This one may not be for the meek of heart (or maybe it's especially for them, judge for yourself). It's the lyrics to the song Sheep, by Pink Floyd. It's off their Animals album from 1977.
Sheep
Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away.
Only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air.
You better watch out.
There may be dogs about.
I've looked over Jordan, and I have seen:
Things are not what they seem.
What do you get for pretending the danger's not real.
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
Down well trodden corridors, into the valley of steel.
What a surprise!
A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now things are really what they seem.
No, this is no bad dream.
The Lord is my shepherd, i shall not want
He makes me down to lie
Through pastures green He leadeth me the silent waters by.
With bright knives He releaseth my soul
He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places.
He converteth me to lamb cutlets.
For lo, He hath great power, and great hunger.
When cometh the day we lowly ones,
Through quiet reflection, and great dedication,
Master the art of karate.
Lo, we shall rise up,
And then we'll make the bugger's eyes water.
Bleating and babbling I fell on his neck with a scream.
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
March cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream.
Have you heard the news?
The dogs are dead!
You better stay home
And do as you're told.
Get out of the road if you want to grow old.
I first read this poem in my 11th grade English class. We had a fantastic instructor that year, who somehow really managed to get us to think about what we were reading. The scrap of paper on which I found this poem today has notes written all over it from that day in class in 1986. We completely dissected every poem, picking apart its rhyme and rhythm. I learned later, I think from my Mom or Dad, that this poem was displayed (read?) on the television just before a station would sign off for the night. When I read this poem I think about one of those gliders that are released from an airplane with an engine. After release, the pilot is free to drift on the air currents. They're silent save for the sound of the air.
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds,--and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of--wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,
Where never lark, or even eagle flew--
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr
This other piece of writing is from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert M. Persig.
Mountains should be climbed with as little effort as possible and without desire. The reality of your own nature should determine the speed. If you become restless, speed up. If you become winded, slow down. You climb the mountain in an equilibrium between restlessness and exhaustion. Then, when you're no longer thinking ahead, each footstep isn't just a means to an end but a unique event in itself. 'This' leaf has jagged edges. 'This' rock looks loose. From 'this' place the snow is less visible, even though closer. These are things you should notice anyway. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It's the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top. Here's where things grow.