary person enclosed in a neat package of skin and bones. "Did I once think you were
me?" I began to wonder. I am not so separate and afraid. The pain of life touches me, but the joy of life is so
much stronger. And it alone will heal. Life is the healer of life, and the most I can do for the earth is to be its
loving child.

That one in the mirror winced and squirmed. He hadn't thought so much about love. Seeing "problems" was
much easier, because love means complete self-honesty. Ouch!

"Oh, friend," I whispered to him, "do you think anything can solve problems without love?" That one in the
mirror wasn't sure. Being alone for so long, not trusting others and being trusted by others, it tended to
detach itself from the reality of life. "Is love more real than pain?" he asked.

"I can't promise that it is. But it might be. Let's discover," I said. I touched the mirror with a grin. "Let's not
be alone again. Will you be my partner? I hear a dance starting up. Come." That one in the mirror smiled
shyly. He was realizing we could be best friends. We could be more peaceful, more loving, more honest with
each other every day.

Would that change the world? I think it will, because Mother Earth wants us to be happy and to love her as
we tend her needs. She needs fearless people on her side, whose courage comes from being part of her, like
a baby who is brave enough to walk because Mother is holding out her arms to catch him. When that one in
the mirror is full of love for me and for him, there is no room for fear. When we were afraid and panicky, we
stopped loving this life of ours and this earth. We disconnected. Yet how can anybody rush to help the earth
if they feel disconnected? Perhaps the earth is telling us what she wants, and by not listening, we fall back on
our own fear and panic.

One thing I know : I never feel alone when I am earth's child. I do not have to cling to my personal survival
as long as I realize, day by day, that all of life is in me. The children and their pain; the children and their joy.
The ocean swelling under the sun; the ocean weeping with black oil. The animals hunted in fear; the animals
bursting with the sheer joy of being alive.

This sense of "the world in me" is how I always want to feel. That one in the mirror has his doubts
sometimes. So I am tender with him. Every morning I touch the mirror and whisper, "Oh, friend, I hear a
dance. Will you be my partner? Come."

The Boy And The Pillow

A wise father wanted to teach his young son a lesson. "Here is a pillow covered in silk brocade and
stuffed with the rarest goose down in the land," he said. "Go to town and see what it will fetch."
First the boy went to the marketplace, where he saw a wealthy feather merchant. "What will you
give me for this pillow?" he asked. The merchant narrowed his eyes. "I will give you fifty gold
ducats, for I see that this is a rare treasure indeed."
The boy thanked him and went on. Next he saw a farmer's wife peddling vegetables by the side of
the road. "What will you give me for this pillow?" he asked. She felt it and exclaimed, "How soft it is!
I'll give you one piece of silver, for I long to lay my weary head on such a pillow."

The boy thanked her and walked on. Finally he saw a young peasant girl washing the steps of a
church. "What will you give me for this pillow?" he asked. Looking at him with a strange smile, she
replied, "I'll give you a penny, for I can see that your pillow is hard compared to these stones."
Without hesitation, the boy laid the pillow at her feet.
When he got home, he said to his father, "I have gotten the best price for your pillow." And he held
out the penny.
"What?" his father exclaimed. "That pillow was worth a hundred gold ducats at least."

"That's what a wealthy merchant saw," the boy said, "but being greedy, he offered me fifty. I got a
better offer than that. A farmer's wife offered me one piece of silver."
"Are you mad?" his father said. "When is one piece of silver worth more than fifty gold ducats?"
"When it's offered out of love," the boy replied. "If she had given me more, she wouldn't have been
able to feed her children. Yet I got a better offer than that. I saw a peasant girl washing the steps of
a church who offered me this penny."

"You have lost your wits completely," his father said, shaking his head. "When is a penny worth
more than one piece of silver?"
"When it's offered out of devotion," the boy replied. "For she was laboring for her Lord, and the
steps of His house seemed softer than any pillow. Poorer than the poorest, she still had time for
God. And that is why I offered her the pillow."
At this the wise father smiled and embraced his son, and with a tear in his eye he murmured, "You
have learned well."

The Elusive Shadow

Even tho I traveled far
The door to my soul stayed ajar
In the agony of mortal fear
Your music I did not hear
Thru twisting roads in memory lane
I bore my cross in pain

It was a journey of madness
Of anguish born in sadness
I wandered high and low
Recoiled from every blow
Looking for that stolen nectar
In my heart that long-lost scepter
In all those haunted faces
I searched for my oasis

In a way it was in a drunken craze
A cruel hysteria, a blurry haze
Many a time I tried to break
This shadow following me I could not shake
Many a time in the noisy crowd
In the hustle and bustle of the din so loud
I peered behind to see its trace
I could not lose it in any place

It was only when I broke all ties
After the stillness of the shrieking cries
In the depths of those heaving sighs
The imagined sorrow of a thousand lies
I suddenly stared in your fiery eyes
All at once I found my goal
The elusive shadow was my soul.

The Fish That Was Thirsty

One night a baby fish was sleeping under some coral when God appeared to him in a dream. "I
want you to go forth with a message to all the fish in the sea," God said.

"What should I tell them?" the little fish asked.

"Just tell them you're thirsty," God replied. "And see what they do." Then without another word, He
disappeared.

The next morning the little fish woke up and remembered his dream. "What a strange thing God
wants me to do," he thought to himself. But as soon as he saw a large tuna swimming by, the little
fish piped up, "Excuse me, but I'm thirsty."

"Then you must be a fool," then tuna said. And with a disdainful flick of his tail, he swam away.

The little fish did feel rather foolish, but he had his orders. The next fish he saw was a grinning
shark. Keeping a safe distance, the little fish called out, "Excuse me, sir, but I'm thirsty."

"Then you must be crazy," the shark replied. Noticing a rather hungry look in the shark's eye, the
little fish swam away quickly.

All day he met cod and mackerels and swordfish and groupers, but every time he made his short
speech, they turned their backs and would have nothing to do with him. Feeling hopelessly
confused, the little fish sought out the wisest creature in the sea, who happened to be an old blue
whale with three harpoon scars on his side.

"Excuse me, but I'm thirsty!" the little fish shouted, wondering if the old whale could even see him,
he was such a tiny speck. But the wise one stopped in his tracks. "You've seen God, haven't you?"
he said.

"How did you know?"

"Because I was thirsty once, too." The old whale laughed.

The little fish looked very surprised. "Please tell me what this message from God means," he
implored.

"It means that we are looking for Him in the wrong places," the old whale explained. "We look high
and low for God, but somehow He's not there. So we blame Him and tell ourselves that He must
have forgotten us. Or else we decide that He left a long time ago, if He was ever around."

"How strange," the little fish said, "to miss what is everywhere."

"Very strange," the old whale agreed. "Doesn't it remind you of fish who say they're thirsty?"

The Last Tear

Your words stabbed my heart, and I cried tears of pain. "Get out!" I shouted. "These are the last
tears I'll ever cry for you." So you left.
I waited hours, but you didn't return. That night by myself I cried tears of frustration.
I waited weeks, but you had nothing to say. Thinking of your voice, I cried tears of loneliness.
I waited months, but you left no sign for me. In the depths of my heart, I cried tears of despair.

How strange that all these tears could not wash away the hurt! Then one thought of love pierced
my bitterness. I remembered you in the sunlight, with a smile as sweet as May wine. A tear of
gratitude started to fall, and miraculously, you were back. Soft fingers touched my cheek, and bent
over for a kiss.
"Why have you come?" I whispered.
"To wipe away your last tear," you replied. "It was the one you saved for me."

Trust

As I was feeding squirrels in the park, I noticed a small one that didn't seem to trust me. While the
others came close enough to eat out of my hand, he kept his distance. I threw a peanut his way.
He edged up, grabbed it nervously, and ran off. Next time he must have felt less afraid, because he
came a little closer. The safer he felt, the more he trusted me. Finally he sat right at my feet, as
bold as any squirrel clamoring for the next peanut.

Trust is like that -- it always seems to come down to trusting in yourself. Others can't overcome
fear for you; you have to do it on your own. It's hard, because fear and doubt hold on tight. We are
afraid of being rejected, of being hurt once more. So we keep a safe distance. We think separating
ourselves from others will protect us, but that doesn't work, either. It leaves us feeling alone and
unloved.

Trusting yourself begins by recognizing that it's okay to be afraid. Having fear is not the problem,
because everyone feels anxious and insecure sometimes. The problem is not being honest
enough to admit your fear. Whenever I accept my own doubt and insecurity, I'm more open to other
people. The deeper I go into myself, the stronger I become, because I realize that my real self is
much bigger than any fear.

In accepting yourself completely, trust becomes complete. There is no longer any separation
between people, because there is no longer any separation inside. In the space where fear used to
live, love is allowed to grow.

Two Birds

It's hard to tell them what I feel for you. They haven't ever met you, and no one has your picture. So
how can they ever understand your mystery? Let's give them a clue:

Two birds sit in a tree. One eats cherries, while the other looks on. Two birds fly through the air.
One's song drops like crystal from the sky while the other keeps silent. Two birds wheel in the sun.
One catches the light on its silver feathers, while the other spreads wings of invisibility.

It's easy to guess which bird I am, but they'll never find you. Unless...

Unless they already know a love that never interferes, that watches from beyond, that breathes free
in the invisible air. Sweet bird, my soul, your silence is so precious. How long will it be before the
world hears your song in mine?

Oh, that is a day I hunger for!

When Babies Smile

When dreamers dream and kiss their lover
And rainbows weave and splash their color
Those are moments so gloriously alive
We take the plunge, take the dive
Into the abyss
We are suspended awhile
Those are moments when babies smile

Those are moments when fate is unsealed
Nothing is impossible and we are healed
We can soar, we can fly
Walk on fire, navigate the sky
In the light of a glittering star
There's no distance, nothing is far
Those are moments of innocent guile
In the glow
We are suspended awhile
Those are moments when babies smile

Those are moments when the heart is tender
When seascapes gleam in magnificent splendor
When the laughter of Heaven reverberates the Earth
And we are renewed in a new birth
In a timeless Eternity
In the angels' fraternity
We romp and roll
The playground of our soul
In the twilight
We are suspended awhile
Those are moments when babies smile

Those are moments we're one with God
All is well, nothing is odd
In silent reflection
We feel our perfection
We are the source, we are the crucible
Nothing can hurt us, for we are invincible
There is no sin, there is no sinner
We can only win, we have felt the glimmer
In the bliss
We're floating awhile
Those are moments when babies smile

Kingdoms topple, lose their class
Civilizations crumble, ages pass
Turbulent tempests ravage the seas
Violent killings, despite our pleas
But dewdrops sparkle when children play
Tyrants cry, there's nothing to slay
Fairies dance and goblins sing
All are crowned, all are king
In the Garden
We frolic awhile
Those are moments when babies smile

Will You Be There

Hold me like the River Jordan
And I will then say to thee
You are my friend
Carry me like you are my brother
Love me like a mother
Will you be there?

When weary tell me will you hold me?
When wrong, will you mold me?
When lost will you find me?
But they told me a man should be faithful
And walk when not able
And fight till the end
But I'm only human

Everyone's trying to control me
Seems that the world's got a role for me
I'm so confused
Will you show to me
You'll be there for me
And care enough to bear me?

Hold me, show me
Lay your head lowly
Gently and boldly
Carry me there
I'm only human

Carry, carry
Carry me boldly
Gently and slowly
Carry me there
I'm only human

Knead me
Love me and feed me
Kiss me and free me
And I will feel blessed

Lonely
When I'm cold and lonely
And needing you only
Will you still care?
Will you be there?

Save me
Heal me and bathe me
Softly you say to me
I will be there
But will you be there?

Hold me
Hug me and shield me
Touch me and heal me
I know you care
But will you be there?

Lonely
When I'm cold and lonely
(I get lonely sometimes, I get lonely)
And needing you only

Will you still care?
Will you be there?

Carry
Carry me boldly
Gently and slowly
Carry me there

Knead me
Love me and feed me
Kiss me and free me
And I will feel blessed

Call me
Save me and face me

Bless me and say to me
I will be there
I know you care

Save me
Heal me and bathe me
Softly you say to me
I will be there
But will you be there?

Feed me
Feed me and soothe me
When I'm lonely and hungry
Will you still share?
Will you still care?

Nurse me
Soothe me, don't leave me
When I'm hurting and bleeding

Bruised and bare
Will you still care?

Kiss me
Face me and kiss me
And when my heart is breaking
Will you still care?
Will you be here?

Lift me
Lift me up carefully
I'm weary and falling
I know you're there
But do you still care?

Wings Without Me

It was August, and I was looking up at the sky. With one hand shielding my eyes, I made out a falcon
soaring on the currents of hot swirling air. Higher and higher it spiraled, until with one unearthly shriek, it
disappeared.

All at once I felt left behind. "Why did you grow wings without me?" I mourned. Then my spirit said, "The
falcon's way is not the only way. Your thoughts are as free as any bird." So I shut my eyes and my spirit
took off, spiraling as high as the falcon and then beyond, so that I was looking down over the whole earth.
But something was wrong. Why did I feel so cold and alone?

"You grew wings without me," my heart said. "What good is freedom without love?" So I went quietly to the
bed of a sick child and sang him a lullaby. He fell asleep smiling, and my heart took off, joining my spirit as it
circled over the earth. I was free and loving, but still something was wrong.

"You grew wings without me," my body said. "Your flights are only imagination." So I looked into books that
I had ignored before and read about saints in every age who actually flew. In India, Persia, China, and Spain
(even in Los Angeles!), the power of spirit has reached, not just into the heart, but into every cell of the
body. "As if carried aloft by a great eagle," Saint Teresa said, "my ecstasy lifted me into the air."

I began to believe in this amazing feat, and for the first time, I didn't feel left behind. I was the falcon and the
child and the saint. In my eyes their lives became sacred, and the truth came home: When all life is seen as
divine, everyone grows wings.

Wise Little Girl

I know a wise little girl who cannot walk. She is confined to a wheelchair, and she may spend the
rest of her life there, since her doctors hold out almost no hope of ever making her paralyzed legs
better.

When I first met this little girl, she flashed me a smile that burned me with its blazing happiness.
How open she was! She wasn't hiding out from self-pity or asking for approval or protecting herself
from a sense of shame. She felt completely innocent about not being able to walk, like a puppy that
has no idea if it is a mongrel or a champion of the breed.

She made no judgments about herself. That was her wisdom.

I have seen the same wise look in other children, "poor" children as society sees them, because
they lack food, money, secure homes, or healthy bodies. By the time they reach a certain age,
many of these children grasp just how bad their situation is. The way that adults look at their lives
robs them of that first innocence that is so precious and rare. They begin to believe that they
should feel bad about themselves; that this is "right."

But this wise little girl, being only four, floated above pity and shame like a carefree sparrow. She
took my heart in her hands and made it as weightless as a cotton puff, so that it was impossible for
me to even begin to think, "What a terrible thing." All I saw was light and love. In their innocence,
very young children know themselves to be light and love. If we will allow them, they can teach us
to see ourselves the same way.

One sparkle from a little girl's gaze contains the same knowledge that Nature implants at the heart
of every life-form. It is life's silent secret, not to be put into words. It just knows. It knows peace and
how not to hurt. It knows that even the least breath is a gesture of gratitude to the Creator. It smiles
to be alive, waiting patiently for ages of ignorance and sorrow to pass away like a mirage.

I see this knowledge showing itself in the eyes of children more and more, which makes me think
that their innocence is growing stronger. They are going to disarm us adults, and that will be
enough to disarm the world. They feel no reason to spoil the environment, and so the environment
will be cleaned up without a quarrel. A wise little girl told me the future when she looked at me, so
full of peace and contentment. I rejoice in trusting her above all the experts. As light and love drive
away our guilt and shame, her prophecy must come true.

[모가JXN]

잉글리쉬ㄷㄷㄷ

[dear. michael]

으하하- 저 역시 소싯적에 마이클 덕분에 영어 공부 좀 했지요;ㅁ;

[『MJ유케』]

앗 ㅜ 언어의 장벽 ㄷㄷ....

[착한아이]

스크롤의 압박 -ㅁ-

[ariari]

와~ 감사합니다. 문워크는 한국판 읽었구, 영어판 기다리고 있어요. 댄싱더드림도 사서 읽었구요^^. 문워크 인쇄했습니다^^