BONUS: \"On the Pulse of Morning\" by Dr. Maya Angelou
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
a rock, a river, a tree host species long departed marked the mastodon, the dinosaurs, a who left dry tokens of their sojourn here on our planet floor and any broad alarm of their hastening doom is lost in the gloom of dust and ages. But today the rock cries out to us clearly forcefully. Come, you may stand upon my back and face your destiny, but seek no haven in my shadow. I will give you know hiding place down here, but you created only a little lower than the angels have crouched too long in the bruising darkness, have laying too long face down in ignorance. Your mouths filling words armed for slaughter. The rock cries out to us. Today you may stand upon me, but do not hide your face across the wall of the world. A river sings a beautiful song. It says, come rest here by my side, each of you a bordered country, delicate and strangely made proud, yet thrusting perpetually under siege. Your arms struggles for profit have left collars of waste upon my shore, currents of debris upon my breast. Yet today I call you to my riverside, if you will study war no more. Come clad in peace and I will sing the songs the creator gave to me when I am the tree and the rock were one before cynicism was a bloody steer across your brow. And when you yet new you still knew nothing. The river sang and sings on. There is a true yearning to respond to the singing river and the wise rock, so say the asian hispanic, the jew, the african, the native american, the soup, the chicken, the muslim, the french greek, the irish, the rabbi, the priest, sheik the *** straight, the preacher, the privilege, the homeless, the teacher. They all hear the speaking of the tree. They hear the first and the last of every tree. Speak the huge kind today. Come to me here. Besides the vision flat yourself beside the river. Mhm. Each of you descended of some past on traveler has been paid for. You gave me my first name, you party. Apache, Seneca, you Cherokee nation who rested with me then forced on bloody feet left me to the employment of other seekers, desperate for gain, starving for gold. You the turk, the Arab, the Swede, the german, the Eskimo, the Scots you via shocked you. The you the crew bought sold, stolen arriving on a nightmare rain for a dream Here, put yourselves beside. I am that tree planted by the river which will not be moved. Who either I either river. Either tree I am yours. Poor passages have been paid, lift up your faces. You have a piercing need for this bright morning dawning for you. History, despite its wrenching pain cannot be unlived. But it's faced with courage, need not be lived again, lift up your eyes upon this day. Breaking for you. Yeah, give birth again to the dream. Women, Children, men take it into the palms of your hands, molded into the shape of your most private knob, sculpting it into the image of your most public self. Lift up your hearts. Each new our holds new chances for new beginnings. Do not be wedded forever to fear yoked eternally to brutishness. The horizon leans forward, offering you space to place new steps of change. Here on the pulse of this fine day you may have the courage to look up and out and upon me, The rock, the river, the tree, your country no less. To my descent of Mendicant, no less to you now than the Master Dom. Then here on the pulse of this new day, you may have the grace to look up and out and into your sister's eyes and into your brother's face. Your country and say simply very simply with hope. Good morning. Yeah. Mhm. Yeah. Mhm. Oh.