D A V I D A C K L E Y
April 2, 2020
I found an old copy of the Bhagavad Gita when I was looking for one of my p-back copies this morning. It has a torn maroon cover, and we inherited it along with some of his other books, from Ann’s father, who died in 2011 at 96.
He was a retired air force colonel who had flown twenty five P-51 bomber escort missions over Europe as commander of an Army Air Force fighter squadron. There was far more to him than I can say in a line or two, but there is no-one in my life, though we disagreed on a number of points, whom I have liked and respected more. His mother Grace– Ann’s grandmother– was a fine amateur painter, who kept her own self-effacing journal during the depression, when she would barter eggs and apple pies for milk from her cousin Dorothy Carter next door on Jennison Rd. in Milford, NH. Grace was a Jennison–as in Jennison Rd., names of place and family a kind of palimpsest– before she was an Ulricson. She had signed the flyleaf of his inherited copy of the Gita Grace Ulricson in pencil.
In the introduction, William Q. Judge wrote,
“ The Bhagavad Gita tends to impress on us two things: selflessness and action; studying and living by it will arouse the belief that we cannot live for ourselves alone, but must come to realize that there is no such thing as separateness and no escaping our collective Karma… and so we must think and act according to that belief.”
It’s a thought.
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