Yes, there is a season for everything under heaven, a time to be born, and time to die. And there is a season to think, a time to reason and a time to reflect. To think of all that has gone on before, to make what was, to be, is, and what will become.

 

To those that have come and gone, their marks now left in silent call remaining to display sagacious thoughts to recall, I miss you all, those that I knew so well, and those not known so at all.

 

To the former I have given my pledge, my honor, to uphold your counsel, your experienced ways to follow, the practiced skills given shall remain to stay me on the way.

 

To those not known by person, the season is now come due.... to give honor, acclaim and tribute to all they have done...given in kindred spirit this soul to grow, to find a route through the pitted paths of places walked, seeking answers to blurried sights encountered there on.

 

So who might these mighty folk be, those who lit the lamp of learning, awakened dreams, wrote words to move the heart, or inspired this soul to higher ground, the spirit to reach around and take another new hold?

 

It is those who wrote a symphony to fill the skies, an aria, or a verse to capture the soul, made a picture strong, or played an instrument so sound, sang a simple little song, or watched bubbles bursting in tubes of glass. And it is those who reached to places sought anew, then to pass along all they now knew. They are...these sages, due... their season now come round.

 

Many are credit due, but to name a few, though in slight of those that slip the queue, Joyce, Camu, Steinbeck, Poe and Angelou to are counted here. Frost, then Sandburg, Kafka and Emerson must be heard from too. These are among those that shaped my mind, guided the soul, and gave spirit it's rising ride.

 

Bach, Brahms, Beethoven, Bartok, and Lightfoot deserve praise here too, they along with similar kind sent me on melodious journeys where once I played, sending my soul to sing ... giving harmony to what I was coming to know, the notes remaining, now blending with scenes came upon, creating majestic views to base my life from then on.

 

To perfect this master credit due, it must be added to, Freud, Adler, Masterson and Erickson, are appointed, and so too Bettelheim, Pavlof and Klien, to name just a few. It is from them that man is understood by me and you.

 

But what about those of antiquities time, where do they stand along the roads way here? I've stood on ancient land where such as Aristotle, Socrates, Plato, Homer, and more, once uttered words of wisdom setting the stage that others would follow, laid frameworks to expand the mind, gave pause to thoughts, riddles to unwind, oaths to take, and universes to explore....they are owed a debt or two.

 

From these passing mortals and scores more, with inquiring minds, notions and assumptions...overtures, propositions and premises were born to guide the human soul, launching me and many more to find what we are searching for.

 

The journey's object has been given sight by those whose travels brought them to their end. Leaving behind instructions and directions, they were the ones who sent me on my way. So it is to them, that a great deal of debt is owed...and with this poem, I know it is now done...thank you one and all, what a journey has been traveled on!

T. Condon April 14, 1998

 

(the intro and closing is from Yanni-"For All Seasons"-Ethnicity)