I Think Of My Brother Just Out

For My Part, I Believe That The Vain, Glorious And The Violent Will Not Inherit The Earth. . . . In Pursuance Of That Faith My Friends And I Take The Hands Of The Dying In Our Hands. And Some Of Us Travel To The Pentagon, And Others Live In The Bowery And Serve There, And Others Speak Unpopularly And Plainly Of The Fate Of The Unborn And Of Convicted Criminals. It Is All One.

The Arms Race Is Worse Than It Ever Was, The Dumping Of Creation Down A Military Rat Hole Is Worse Than It Ever Was, The Wars Across The Earth Are Worse Than They Ever Were.

One Is Called To Live Nonviolently, Even If The Change One Works For Seems Impossible. It May Or May Not Be Possible To Turn The Us Around Through Nonviolent Revolution. But One Thing Favors Such An Attempt: The Total Inability Of Violence To Change Anything For The Better

Instead Of Building The Peace By Attacking Injustices Like Starvation, Disease, Illiteracy, Political And Economic Servitude, We Spend A Trillion Dollars On War Since 1946, Until Hatred And Conflict Have Become The International Preoccupation.

Sometime In Your Life, Hope That You Might See One Starved Man, The Look On His Face When The Bread Finally Arrives. Hope That You Might Have Baked It Or Bought Or Even Kneaded It Yourself. For That Look On His Face, For Your Meeting His Eyes Across A Piece Of Bread, You Might Be Willing To Lose A Lot, Or Suffer A Lot, Or Die A Little, Even.