At one end of the continuum known as history are first-time events that have generated notable measures of public recognition due to either a positive or negative impact.

Now come the whispers bearing bouquets of moonbeams and sunlight tremblings.

September 11, 2001: Citizens of the U.S., besieged by terror’s sting, rose up, weeping glory, as if on eagles’ wings.--from the poem Angel of Remembrance: Candles for September 11, 2001

Change is one of the scariest things in the world and yet it is also one of those variables of human existence that no one can avoid.

Hope drowned in shadows emerges fiercely splendid–– boldly angelic.

Peace is not so much a political mandate as it is a shared state of consciousness that remains elevated and intact only to the degree that those who value it volunteer their existence as living examples of the same. Peace ends with the unraveling of individual hope and the emergence of the will to worship violence as a healer of private and social disease.

Compassion crowns the soul with its truest victory.