Drums Of Liberation Quotes

Let us liberate ourselves from any form of control. Let us focus at the inner drum, where the rhythm aligns with that of our heart. The measure of responsibility, equals to the need for evolution. Just listen, the inner child, let it whisper in your ear.

I saw a banner hanging next to city hall in downtown Philadelphia that read, "Kill them all, and let God sort them out." A bumper sticker read, "God will judge evildoers; we just have to get them to him." I saw a T-shirt on a soldier that said, "US Air Force... we don't die; we just go to hell to regroup." Others were less dramatic- red, white, and blue billboards saying, "God bless our troops." "God Bless America" became a marketing strategy. One store hung an ad in their window that said, "God bless America--$1 burgers." Patriotism was everywhere, including in our altars and church buildings. In the aftermath of September 11th, most Christian bookstores had a section with books on the event, calendars, devotionals, buttons, all decorated in the colors of America, draped in stars and stripes, and sprinkled with golden eagles. This burst of nationalism reveals the deep longing we all have for community, a natural thirst for intimacy... September 11th shattered the self-sufficient, autonomous individual, and we saw a country of broken fragile people who longed for community- for people to cry with, be angry with, to suffer with. People did not want to be alone in their sorrow, rage, and fear. But what happened after September 11th broke my heart. Conservative Christians rallies around the drums of war. Liberal Christian took to the streets. The cross was smothered by the flag and trampled under the feet of angry protesters. The church community was lost, so the many hungry seekers found community in the civic religion of American patriotism. People were hurting and crying out for healing, for salvation in the best sense of the word, as in the salve with which you dress a wound. A people longing for a savior placed their faith in the fragile hands of human logic and military strength, which have always let us down. They have always fallen short of the glory of God. ...The tragedy of the church's reaction to September 11th is not that we rallied around the families in New York and D.C. but that our love simply reflected the borders and allegiances of the world. We mourned the deaths of each soldier, as we should, but we did not feel the same anger and pain for each Iraqi death, or for the folks abused in the Abu Ghraib prison incident. We got farther and farther from Jesus' vision, which extends beyond our rational love and the boundaries we have established. There is no doubt that we must mourn those lives on September 11th. We must mourn the lives of the soldiers. But with the same passion and outrage, we must mourn the lives of every Iraqi who is lost. They are just as precious, no more, no less. In our rebirth, every life lost in Iraq is just as tragic as a life lost in New York or D.C. And the lives of the thirty thousand children who die of starvation each day is like six September 11ths every single day, a silent tsunami that happens every week.

If I speak in the tongues of Reformers and of professional theologians, and I have not personal faith in Christ, my theology is nothing but the noisy beating of a snare drum. And if I have analytic powers and the gift of creating coherent conceptual systems of theology, so as to remove liberal objections, and have not personal hope in God, I am nothing. And if I give myself to resolving the debate between supra and infralapsarianism, and to defending inerrancy, and to learning the Westminster Catechism, yea, even the larger one, so as to recite it by heart backwards and forwards, and have not love, I have gained nothing.

When we talk about freedom, we restrict ourselves to so few images. Images of freedom should be as liberating as the feeling itself! I want to talk about freedom as a drum set being thrown down a hill, as opening a book one night, and water gushing from the pages until my life is a lake and I swim away.

If your film or television show doesn’t fall into line with their liberal bias, they’ll drum you right off the screen. It’s what happened to Tim Allen, a funny guy who dared write and star in a sitcom that said something a little different than what the establishment wanted him to say.

The top three variables on the “what traits do mate pairs most match up on” list are drinking, religion, and … drum roll … politics. (Education level is fourth.)

Ladies and gentlemen, you have made most remarkable Progress, and progress, I agree, is a boon; You have built more automobiles than are parkable, Crashed the sound-barrier, and may very soon Be setting up juke-boxes on the Moon: But I beg to remind you that, despite all that, I, Death, still am and will always be Cosmocrat. Still I sport with the young and daring; at my whim, The climber steps upon the rotten boulder, The undertow catches boys as they swim, The speeder steers onto the slippery shoulder: With others I wait until they are older Before assigning, according to my humor, To one a coronary, to one a tumor. Liberal my views upon religion and race; Tax-posture, credit-rating, social ambition Cut no ice with me. We shall meet face to face, Despite the drugs and lies of your physician, The costly euphenisms of the mortician: Westchester matron and Bowery bum, Both shall dance with me when I rattle my drum.

Mai întâi cunoști pe cineva - cineva care e cu totul diferit de cei din jurul tău. Cineva care vede totul într-o altă lumină și te silește să te schimbi, să-ți modifici unghiul de vedere, să observi din nou totul, dinăuntru și din afară. Crezi că poți păstra o distanță sigură față de el. Crezi că poți să-ți croiești drum prin această furtună minunată până când îți dai seama, mult prea brusc, că ești împins sub cerul liber și că de fapt nu poți controla nimic.

In the campaign of 1876, Robert G. Ingersoll came to Madison to speak. I had heard of him for years; when I was a boy on the farm a relative of ours had testified in a case in which Ingersoll had appeared as an attorney and he had told the glowing stories of the plea that Ingersoll had made. Then, in the spring of 1876, Ingersoll delivered the Memorial Day address at Indianapolis. It was widely published shortly after it was delivered and it startled and enthralled the whole country. I remember that it was printed on a poster as large as a door and hung in the post-office at Madison. I can scarcely convey now, or even understand, the emotional effect the reading of it produced upon me. Oblivious of my surroundings, I read it with tears streaming down my face. It began, I remember: "The past rises before me like a dream. Again we are in the great struggle for national life.We hear the sounds of preparation--the music of boisterous drums--the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see the pale cheeks of women and the flushed faces of men; and in those assemblages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers..." I was fairly entranced. he pictured the recruiting of the troops, the husbands and fathers with their families on the last evening, the lover under the trees and the stars; then the beat of drums, the waving flags, the marching away; the wife at the turn of the lane holds her baby aloft in her arms--a wave of the hand and he has gone; then you see him again in the heat of the charge. It was wonderful how it seized upon my youthful imagination. When he came to Madison I crowded myself into the assembly chamber to hear him: I would not have missed it for every worldly thing I possessed. And he did not disappoint me. A large handsome man of perfect build, with a face as round as a child's and a compelling smile--all the arts of the old-time oratory were his in high degree. He was witty, he was droll, he was eloquent: he was as full of sentiment as an old violin. Often, while speaking, he would pause, break into a smile, and the audience, in anticipation of what was to come, would follow him in irresistible peals of laughter. I cannot remember much that he said, but the impression he made upon me was indelible. After that I got Ingersoll's books and never afterward lost an opportunity to hear him speak. He was the greatest orater, I think, that I have ever heard; and the greatest of his lectures, I have always thought, was the one on Shakespeare. Ingersoll had a tremendous influence upon me, as indeed he had upon many young men of that time. It was not that he changed my beliefs, but that he liberated my mind. Freedom was what he preached: he wanted the shackles off everywhere. He wanted men to think boldly about all things: he demanded intellectual and moral courage. He wanted men to follow wherever truth might lead them. He was a rare, bold, heroic figure.

Predictably, northern military units predominated, but the presence of Confederate soldiers touched onlookers. “It was quite a sight to see the Stonewall Brigade [march] up Fifth Avenue with their drums marked Staunton, Va.,” one said. “They wore the grey, with a black and brass helmet. There were several companies of Virginia and Southern troops.”148 Contingents of black veterans were liberally represented among the sixty thousand soldiers, supplemented by eighteen thousand veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic.

(...) Dar într-o zi, pe același drum a trecut Ispita și ea l-a întrebat pe om: -De ce accepți să fi supus unui copac când ai putea să fi mai mult de atât? Știi că îi ești cu mult superior lui. -Dar nu e vorba de supunere, eu îl iubesc! -Te simți liber? -Da! -Adică ai putea pleca oricând de lângă el? -Nu, nu aș putea. Mi-ar fi greu fără el. -Și asta nu înseamnă supunere? Omul căzu pe gânduri. Se așeză sub copac și privi tăcut apusul. -Iubește-mă! îi spuse copacul. Și omul se ridică, se uită spre copac și îi zise: -Nu, nu mă voi mai supune ție! Ispita rânji cu dinții ei albi și strălucitori în timp ce omul se îndrepta spre ea. Și copacul se uscă de dor. -Iubește-mă! îi spuse Ispita.

Live Torch (The Sonnet) Be a live torch amidst the darkest night. If not you, who else will light up the society! Be a living weapon to defend the meek in fright. If not you, who else will guard humanity! Be a breathing sword to scare away inhumanities. If not you, who else will draw the righteous line! Be a valiant shield to stand against atrocities. If not you, who else will call that duty mine! Be a daring drum announcing the beats of acceptance. If not you, who else will be the emblem of inclusion! Be a fierce arrow to penetrate the clouds of conformity. If not you, who else will free people from segregation! Be the liberating nuke that demolishes all dogmatic shell. If not you, who else will burn delivering the humanizing kernel!

Acest copac stă-nsingurat aici pe munte; el a-ntrecut, crescând, şi om şi fiare. Iar dacă ar începe să vorbească, el n-ar găsi pe nimenea să-l înţeleagă: atâta a crescut de-nalt. Acuma el aşteaptă şi aşteaptă-ntruna – dar oare ce aşteaptă? El locuieşte prea aproape de reşedinţa norilor; aşteaptă oare primul trăsnet?” După ce Zarathustra zise-acestea, tânărul, agitându-şi mâinile, strigă: „Da, Zarathustra, ce-ai grăit e-adevărat. Eu însumi mi-am dorit teribil prăbuşirea, în timp ce aspiram către-nălţimi, iar tu eşti trăsnetul pe care-l aşteptam mereu! Uite, ce mai sunt eu, de când mi-ai apărut în faţă tu? Invidia faţă de tine m-a distrus!” – Aşa grăi tânărul om, plângând amarnic. Dar Zarathustra, cuprinzându-l cu un braţ, îl luă cu sine. Iar după un răstimp, mergând alături, Zarathustra începu să zică: Mi-e inima ca sfâşiată. Privirea ta îmi spune, mai bine decât vorba ta, primejdia ce te pândeşte. Tu încă nu eşti liber, tu cauţi încă libertatea. Această căutare te-a făcut să nu mai dormi şi toată noaptea să veghezi. Tu năzuieşti spre piscurile libere, spiritul tău e însetat de stele. Dar chiar şi instinctele cele mai rele din tine năzuiesc spre libertate. Câinii sălbatici din fiinţa ta vor libertatea; ei zăpăte de bucurie-n închisoarea lor, când spiritul tău se munceşte să se libereze. Tu pentru mine încă eşti un prizonier care visează după libertate: ah! sufletul unor asemenea captivi devine foarte întreprinzător, dar şi perfid şi rău. Chiar spiritul eliberat are nevoie de purificare. El încă mai poartă-n sine gratii şi mucegai: chiar ochii lui trebuie să se purifice. Da, cunosc primejdia ce te pândeşte. Dar te conjur, pe dragostea şi pe speranţa mea, nu-ţi părăsi nici dragostea şi nici speranţa! Tu te simţi încă nobil, la fel de nobil te simt încă cei care-ţi poartă pică, zvârlindu-ţi doar priviri răutăcioase. Să ştii că tuturor acestora le stai în drum. Chiar celor buni, un om plin de nobleţe le stă-n drum; şi chiar dacă vor zice că e bun, tot vor căuta în felu-acesta să-l înlăture. Omul cel nobil vrea să creeze noi valori şi o virtute nouă. Omul cel bun iubeşte lucrurile vechi, păstrează tot ce este vechi. Primejdia, pentru cel nobil, nu-i să devină bun, ci să devină insolent, ironic şi distrugător. Am cunoscut, vai! oameni nobili, care-şi pierduseră speranţa cea mai 'naltă. Şi după-aceea ponegreau orice speranţă mai înaltă. De-aceea îşi trăiau cu insolenţă viaţa în trecătoare bucurii şi n-aveau dincolo de clipă nici un ţel. „Spiritul este şi plăcere” – aşa ziceau. Şi astfel spiritul lor avea aripi frânte: acum se târâie pe jos şi întinează totul ca o rozătoare. Visaseră, odată, că vor deveni eroi: acuma sunt doar nişte desfrânaţi. Amar şi spaimă-i pentru ei orice erou. Dar te conjur, pe dragostea şi pe speranţa mea: nu izgoni eroul care e în tine! Păstrează cu sfinţenie speranţa ta cea mai înaltă! Aşa grăit-a Zarathustra.

flânerie libre de courir avec la montagne de croisées des chemins dans mes bras avec l’aigrette de pissenlit dans le cœur avec la plaie ouverte de l’œil retourné, toujours retourné de sa tournée sauvagerie impénétrable ma tête est un chapeau de paille dans lequel je ramasse le solstice d’été et les pommes aigre-douces qui flottent sur tes lèvres je casse le cadenas de la camarde avec le hurlement de bête déchaînée je jette les heures les journées les mois les années entières dans le jardin où nous avons enfilé sur nous l’âme comme un t-shirt pas lavé. *** drumeție liber să alerg cu muntele de răscruci în brațe cu puful de păpădie în inimă cu rana deschisă a ochiului întors mereu întors din drum sălbăticie de nepătruns capul meu e o pălărie de paie în care adun solstițiul de vară și merele acrișoare care plutesc pe buzele tale sparg lacătul pieirii cu urletul de jivină-ncolțită arunc orele zilele lunile anii cu totul în grădina unde ne-am tras sufletul ca un tricou nespălat pe noi.

I moved closer to him. He did not back away, but stood entranced in the dark. I pulled him towards me. I heard his palpitating heart booming through the quiet night. Yet, I encountered no resistance. As I reached to unzip his jeans, his sinewy body trembled. His awkwardness was a sign of inexperience in the gutsy game of seduction, and I was eager to entice this callow Caucasian into my web of sensual delight.               Flashes of my Bahriji schooling rushed through my mind as my lips caressed the tautness of his comely mouth, teasing him open with my slithering tongue. Heartened by my gutsiness, his tension slowly melted to flames of sizzling arousal. I grabbed his wrist and led us deeper into the darken forest. Pinning him against a towering tree our twirling tongues coalesced wantonly. Our pent-up desires burst forth like torrid infernos, consuming our sanity to debaucherous lunacy. We tore at each other’s clothes, athirst to ravage our lusty lubriciousness within the stillness of this stifling forest. Fervent tongues caressed with yearning intimacy over, around and atop every desirous crevice of our fiery souls.               Our pulsating hardness drummed in capricious potency, demanding satisfaction within our forbidden orifices, where only sacred mystics dared to venture. Throwing caution to the wind, I suckled at his bulging protuberance. Beguiled by my prowess, he jabbed his bulbous rosiness down my craving throat while my pleasuring hand evoked a rhythmic carnality that had wooed mankind since the dawn of humanity.               The Caucasian unleashed his deliverance in a flourish of heaving crescendos. Jets of piquant liberation gushed down my yearning orifice, as I drank his nourishing fill with gusto.               Not much coaxing was needed to spew my abundance onto Jules’ athletic frame. My seething virility coated his musculature. We amalgamated in a passionate kiss before the instructor returned alone to camp. I stayed to gather myself, to cherish an end to a licentious evening with a closeted homosexual. He had spoken no words after our frenzied indulgence.               Little did I suspect a lurking snooper nearby when faint rustling sounds, muffled by the careening wind, tantalized the stillness of the night.

Liberated from fear, the Americans live with confidence, and therefore with enhanced vitality. A generous extravagance, undreamed of in other parts of the world, is the American rule. Men and women earn largely and spend what they have on the national pleasures, which are all social and stimulative of vitality. Modernity also tends to heighten vitality – or to be more exact, it affects the expression of vitality, externalising it in the form of vehement action. The joyful acceptance of change, which so profoundly influences American industry, business methods and domestic architecture, reacts on the affairs of daily, personal life. Pleasure is associated with a change of place and environment, finally with mere movement for its own sake. People leave their homes if they want entertainment. They externalise their vitality in visiting places of public amusement, in dancing and motoring – in doing anything that is not quietly sitting by their own fireside (or rather by their own radiator). What is known as 'night life' flourishes in America as nowhere else in the world. And nowhere, perhaps, is there so little conversation. In America vitality is given its most obviously vital expression. Hence there appears to be even more vitality in the Americans than perhaps there really is. A man may have plenty of vitality and yet keep still; his motionless calm may be mistaken for listlessness. There can be no mistake about people who dance and rush about. American vitality is always obviously manifested. It expresses itself vigorously to the music of the drum and saxophone, to the ringing of telephone bells and the roar of street cars. It expresses itself in terms of hastening automobiles, of huge and yelling crowds, of speeches, banquets, 'drives,' slogans, sky signs. It is all movement and noise, like the water gurgling out of a bath down the waste. Yes, down the waste.

i enter the idiot's bookstore. i don't have any money and i don't have a knack for crime either lining up before my eyes wonderful titles moribund from sitting so long on the shelves. steal us, they say, we can't stand it anymore in the idiot's bookstore. who'd believe this version of the facts? help me, maragatos in this most stolen hour of a destitute liberator of books. my heart pounds. pounds more than the salgueiro drum line. my whole body shakes and my hands sweat buckets. i reach the street, hands empty and the books cry: sissy.

De aceea, putem întreba care sunt cele mai notabile virtuţi pragmatice ale individului autonom. Una este răbdarea, sub care trebuie să înţelegem, corelându-le, atât lipsa de precipitare, buna aşezare faţă de timp, sentimentul adânc al clipei potrivite, al prilejului favorabil, cât şi capacitatea de a suferi fără a te grăbi să deznădăjduieşti sau să te dai bătut. Deci capacitatea de a dura şi cea de a îndura. Cealaltă virtute poartă, în planul judecăţii, numele de intransigenţă, (câtă vreme este vorba de esenţial); este vorba de voinţa şi putinţa de a nu face compromisuri, de a nu te lăsa abătut din drum, de a nu-ţi face libertatea şi demnitatea negociabile. Virtutea aceasta mai poate fi văzută şi din unghiul indisponibilităţii la domesticire şi la dresaj, la faptul de a fi de neîmblânzit şi îndărătnic în numele legii căreia, pentru că ai ales-o liber, i te supui.

The guitar tones and the thumpy thumpy drums soaking into me so hard. People always talk about good time rock and roll, Chuck Berry or whatever, like this liberating force for feeling good. But what I need is to be liberated into feeling bad. Not sad, I have plenty of sad. What I need is a place where I can spray anger in sparks like a gnarled piece of electrical cable. Just be mad at stuff and soak in the helplessness.

Despite claims of post-partisanship, it is right-wing, often far-right, political parties around the world that have managed to absorb the unruly passions and energy of diagonalism, folding its Covid-era grievances into preexisting projects opposing “wokeness” and drumming up fears of migrant “invasions.” Still, it is important for these movements to present themselves (and to believe themselves to be) ruptures with politics-as-usual; to claim to be something new, beyond traditional left-right poles. That’s why having a few prominent self-identified progressives and/or liberals involved is so critical. Importantly, the role of these progressives is not to renounce the goals of social justice and embrace a hard-right worldview (the journey made by well-known ex-Trotskyists like Irving Kristol in the mid-twentieth century). On the contrary, they must continue to identify as proud members of the left, or devoted liberals, while claiming that it is the movements and tendencies of which they were once part that have betrayed their own ideals, leaving these uniquely courageous individuals politically homeless and in search of new alliances.

C​G/B​C To play the drums ​F​C/F​G To be picked for teams ​C​C/F​C A safe place to pee ​Em​Am Tall trees to climb ​F​C/E​G A dark blue bike ​C​G​C For her to notice me ​E Don’t braid my hair ​Am Don’t make me wear ​G That bridesmaid’s dress, oh joy ​C​G/B​C That school today ​F​C/E​G Will be easy I pray ​C​G​C Or to just wake up a boy C (Muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles) C Thou shalt learn to wink ​G Thou shalt learn all the knots ​F Thou shalt cuss liberally ​C Thou shalt not trash talk ​G the girls ​​F Thou shalt not let the world make you hard ​​C Thou shalt learn to dance and lead C (Muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles) C Thou shalt acquire scars ​G Thou shalt start a pine cone war ​F Thou shalt practice throwing punches ​C Thou shalt not wear a skort ​G Get dirty ​​F In your pockets thou shalt keep A special rock a pocket knife your grubby mitts ​C And several melodies G Tomboy! Tomboy! Tomboy! F​Dm​G​C Tomboy! Tomboy! Tomboy! (Muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles, muscles) (repeating) C I always have a piece of string G I want to practice French kissing F Don’t cry so much all of the time G I shine my armour every night G Tomboy! Tomboy! Tomboy! F​Dm​G​C Tomboy! Tomboy! Tomboy! C Thou shalt learn to wink G Thou shalt learn all the knots ​F Thou shalt cuss liberally ​C Thou shalt not trash talk ​G the girls ​​F Thou shalt not let the world make you hard make you bad ​​C Thou shalt learn to dance and lead G Tomboy! Tomboy! Tomboy! F​Dm​G​C Just to be a good Tomboy!

The psalmist says, ‘He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters.’ I find it beautiful that in the face of terror; God doesn't bid us toward courage as we might perceive it. Instead, he draws us toward fear’s essential sister, rest—a sister who is not meant to replace fear but to exist together in tension and harmony with it […] And, of course, there is a fear that leans more toward awe than terror. A kind of delight. Your gut plummets within you as you drop from a bungee cord. The drum of a heart turning corners in a corn maze. I believe fear has the holy potential to draw out awe in us. To lead us into deeper patterns of protection and trust. To mould us into people engaged in the unknown, capable of making mystery of it instead of terror.

Beyond the shops though, Shtawrah was no different from the rest of the Biqai' The day I arrived there, I passed by the smouldering ruins of a training camp for the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine General Command on the edge of town. A squad of Israeli F16s had flattened it the day before. I was curious about the raid and asked Ghazali, whose supermarket was Shtawrah's main grocery store, if the raid worried him. He shrugged, "We're in business, what can we do?" Actually, Ghazal's answer made perfect sense. There was nothing any of the Lebanese in the Biqai' could do about a roster of neighbours that included Hezbollah, the Japanese Red Army, Baader-Meinhof, Sendero Luminosa, the PFLP, Abu Nidal, ASALA and half a dozen other suicidal and or genocidal terrorist groups. As long as the Israeli airforce continued to shoot straight, the Lebanese could get on with life and make a little money, especially if they took care of their own safety. Ghazali's clerks carried 9mm semiautomatics in shoulder holsters; and his assistant, whose office was behind a bulletproof window, kept an AK47 with a drum magazine on his desk and a clear field of fire down the aisles.

Come and See Nathanael said to Philip, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” Philip answered, “Come and see.” JOHN 1:46 Nathanael’s question still lingers, even two thousand years later. Is the life of the young Nazarene really worth considering? The answer of Philip still suffices. “Come and see.” Come and see the rock that has withstood the winds of time. Hear his voice. The truth undaunted, grace unspotted, loyalty undeterred. Come and see the flame that tyrants and despots have not extinguished. Come and see the passion that oppression has not squelched. Come and see the hospitals and orphanages rising beside the crumbling ruins of humanism and atheism. Come and see what Christ has done. Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Come and see. Come and see the changed lives: the alcoholic now dry, the embittered now joyful, the shamed now forgiven. Come and see the marriages rebuilt, the orphans embraced, the imprisoned inspired. Journey into the jungles and hear the drums beating in praise. Sneak into the corners of communism and find believers worshiping under threat of death. Walk on death row and witness the prisoner condemned by man yet liberated by God. Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Come and see the pierced hand of God touch the most common heart, wipe the tear from the wrinkled face, and forgive the ugliest sin. Come and see. He avoids no seeker. He ignores no probe. He fears no search. Come and see. Nathanael came. And Nathanael saw. And Nathanael discovered: “Teacher, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel.

To liberate the A, the C must provide a loud enough drum beat, a constant signal to their lead singer that the support they need is right behind him.