With the passage of days in this godly isolation [desert], my heart grew calm. It seemed to fill with answers. I did not ask questions any more; I was certain. Everything - where we came from, where we are going, what our purpose is on earth - struck me as extremely sure and simple in this God-trodden isolation. Little by little my blood took on the godly rhythm. Matins, Divine Liturgy, vespers, psalmodies, the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening, the constellations suspended like chandeliers each night over the monastery: all came and went, came and went in obedience to eternal laws, and drew the blood of man into the same placid rhythm. I saw the world as a tree, a gigantic poplar, and myself as a green leaf clinging to a branch with my slender stalk. When God's wind blew, I hopped and danced, together with the entire tree.
The Burgomaster:
Constable Crane! This is a song we have heard from you more than once. Now, there are two courses open to me. The first, is to let you cool your heels in the cells until you learn respect for the dignity of my office...
Ichabod Crane:
I beg pardon. But why am I the only one who can see that to solve crimes, we must use our brains, assisted by reason, using up-to-date scientific techniques?
The Burgomaster:
Which brings me to the second course. There is a town, two days journey to the north in the Hudson Highlands. It is a place called Sleepy Hollow. Have you heard of it?
Ichabod Crane:
I have not.
The Burgomaster:
An isolated farming community, mainly Dutch. Three persons have been murdered there, all within a fortnight. Each one found with the head lopped off.
Ichabod Crane:
Lopped off?
The Burgomaster:
Clean as dandelion heads, apparently. You will take these experimentations of yours to Sleepy Hollow, and there you will detect the murderer. Bring him here to face our good justice. Will you do this?
Ichabod Crane:
I will.
The Burgomaster:
Remember, it is you, Ichabod Crane, who is now put to the test.
Narrator:
The heavenly journey begins with just a few key components: The DVD, the CD, the LD, the DVR, the VCR, audio receiver, AV cables, TV cables, satellite dish with satellite, the Blu-Ray, the Green Ray, the Who Ray, the Hi-Fi, Wi-Fi, HDMI, heebie-jeebies and E=MC². Oh, and don't forget the batteries. They're not included.
Until modern times, we focused a great deal of the best of our thought upon rituals of return to the human condition. Seeking enlightenment or the Promised Land or the way home, a man would go or be forced to go into the wilderness, measure himself against the Creation, recognize finally his true place within it, and thus be saved both from pride and from despair. Seeing himself as a tiny member of a world he cannot comprehend or master or in any final sense possess, he cannot possibly think of himself as a god. And by the same token, since he shares in, depends upon, and is graced by all of which he is a part, neither can he become a fiend; he cannot descend into the final despair of destructiveness. Returning from the wilderness, he becomes a restorer of order, a preserver. He sees the truth, recognizes his true heir, honors his forebears and his heritage, and gives his blessing to his successors. He embodies the passing of human time, living and dying within the human limits of grief and joy.
(pg.95,
Gollum:
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up, sleepies. We must go, yeeees, we must go at once.
Sam:
Haven't you had any sleep, Mr. Frodo? [Frodo shakes his head]
Sam:
I've gone and had too much... it must be getting late.
Frodo:
No, it's not. It's not midday, yet. The days are growing darker.
Gollum:
We must go.
Sam:
Not until Mr. Frodo has had something to eat.
Gollum:
No time to lose, silly.
Sam:
[Gives Frodo lembas bread] Here, eat this.
Frodo:
What about you?
Sam:
I'm not hungry. Leastways, not for lembas bread.
Frodo:
Sam...
Sam:
Alright... we don't have that much left. You go ahead and eat that, Mr. Frodo. I've rationed it... there should be enough left.
Frodo:
For what?
Sam:
The journey home.
I tramp the perpetual journey
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the
woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public
road.
Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.
It is not far, it is within reach,
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,
Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.
Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten
forth,
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.
If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand
on my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,
For after we start we never lie by again.
This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded
heaven,
And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs,
and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we
be fill'd and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue
beyond.
You are also asking me questions and I hear you,
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.
Sit a while dear son,
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss
you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress
hence.
Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every
moment of your life.
Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout,
and laughingly dash with your hair.