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his first steps as "the One," is forced to make a choice -- to
take the red pill, symbolizing reality and free will, or the
blue pill, which leads to a computer constructed world of
pre-destination.
In each of these works, the journey metaphor is the backdrop
for the protagonist who is compelled to make life-altering
choices that place him in peril and who becomes emotionally,
physically and morally stronger at journey's end. As we look
back over our individual pilgrimages to date, we can see how,
from birth, we have experienced separation, adventures,
setbacks and successes, and have encountered wonderful
role models (even if not in the mold of Yoda or Morpheus).
Not only in ancient Greece but also in contemporary society,
we tend to regard those who "settle down" as a bit less
courageous than those who have left their footprints in the
sands of distant lands. Ironically, it is through stories such
as those told in these classics that we may experience
vicariously the life of high adventure, even as we recline in
our hammocks with a book in our laps.
When more than half of our life excursion is done, our
energies can become a bit sapped by time, and there is
a natural tendency to down shift, live for the day and leaf
through the photos in our scrapbooks. Some call that
"retirement."
Alfred Lord Tennyson, in his enduring poem "Ulysses,"
captured the spirit of an aged and epic warrior who,
disenchanted with a life of inaction, expresses his yearning
for new exploits:
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: . . .
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life!
Looking down to the port nearby, Ulysses sees the wind filling
the sails of a vessel and the vastness of the outstretched
seas. The call to adventure is irresistible. He gathers
together his comrades, who, he says, have been "made
weak by time and fate," but are "strong in will"; and he sums
up his resolve in the poem's immortal, last line:
from the frailty of old age, to fight against imminent death.
The title of the poem is its first line, and that first line is a
refrain throughout:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
David Pollard was a class ahead of me at Vanderbilt Law
School in 1973. I had the good fortune to cross paths with
him there and afterwards in Atlanta. Those of us who knew
David are well aware of the suffering that he endured in his
last days. We also know that he did not go gentle into that
good night. His life's travels and his courage in confronting
his untimely end are the reasons that this award bears his
name.
We find ourselves here, today, on separate paths, with
different destinations, and start dates that were randomly
selected for us and end dates still unknown, but joined
together in the same place and time. We have had the good
fortune to travel a bit together. Occasions like this induce
reflection -- reflection on where we have come from and
where we are going. In Roman mythology, the god Janus
had two faces -- one face surveying the past and the other
calmly gazing to the future. His two faces are often found
over the entranceways and exits of ancient gates. The
Romans named the month of January after Janus, because
that month ushers in a new year and links it to the year just
concluded.
The sum and substance of my reflections today lead me
to this -- it is not a bad idea for each of us to be two-faced
like Janus (keeping a mindful eye on the past and a hopeful
gaze into the future); to "drink life to the lees," and to "shine
in use" like Tennyson's Ulysses; to rage, rage against the
dying of the light; and to remember, as we move forward on
our individual odysseys, that, while we cannot retrace our
steps, we can change our course at any time.
The good news for each of us here is that we are ambulatory
and the force is with us. If tomorrow someone asks where
you are -- tell them, you are still en route.
Thanks again for this award -- and safe travels!
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
We subconsciously prepare ourselves for the end of our
voyage by witnessing the manner in which others (relatives
and friends) have dealt with the end of their own. At times
the end calls for courage. In an emotionally charged poem,
Dylan Thomas, the Welsh poet, urges his father, weakened
The Official News Publication of the Atlanta Bar Association
See page 30 for a photo from this event.
June/July 2012
THE ATLANTA LAWYER
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