Number 68 March 23, 2011

It's very human, and proper, that the passing of one person can distract us from the tragedy in Japan, and the tumult in North Africa.  My grandparents used to take me to Carmel and Palm Springs for vacations when I was a child.  We were in Palm Springs at The Racquet Club, I believe it was November of 1957, and I was just 5.  It was late afternoon, and I was in the bar (in those days it was quite acceptable to be in a bar, and even on a bar stool, with one's parents.  I had a rude awakening in my early teens, when it was no longer deemed cute.)  The bar looked out on Court 1.  150 feet away, through the plate glass, Elizabeth Taylor and Mike Todd were finishing their tennis lesson.  They shook hands with the pro, and then kissed in the fading light, black clouds against the red sky above them.  I felt a pulsating wave force I've always described as a 60 cycle hum.  "No wonder everyone is looking at her!" I thought.  Hers was an other-worldly beauty, but there was a a glow of energy that only a few mystics possess.  Perhaps that glow was the great spirit that will be known for all her charity, generosity, and courage.  Sleep well, brave one.