Belated Requiem


           When Cec died I listened to Beethoven's ninth,
           the last movement, Schiller's Ode to Joy
           and celebrated his life and release.

           Each Tuesday for years Cec and Hank met
           discussing their war, current issues
           and more often matters of the spirit.
           Though still a youth, decades younger,
           they asked me to join them.  I was awed
           by the privilege and the compliment.
           Cec introduced me to music
           though his tastes were light.
           I could not afford concerts,
           did not know why I should,
           but the quality of his hi-fi set
           was a revelation to one listening
           to the radios of the time.
           Each evening began with music
           it's effect on us an investigation.
           Our joining went deeper than any expected.
           Later we invited a few more.
           As our group thought became felt
           Others elsewhere interacted with us
           Waiting to aid and enable our actions.

           Hank provided a monumental calm
           in which thought gained clarity
           for lack of irrelevant noise.
           His search was for unity.
           He found no value in complex argument
           and considered nothing to be of consequence
           unless its place in a mystical whole was clear.

           Cec was ever the questioner, and sceptic
           Never excluding but never content
           with any of the answers extant.
           He was always holding a pair of scales
           Every fact and idea to weigh.
           With his golden voice he could charm
           almost anyone into anything if he would
           But his questioning balance was antidote
           to charms, glamours, glib answers, seeming wisdom.
           If we were on a roundabout of thought,
           prepared to leave it as useless,
           he'd reflect on it and bring it back until
           the lightning of intuition resolved it.


           An early discussion concerned the merits
           of the world's economic systems.
           We went at them and at them, getting nowhere.
           At his funeral I heard from others
           whom he engaged with similar questions
           in earlier decades.
           They spoke of the soldiers, always about him
           debating seriously issues
           they would never have thought upon.
           Cec wakened the minds of many
           Yet he himself was always in the balance
           Never himself in motion.
           I asked why our economic discussion went nowhere?
           And then I had it.
           Any system, however conceived,
           works well with people of goodwill
           but, though brilliantly developed,
           with the best goals, works poorly
           where selfish advantage rules.
           This intuition ended our focus on economic systems.
           From there we turned our attention to goodwill
           never leaving it whatever our turns of thought.

           Who were we to the world and to ourselves?
           Hank, warehouseman to the Foundation for the Blind
           Mystic knight with his clear globe of thought,
           Cec, Chief Executive Officer and manufacturer,
           questioner, holder of the balances, and something more.
           My part was the examiner of ideas who argued all sides
           Nicknamed "the lawyer" by some, mover of actions too,
           but primarily the intuitive,
           making that leap beyond the stage set by reason,
           that became our teacher
           uniting us, when it spoke, in what we must do.
           My struggle was always to see a bit of "the plan of God"
           and this with the posing of questions and issues
           drove me toward the intuition.
           Fourth was a news sub editor who rebelled
           at slanting the news, then became a teacher.
           He ever posed matters of choice,
           seeking clarification of the issues thereto
           not letting up until the choices became clear.
           "That may sound right", he might say,
           "but it does not gel!"
           Later came the industrialist, argumentative,
           battling his own analytical intellect, struggling
           to leap beyond it, fire beating against an iron roof,
           primarily concerned with the moral dilemmas of money.
           Others came for a while or two and went again.
           Some of these eventually took over our work,
           when we failed.

           Occasionally we had a visitor.
           One was a character of mystery
           Unassuming exponent of occult lore
           Who never claimed anything.
           He sat silent through intense debate
           On the right use of money
           Which turned on the view
           That how one acquired money
           was a far greater matter
           than how it was spent
           for acquisition represented
           one's real impact on human relations
           and goodwill should qualify it,
           challenging the rationalization
           of the aspirant industrialist
           that he acquired money to route it into service.
           At the end, the occultist of few words
           made his values clear: he said,
           "This is the most important discussion I've ever heard."

           What more had Cec to do with our debates?
           Some who came and went did not think he contributed much.
           They saw the balances and the sceptic as impediments
           and were puzzled by his lack of motion.
           I knew the balances and the inclusive sceptic
           were essential to the development of our thought
           if it was to result in right action
           but Cec had something more,
           harder to explain, difficult to see,
           yet of greater value than all the rest.
           By his very presence
           he facilitated the co-operation of thought,
           even when he had nothing to say.
           It was a rare evening when intuition did not spark in me
           and its blaze dazzled the eyes of a few
           but I knew it was something about Cec
           unseen by most but evident to my mind
           that made the lightning flash more likely.
           - Muhammad
           After the death of Khadija,
           of his later wives,
           Only in the company of Aisha
           Could he bring forth revelations.
           Perhaps she had this quality I found in Cec,
           a contribution I saw clearer
           when we lost him.

           During our years in the co-operation of thought
           A sense of relationship grew
           away beyond the personal sphere
           or even the comradeship of shared service
           deep though that is.
           The sense of our group association
           passing beyond the bounds of our lives
           persisting beyond catastrophes and death
           beyond the apparent leaving of a member
           even beyond the group's outward demise,
           grew in us, unchallengable, sacred,
           outside time, a source of wonder to us.
           I still, years after Cec's death
           and the departure of others,
           do not question the continuity
           of this relationship.

           We did not lose Cec through death.
           In business he built the thought form
           of a manufacturing industry.
           Over a year we watched it week by week
           take possession of him, cutting him off
           from all other cares.  We warned him!
           He had no difficulty seeing the danger,
           yet to no avail.  He moved away
           closer to his factory
           which was so successful
           the predators prepared to pounce.
           In his absence we continued our work
           But now it was a struggle to reach unanimity.
           The loss of Cec's facilitating presence
           I keenly felt, perhaps we all did.

           When it has no road the soul chooses violence.
           Four strokes liberated Cec from his thought form.
           The predators moved in.
           He was left on a war pension,
           able to move just one finger,
           without speech,
           gaps in his memory,
           but Cec understood what had happened.
           We each contributed, purchasing recordings
           of Beethoven's greatest music.
           I restored his hi-fi set so he would enjoy
           a communication denied in conversation.
           He told me later how Beethoven
           drew him into a world he had not known
           but he would become infuriated if his wife
           failed to understand which record he wanted
           being only able to grunt and groan.
           His own determination and persistence and
           The efforts of his wife building up vocabulary
           through the digital code of one finger
           with the help of a dedicated physiotherapist
           and a healer who was long standing friend
           plus the solace of the music,
           within a year had him walking, speaking,
           driving a car.

           Cec had lost his magical voice
           which he confessed peeved him most.
           He no longer had the calm of the balances
           or the questioning of the sceptic
           or the spirit of the facilitator of thought
           But he gained one thing in place of all -
           he now had spiritual motion
           and in his recovery, had mastered the world.

           Nevertheless his body had taken sore harm
           and suffered more in succeeding years.
           He had achieved the spiritual goal of his life.
           With nothing to keep him death released him.

           I celebrated and do not doubt we will somewhen
           resume the group relationship in service
           we discovered during our long association.
           Such gains are not discarded.




(C) Copyright June 3, 2001
Noel Fuller
All Rights Reserved