英文自序

《梦舞诗话》是Michael Jackson于1992年发行的文集。Michael将它献给自己的母亲，其中的充满灵性的诗作和散文均是Michael发自内心的感悟。Michael的文笔非常优美，每当你读完一段，你都会有新的体会和想法。读它们所得到的感动，就如我们在Michael音乐里得到的感动一样。这本书里还有许多彩色和黑白照片，影星伊丽莎白•泰勒（Elizabeth Taylor）为它写了精彩的引言。据很多人后来表示，当他们把其中的诗歌念给其他人听后，都得到了人们的齐声喝彩，并吸引了更多的人成为Michael Jackson迷。这里是全部的原文Angel of LightIt's hard to see angels, although I've stared at their pictures for hours. Some people can see them without pictures, and they tell interesting tales. Guardian angels are all female, for instance, which didn't surprise me once I found out. A birth angel, recruited from the younger ranks, attends every baby when it appears, while another angel, older but not grim, helps the dying to leave this world without grief or pain.You can pray to the angels and they will listen, but the best way to call them, I am told, is to laugh. Angels respond to delight, because that is what they're made of. In fact, when people's minds are clouded by anger or hatred, no angel can reach them.Not all angels have wings -- so the visionaries claim -- but those who do can unfurl a span of golden feathers stretching over the entire world. If you had eyes that could look straight into the sun, you would see an overwhelming angel presiding there; a more serene one smiles out from the face of the moon.Angels spend their entire lives, which are forever, spinning around the Creator's throne, singing His praise. People with keen ears have listened in. The harmonies of the angelic choir are incredibly complex, they say, but the rhythm is simple. "It's mostly march time," one eavesdropper affirmed. For some reason, that fact is almost the best I have learned so far.After a while it got lonely hearing about angels you couldn't see for yourself. When an angel-watcher heard that, she was shocked. "Not see?" she said. "But you have an angel in you. Everybody does. I can see it right now, and I thought you could, too." "No," I said sadly, and I asked what it looked like. "Did it look like me?""Well, yes and no," the angel-watcher mysterious answered. "It all depends on what you think you are. Your angel is a speck of light perched at the very center of your heart. It is smaller than an atom, but just wait. Once you get close to it, your angel will expand. The closer you come, the more it will grow, until finally, in a burst of light, you will see your angel in its true shape, and at that very instant, you will also see yourself."So now I am looking for my angel all the time. I sit silently, turning my gaze inward. It wasn't long before I caught a glimpse of something. "Is that you, Angel, holding a candle?" One flicker and it was gone. Yet that was enough to set my heart wildly beating. Next time my angel will be waving a lamp, then holding a torch aloft, then lighting a bonfire.That's what the angel-watcher promised, and now that I have caught sight of glory, I know enough to believe. Are You Listening?Who am I?Who are you?Where did we come from?Where are we going?What's it all about?Do you have the answers?Immortality's my gameFrom Bliss I cameIn Bliss I am sustainedTo Bliss I returnIf you don't know it nowIt's a shameAre you listening?This body of mineIs a flux of energyIn the river of timeEons pass, ages come and goI appear and disappearPlaying hide-and-seekIn the twinkling of an eyeI am the particleI am the waveWhirling at lightning speedI am the fluctuationThat takes the leadI am the PrinceI am the KnaveI am the doingThat is the deedI am the galaxy, the void of spaceIn the Milky WayI am the crazeI am the thinker, the thinking, the thoughtI am the seeker, the seeking, the soughtI am the dewdrop, the sunshine, the stormI am the phenomenon, the field, the formI am the desert, the ocean, the skyI am the Primeval SelfIn you and IPure unbounded consciousnessTruth, existence, Bliss am IIn infinite expressions I come and goPlaying hide-and-seekIn the twinkling of an eyeBut immortality's my gameEons passDeep insideI remainEver the sameFrom Bliss I cameIn Bliss I am sustainedJoin me in my dancePlease join me nowIf you forget yourselfYou'll never know howThis game is playedIn the ocean bed of EternityStop this agony of wishingPlay it outDon't think, don't hesitateCurving back within yourselfJust create...just createImmortality's my gameFrom Bliss I cameIn Bliss I'm sustainedTo Bliss I returnIf you don't know it nowIt's a shameAre you listening?Berlin 1989They hated the Wall, but what could they do? It was too strong to break through.They feared the Wall, but didn't that make sense? Many who tried to climb over it were killed.They distrusted the Wall, but who wouldn't? Their enemies refused to tear down one brick, no matter how long the peace talks dragged on.The Wall laughed grimly. "I'm teaching you a good lesson," it boasted. "If you want to build for eternity, don't bother with stones. Hatred, fear, and distrust are so much stronger."They knew the Wall was right, and they almost gave up. Only one thing stopped them. They remembered who was on the other side. Grandmother, cousin, sister, wife. Beloved faces that yearned to be seen."What's happening?" the Wall asked, trembling. Without knowing what they did, they were looking through the Wall, trying to find their dear ones. Silently, from one person to another, love kept up its invisible work."Stop it!" the Wall shrieked. "I'm falling apart." But it was too late. A million hearts had found each other. The Wall had fallen before it came down.The Boy And The PillowA wise father wanted to teach his young son a lesson. "Here is a pillow covered in silk brocade and stuffed with the rarest goose down in the land," he said. "Go to town and see what it will fetch."First the boy went to the marketplace, where he saw a wealthy feather merchant. "What will you give me for this pillow?" he asked. The merchant narrowed his eyes. "I will give you fifty gold ducats, for I see that this is a rare treasure indeed."The boy thanked him and went on. Next he saw a farmer's wife peddling vegetables by the side of the road. "What will you give me for this pillow?" he asked. She felt it and exclaimed, "How soft it is! I'll give you one piece of silver, for I long to lay my weary head on such a pillow."The boy thanked her and walked on. Finally he saw a young peasant girl washing the steps of a church. "What will you give me for this pillow?" he asked. Looking at him with a strange smile, she replied, "I'll give you a penny, for I can see that your pillow is hard compared to these stones."Without hesitation, the boy laid the pillow at her feet.When he got home, he said to his father, "I have gotten the best price for your pillow." And he held out the penny."What?" his father exclaimed. "That pillow was worth a hundred gold ducats at least.""That's what a wealthy merchant saw," the boy said, "but being greedy, he offered me fifty. I got a better offer than that. A farmer's wife offered me one piece of silver.""Are you mad?" his father said. "When is one piece of silver worth more than fifty gold ducats?""When it's offered out of love," the boy replied. "If she had given me more, she wouldn't have been able to feed her children. Yet I got a better offer than that. I saw a peasant girl washing the steps of a church who offered me this penny.""You have lost your wits completely," his father said, shaking his head. "When is a penny worth more than one piece of silver?""When it's offered out of devotion," the boy replied. "For she was laboring for her Lord, and the steps of His house seemed softer than any pillow. Poorer than the poorest, she still had time for God. And that is why I offered her the pillow."At this the wise father smiled and embraced his son, and with a tear in his eye he murmured, "You have learned well."Breaking FreeAll this hysteria, all this commotionTime, space, energy are just a notionWhat we have conceptualized we have createdAll those loved, all those hatedWhere is the beginning, where's the endTime's arrow, so difficult to bendThose broken promises, what they meantThose love letters, never sent