My Friend Michael Jackson
This, I promise, is how you will react when you meet Michael Jackson:
you'll stare, you'll start, you'll step up and you'll freeze. Everyone does the
same thing - fans, celebrities, journalists, children, parents, shoppers,
waitresses, prime ministers, prime ministers' bodyguards ... First you look. Michael has the most arresting appearance of any man I
ever saw. It isn't only the face, and the clothes. It's the aura. But before you
have taken that in, you'll start to move towards him. Instinctively. You take a step or two, and freeze. It's like being hit by a wave of
awareness, first of all pushing you forwards and then stopping you cold in the
backwash. "Oh my God it's Michael Jackson" and then "Oh! My God. It's Michael
Jackson ..." I've been in the massive lobby of an international five-star hotel when
Michael walked in, and I've seen the wave sweep over 70 people - not only the
super-rich and the professionally cool, but the porters and receptionists and
bell-boys.The people nearest him moved, and then froze. Further away, people
turned, and moved, and froze, while some of those nearest began to move again.
It was like a century-old fragment of celluloid, the lobby suddenly silent and
the air flickering, crackling, as people moved in jerks and lurches. Michael simply smiled and pressed his hands together in greeting. Last month we drove out of his Knightsbridge hotel in a people-mover with
midnight-tinted windows, and there were 2,000 people crowded across the
pavement. Around 60 of the younger ones broke from the press and sprinted
alongside us. I was concerned that someone could slip and fall under a wheel,
but they were all so exuberantly happy. They were shouting out, "Michael, we
love you!" Michael gestured for the car to slow down, and he edged his door
open, leaning out of the car to touch the hands of his fans. "We love you, Michael!" "I love you more," he said. I heard him say it again and again during the
next few days. "I love you more." When Michael walks over to a group of fans who have waited hours for a
glimpse, you see some of them lock solid. They have messages for him, they want
to say how much he has meant to them all through their lives, how his music has
been their soundtrack, but all they can do is stare. Many bring handmade gifts. Embroidered cushions, framed paintings, poems,
boxes, candles, national flags. He takes every one and holds it to his chest for
a moment. He says, "Thank you. I love you," again and again. He does not refuse
any request for an autograph or a photograph. I walked with him for 200 yards
through the pouring rain across an Oxford road and past barriers after his
address to the privileged Union audience last month, to a huddle of drenched and
shivering fans. They had not been able to get tickets, and they had turned up on
a bitter night without any real hope of being close to Michael for more than a
moment, but they (and not the curiosity-hunters in the Union building) were the
real fans. Michael truly loves his fans. When he tells them, he does not do it in
the superficial way that most pop stars intend when they shout it from the
stage. He means it this way - when Michael walked through the rain that night,
he was on crutches, with two broken bones in a foot that was swaddled in
bandages. By the time we got back to the limousine he was squeezing filthy, icy
rainwater out of the bandages onto newspapers on the floor. I laid my hands on
the aching flesh and let energy flow through me, to activate Michael's own
healing powers. He sat back with a calm expression on his face and his eyes
closed, perfectly accepting of the possibility that healing can begin with
positive thinking. The fan's gifts are displayed in Michael's hotel suites. Wherever he's
staying - and he moves around a lot, even between places in the same city - his
favourite presents are on display. And he has a lot of favourites. He uses
objects almost as pledges, reminders of affection from people who can't be with
him, the way you might fill your wallet with photos of your children and folded
postcards from old friends. On Michael's walls there are pictures of his own
children, of course, and photos of him with his family and friends, but the
reverence with which the admirers' gifts are arranged seems to say that his fans
are his family too. I saw how sincerely he felt this when two ingenious German über-fans
broke into my home on my wedding day. Michael was to be best man, though by the
time the ceremony was due to start neither he nor the rabbi, Shmuley Boteach,
had turned up. My manager, Shipi, who is also my brother-in-law, had posted
security guards all round the perimeter of the grounds. We were tolerating half
a dozen paparazzi who were pointing lenses like cannon barrels over the privet
hedge which screens the house from the Thames, and there were a few girls
perched in the riverbank trees too, with nothing to see but the marquee and a
helicopter. Once or twice the magician David Blaine floated outside for
interviews - I do mean floated, and if you haven't yet seen David Blaine
levitate then you have a real shock in store. Many guests commented that I seemed nervous, and I was -but not about
getting married. Hanna and I had been together 30 years, and I felt I was
probably ready for the commitment. What concerned me was a call from an Israeli
source, warning there might be a terrorist attack on the wedding. I took the
warning very seriously and I engaged all precautions, Scotland Yard referred me
to the local police who in turn sent two policemen to discuss the day. Some
internationally famous people were there, aside from Michael - the Formula One
racing champion Nigel Mansell, Sir David Frost, Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics,
the horror writer James Herbert, Dido's producer Youth, not to mention an
Israeli consul and the Japanese Ambassador... any terrorist wanting to make a
name for himself need only open fire on the canvas walls of the marquee with an
automatic weapon. My helicopter pilot was under orders to fly anyone wounded by
gunfire to the nearby Royal Berkshire hospital. A medical doctor was on standby,
unseen by the guests inside the main house, and Michael's own doctor would
accompany him. Most of the fans, with no thoughts of terrorists, were outside the main
gates. A steady stream of guests drove up and announced their names to the
guards. The Germans, a boy and a girl, were clever and brazen - they hung around
to hear a couple announce themselves, walked away for 20 minutes, then came back
and presented themselves under the same names. Shipi saw them walking down our
long driveway: "Who's that?" he demanded nervously, but by then the Germans were
inside, and we didn't want a scene. Not in front of the paparazzi. Not on my
wedding day. If these guys were willing to behave themselves ... and they were,
but they pleaded to be allowed close enough to say hi to Michael when the
ceremony had been concluded. Michael did more than say hi. He beckoned them to him, embraced each of
them gently, accepted their gifts graciously and posed for their cameras. He
told them he truly valued their friendship, thanked them for taking such risks
to bring him presents, and smiled a blessing upon each of them. Now, you may be cynical about Michael Jackson. You may be influenced by
the highly inventive controversies which have dogged his career. You may be
prejudiced by his appearance - though you'd better ask yourself why you feel
free to comment on his colour and his looks when you profess that you never
judge anyone by their skin or their face. You may feel that I'm painting him as
some kind of saint, when some supermarket tabloids are eager for you to believe
the opposite. I won't bother to argue with you. Michael has maintained the dignity
throughout his career to ignore the mudslingers. I know what it is to be falsely
accused and reviled, to be laughed at by people who don't have the first idea of
what they're saying - but I thank God that the mud aimed at me over the decades
has been nothing like the rancid filth hurled at Michael. I have nothing but
contempt for some of the people who made such claims, nothing but pity for the
people credulous enough to believe them. All I will say is this: how many other people, now or at any time in
history, have possessed the charismatic power to change lives with a smile? To
offer a blessing and make a person feel deeply, fully blessed? And how many of those people kept their gift uncorrupted and used it with
generosity? There are a few names in your mind perhaps, but I won't make the
comparison with Michael. I will leave you to do that for yourself. Let it be a
test of how open-minded you can be. Most people who achieve great fame taste this power, this unexpected gift
from God to bestow inspiration on people. Michael has it to an exceptional
degree, and this is partly because it has been his to wield for so long. Most
sports stars and rock gods lose it after a year or two, as their fame fades. Or
they push it away from them without understanding it. Or they foolishly imagine
it will protect them from the ravages of their drinking and drug habits. Michael
treats the gift with awe, as if it were a healing power ... which it is. A smile
from Michael can heal the spirit. He has an angelic talent for choosing words which will touch the heart. I
treasure the inscription on a photograph he gave to me, because he wrote without
holding back: "To Uri, you are truly a Godsend. The world needs you - I need
you. Michael" When I perform, particularly when I have to bend spoons again and again,
I feel drained afterwards. It's not the tiredness that comes from hard labour or
long study or too much partying - it's an enervation, as if I've been sweating
raw energy and all my nerve endings are swollen and raw. I often sleep in the
back of the car. When he is exhausted, Michael meditates. After the wedding was
over and the celebrity photos were all done, he asked me for a room in my home
where he could be alone for 20 minutes. Michael is not a frail man, despite what
you may have read - he is tall, lithe and his hands are large and strong, like a
tennis player's. But at this moment he looked like the finalist after five sets
on Wimbledon's centre court. He needed peace of mind. I showed him into our family room, with its tables of crystal globes and
pyramids and its lifesize wooden effigy of Elvis in his rhinestone phase, and
left him to meditate. Maybe the spirit of Elvis came to him - the Pop Prince was
once the King's son-in-law, after all. When he emerged, he seemed still tired,
but more centred. Michael's family was famously religious - they were Jehovah's Witnesses
and Michael occasionally disguised himself to join his fellow believers as they
went from house to house, inviting people to think about God. As a grown man, he
has moved beyond denominations of faith - his concern is not with religion but
with spirituality. This gives him strength, but I think it is the joy he takes
in life which keeps renewing his vitality - that, and a second factor which I
shall describe in a moment. He has a lot of fun, childish fun. Not just child-like, but downright
fun. He giggles a lot. He has a great sense of mischief. Michael first became
aware of me through reading his school textbooks when he was a teenager. We were
introduced by Mohamed Al Fayed, a man whose grasp of English is often variable
but whose fluency in swearing is unmatched in any language. Even Hungarians
don't swear as enthusiastically as Mo. I think he is spurred on by the presence
of people who might be easily offended, like little old ladies or royalty. Or
pop royalty - when Mo starts cursing in front of Michael, the tirade is
punctuated by delighted giggles and, "Oh, Mohamed! Ohhhh, Mohamed!" He loves gadgets. Show him a watch that's calibrated via a satellite link
to the atomic clock, or a digital writing pad with a built-in camera, or a
mobile phone with a scanner, and he's like a boy - "That's cool, I love it, can
I have it? I mean, just play with it?" He surrounds himself with boyish
paraphernalia -pictures of dolphins and sunsets, huge teddies and model cars.
He's not into sport much, though he's very fit, like any professional dancer,
and he supports newly-promoted Fulham - in the casual way that a lot of
teenagers say they support Manchester United, not really understanding the rules
or remembering the results, but happy to relate to the team that always wins.
Plus, of course, Fulham are owned by a friend of his - MO took him to a game and
they sat there in Fulham scarves and caps. Michael has infinite respect towards
Princess Diana who tragically died with Mo's son Dodi whom Michael adored; they
were working on a movie together. Michael's hotel rooms are always decorated with movie posters and
eight-foot cardboard cut-outs, Anakin Skywalker peeping out from the folds of
Darth Maul's cape, E.T. bicycling over the full moon. The first time I visited
him in New York we hired Sony's cinema and took in The Matrix, because there's a
sequence inspired by me where children teach Keanu Reeves to bend spoons with
the power of the mind. Michael brought popcorn and candy, and his little boy Prince rocketed
around between the seats, stopping every few moments to fix me with his
luminously intelligent eyes and ask a question. After about half the movie,
Michael slipped out of his seat. I didn't say anything and I thought that maybe
this was his way of avoiding a 'goodbye' moment. But after four or five minutes
I twisted round and saw him, silhouetted under the projectionist's beam.
Dancing. Moonwalking to the soundtrack, spaced out in a complex routine of
twists and jerks. Anyone could have seen that it was Michael Jackson. No one
else on Earth moves that way. He took me to his studio, the Hit Factory - it isn't his own, he merely
hires it, but when Michael walks into the recording area it becomes his. He
dominates the studio, a different kind of domination to the way he overwhelms a
crowd. This is business, and this is the second factor which restores his youth.
Michael is utterly committed to his music. He works passionately at it, with a
dedication that surprised me when I first saw it. I had deliberately ditched all
my preconceptions about this man, because I'd known about his music and his life
since I was a young paratrooper and later a paranormalist doing shows for
Israeli troops, three decades ago. All that second-hand clutter wasn't going to
help me understand the real human being. But in our few meetings and a series of
increasingly deep telephone conversations, I had not divined an artist who could
be so forceful, so powerful, in the studio. His attitude shines out of him like an aura. Writing, performing, mixing,
arranging - he is in command. Always a confident person who will say what he
means even though he says it quietly, in the studio his confidence reaches an
entirely different level. He is dominant. And nothing pleases him more than
honest praise from another musician. Michael's face was radiant when I told him
that Justin Hayward, guru of the Moody Blues, had called me from his home in
France especially to tell me to pass a message to Michael: you have never made a
record that was less than excellent, he said, and this is almost unique among
artists of your longevity. I think he took pride because he knew it to be true.
There is not one poor disc. Perhaps not even one poor track. Simply a catalogue
of stone classics. I am proud of myself that Michael liked my own paintings
enough to commission a piece of art for the sleeve of his forthcoming CD. And I
was totally flattered when he asked me to energize the tapes which were in the
studio's safe. It wasn't the first time I have worked in this way with super
performers. I visited the Spice Girls in a studio in London around five years ago,
they were planning to go to America and I bent a spoon for them and told them to
take it with them to the US to bring them positive energy. It was a similar experience with N'Sync, they were playing small shows in
Germany and here (the UK) and wanted to break in America I went to see them,
talked to them motivated the group bent a spoon for them and said keep this with
you as a talisman as a tool for your mind when you go back to America. Both
bands have been catapulted to success. John Lennon and I become close in the seventies, I lived a block away
from him in New York and we would meet up about once a month in secret to talk
about UFO's. When John wanted Yoko to come back to him he asked for my help. I had a meeting with Elvis too, he requested that we meet about 20 miles
outside Las Vegas, he wanted the meeting to be private and told me where to meet
him in the desert in a trailer - he was amazing. I introduced Michael to my friend Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, who was writing
a book of letters, The Psychic And The Rabbi, with me, and together we took
Michael to the Carlebach Shul in New York for his first visit to a synagogue. We
chose this setting because Rabbi Carlebach was famous for his music and his
singing. Jewish worship is filled with song, and Michael's face was a picture as
he swayed and clapped with the music. I saw the same expression in his eyes when
I glanced down at him under the chupa, the traditional Jewish wedding canopy, as
our guests lifted Hanna and me onto their shoulders. It was during the synagogue service that I began to understand how
Michael's gift for bestowing blessings might be most generously spread. Shmuley
had the same idea and, as he was moving to New York from Oxford, England, with
his wife and six children (it's seven now), the rabbi was able to put his
particular gift for practical energy to good use - together, they founded the
charity Heal The Kids. My concept was more abstract. Tormented by the disintegration of the
peace process in the Holy Land, I wanted to hold up the almost supernatural aura
which emanates from Michael when he is giving hope and happiness to his fans,
and shine that like a beacon over Israel. I had no idea how this could possibly
be done - I just could not fathom a world where soldiers shot at children who
threw stones at cars, and snipers who took aim at babies, while millions of
people of all races, creed and colour on other continents loved a man who
reflected their affection back so dazzlingly. That contradiction just floors me.
Everyone in Israel has heard of Michael - his concert a few years ago was a
massive sell-out. Everyone would have recognised, at a single glance, his
dancing image at the back of that cinema. So what's to prevent his gift of peace
from working in Israel? I remembered a stone I had picked up in the Sinai desert, close to the
monastery of St Katerina, when my father and I drove out there one day after the
Six Day War. I was recovering from my wounds that I suffered in Ramallah and I
believe my dad was proud of me at that time as he never was before or since - my
father was a professional soldier. We tried to imagine the place where God had
spoken to Moses from the centre of a blazing bush. When I sensed I had found the
place -and I can still feel the electric tingle in my palms and fingers, the
dowser's sensation that decades later told me when I had discovered gold or oil
- my father helped me dislodge a stone. Moses' foot may have trodden on this triangular piece of rock. We prised
it out of the ground and brushed the sand off it, and carried it to the jeep. We
drove back to Jerusalem, and close to the Western Wall I placed the stone on the
ground. Whenever I returned to the city I went to look at it. But after the Carlebach Shul, I went back to do more than look. Shipi
persuaded a guard to look the other way while I prised the slab out of the earth
for a second time and loaded it into a suitcase. I won't tell you all the
difficulties I had getting that suitcase through El Al's security cordon and
past US customs, but at one stage I seriously feared the stone would be smashed
to shards. Finally, I put it beside me in a yellow cab and called Michael to
tell him I was bringing a present. I called it the Stone of Peace. More than a year later, as Shmuley and I posed for photographs with
Michael and the Prime Minister of Israel, Ariel Sharon, I realised how we might
make the Stone of Peace the cornerstone for our own peace mission. The meeting
with Arik was utterly unexpected -I was staying in New York with a Swiss friend
at his Manhattan apartment, and the place was suddenly crawling with security
... the kind of security that only Middle Eastern leaders can generate. My
friend joked with a bodyguard, "Who do we have upstairs? Arafat and Sharon?"
"Just Sharon," came the answer. Too good a chance to miss. Too good a synchronicity. I believe these
strange coincidences are planned for us, perhaps millions of years in advance,
by an intelligence we cannot begin to comprehend. And I saw Michael's magic
working again. Even the bodyguards moved in stop-start motion. Even the prime
minister looked up and reached forward and froze and moved again. I saw the
thought written on his face: "Michael Jackson! That's Michael Jackson!" I knew then that Michael's blessing could work on the warring factions of
the Holy Land. We are planning a visit, for June or July of this year, to meet
the Israeli president and the Kings of Jordan and Morocco. I have hopes that
Arafat too and the leaders of Hizbollah might be willing to sit down with us. We
won't expect anyone to negotiate -we are not negotiators or politicians, nor
miracle workers. All we can do is hope that music and rhythm and the power of
pop can indeed work a miracle where politics and religious schism fail
tragically every day. It is not only we who need this mirage of peace to become
real, after all - it is our children, and their unborn children, and all the
songs that they will sing.
By Uri Geller
http://www.urigeller.com/
Was Michael Jackson Framed?
The most harrowing time during Michael's life was during the child abuse allegations. He has been totally vindicated and at no time was he charged for any crime but there still remains a doubt in some peoples minds. Our job as Michael fans is to spread the truth about what really happened, how Michael was the victim of extortion and also at the mercy of a media who revel in shameless hype and no longer are capable of printing the truth. An exception to this was an article written by Mary A. Fisher for the GQ magazine, it's the most accurate account of what really happened. Everyone should read this and if you weep it's only natural because a shameful injustice was done to a wonderful human being and his name is Michael Jackson. Click the link below.
How Many More Children Have To Die?
The Story of Anna Climbie
Anna Climbie was a bright, cheerful girl of six when she left her family in the Ivory Coast, bound for what they felt sure would be a better life and a highly prized European education.
Little more than a year later, she lay dead in a London mortuary, her undernourished body ravaged by 128 injuries described by a pathologist as "the worst case of child abuse" he had seen. Her limbs were contorted like those of an old woman. Before her death, she had been kept for days at a time in a cold bath, her hands and feet bound with tape. Hospital staff were unable to straighten her legs. Her only covering had been a soiled bin liner, and what little food she was given she had to eat "like a dog". Anna had suffered beatings from a bicycle chain, a belt, fists, cigarette burns and scalding, all at the hands of her great aunt, Marie Therese Kouao, and Kouao's boyfriend Carl Manning, a bus driver.
Twice she had been in hospital. A child-protection order had been obtained and police and social workers had been alerted to injuries. Yet none of the safety nets could save her. The catalogue of ill-treatment continued, amid a "blinding degree of incompetence" by police and social workers, who faced scathing criticism from prosecution and defence counsel. "If you come across a child in need in Haringey it would have been better to call out the RAC than the social services," said Nigel Rumfitt, QC, for Manning. Michael Gledhill, defending Kouao, described the pair as "supremely incompetent" and the actions of the police and social services as "outrageous".
When Kouao returned to the Ivory Coast in late 1998, with stories of her affluent life in Paris, Anna's family was delighted. Her offer to take Anna home with her to France was welcomed with enthusiasm. Berthe Ehoura, her 40-year-old mother, had never flown until she travelled to London to identify her daughter's body. She told the jury of the happiness she felt when Anna left the Ivory Coast. "The success of the child would be an honor to the family," she said. She recalled receiving a photograph of a smiling Anna with a message assuring her she was well. In fact, by the time this news arrived, Anna was dead.
In France, Anna lived at first with Kouao, another girl from the Ivory Coast, and Kouao's three sons. But when the French authorities began pressing for back payment of overpaid child support, she moved to England. Mr Rumfitt said Kouao used Anna as part of "operation scrounge". He described her as "devious, dishonest, cruel and selfish - one of those rare characters who can rightly be described as evil".
Anna's beatings had already begun by the time they arrived in London in April 1999. Kouao turned first to Ealing social services for assistance and was given housing in a refugee hostel and benefits worth 2000 ($A5300). But the benefits were halted when the authority decided Kouao had made herself intentionally homeless.
In June, Kouao met Manning, a "classic nerd" who wrote about bus routes in his diary and spent his spare time downloading pornography. His only sexual encounters had been with prostitutes and he was quickly mesmerised by Kouao. Also in June, an acquaintance of Kouao's, Esther Ackah, a nurse, twice phoned Brent social services because she was worried about Anna's health. But the authority took no action.
In July, after Kouao moved in with Manning, she asked Avril Cameron, a friend, to care for Anna because her lover did not want the child. Mrs Cameron took Anna to Central Middlesex Hospital because she was so concerned about marks on her body. A child-protection order was taken out, but not enforced, after Ruby Schwarz, a consultant paediatrician, decided that her injuries were due to scabies and Anna scratching herself. Kouao was furious with Mrs Cameron for taking Anna to hospital, and took her back to Manning's home.
Nine days later, she took the girl to North Middlesex Hospital, claiming that she had poured boiling water over herself to relieve the itching from scabies. Staff could not fail to notice the disparity: Anna looked "like a street urchin" while Kouao was immaculately dressed. Nurses noted that Anna seemed desperate for love, and ravenous for food. Staff gave her cast-offs to wear. When they lifted her into a bath, they could find no part of her body that was not sore. Mary Rossiter, a senior paediatrician, diagnosed abuse and neglect, but a policewoman and social worker assigned to the case accepted Kouao's explanation that Anna's injuries were self inflicted and she was allowed home. Dr Rossiter told the jury she was "horrified" to hear that Anna had been discharged.
In August, the social worker went on a pre-arranged visit to Manning's home, which had been cleaned up for the occasion. She decided that although cramped, it was clean and well kept.
As the year wore on, Manning began hitting Anna and confining her to the bath. In his diary, Manning referred to the little girl as Satan and Kouao claimed she was injuring herself because of "witchcraft". Manning later admitted that he hit Anna quite often but she took the pain and never cried.
In November, after Haringey refused to house Kouao and Anna because they were deemed intentionally homeless, Kouao claimed Manning had sexually abused Anna. She withdrew the claim the next day after being told that Anna could be taken into care. Police found no evidence of sexual abuse and believe it was a ploy by Kouao to get accommodation.
In February, Kouao and Manning took Anna, by now unable to walk and barely conscious, to the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God in Holloway, north London, to be exorcised. Church elders were so shocked by her appearance they told the pair to take her to hospital. A cab driver realised that the child was ill and that the two were paying her no attention. He was so concerned that he drove directly to an ambulance station from which Anna, by now unconscious, was rushed to hospital. Staff described her injuries as "horrific" and were unable to straighten her limbs. She died the next day.
Daily Telegraph (UK)
Michael could have wrote this song for Anna.....
Little Susie
Somebody killed little Susie
A fall down the stairs
Everyone came to see
It was all for God's sake
She knew no one cared...
Father left home, poor mother died
Neglection can kill
A Reply to Michael's Article in the Jewish Telegraph, Beliefnet
See article Michael wrote here!
Dear Michael:
It lifts my soul so very much to hear your words of joy and family. I am so very happy for you and I hope you are truly as happy as you seem to be. Stay true to yourself Michael! Don't let the world shape how you are....please stay the man you are...you are truly a beautiful and tortured soul. Be thankful for that Michael. I know that sounds idiotic but if you think about it, just for a little while, think about it and you will see that you have been given a gift. Not only the gift of song and dance but you have been given the clarity to see the true innocence...the glaring beauty of Children.
Stay strong Michael. I am so happy that some of your dreams and desires are coming to light for you. The only thing that could please me more is to see you reconcile with the truth. You know what I mean Michael...you used the words in the article. You mentioned the elders...you talked of Fellowship...stepping in the doors and into the livingrooms...the love and acceptance that the congregation showed to the "outsiders." The "truth" is still here Michael...the strength that it could be providing you right now! The strength it would have been during the last few years! You have to remember it Michael? It's all still awaiting us Michael, A world without tears. Do you remember it Michael?
Just think of a world, a world without tears,
Think of a world, when a man plants a vine,
Think of a world without bloodshed and strife,
Think of the Earth as a global paradise,
Think! Just as sure as God's word is the truth,
Think of a world where a lame man will leap
Think of a world where each man is his brother,
Think of a world where the dead will have risen,
Now a "world without tears" is not just a dream,
And since such a world before you now lies,
Goods news of the Kingdom is still being sung,
In praising our God, our savior and King,
Whether you remember or not Michael, I love you and will always love you. The only people above you are my children and Jehovah. Be safe Michael...
By Jeff (Aigner)
Start Of A New MJ Year (2000)
As the new year begins it is the time to reflect on your life and on the special moments you have had over the previous year including Michael Jackson moments and also to look ahead and hope to create new incredible times.
My favorite Michael moment last year (sounds strange hehehe...) was the concert in Munich I wasn't privileged enough to go to it. I didn't realize the enormity of such an event and the obvious importance to his fans. I watched it on satellite live and I felt lucky to be able to do this. The concert was incredible and very much reminded me of the MTV awards performance and his HIStory concerts. I didn't mind that he didn't incorporate anything new it was Michael and he always gives 101%. The scary moment in the concert, which we'll all remember was when he was on the platform and it dropped down too quickly. You can't imagine the force it came down at. Michael as usual 'the ultimate performer and professional' carried on with the show. He was admitted to hospital afterwards and we all breathed a sigh of relief when he was ok.
On a personal but always MJ level tee hee...1999 was when I discovered the Internet clap...clap…. cheers lol! I'm usually in front with technology but this time I was late but it was worth waiting for. I have made some incredible friends. I could write a list but it would fill this board but I want everyone to know Michael fans are the best people. I think it's because they learn so much from Michael and his songs it spills over into their lives and definitely into their personalities. I've learned Michael fans are so gifted too. They are usually writing poems, stories or even novels in some cases. They also have a gift for art I've seen some fantastic drawings and some wonderful websites with exceptional graphics. I don't think we all realize how much work goes into keeping Michael as the number one music artist on the net with websites and information but it's down to certain special people who keep our dream alive.
Looking ahead we all know this year is when it all begins again for Michael. It's going to be an incredible year. Michael always sets new standards in the music world. He is innovative, so gifted (a genius), intuitive and incredibly clever. Don't have any doubts the album will be a success probably his greatest achievement yet. The songs he does usually reflect how he feels and he has never been in a better place. Ok he got divorced that's nothing new nowadays but out of it he has two incredible gifts - his children. Everyone knows how much children enrich our lives. Yes this will reflect in his songs and some of them will be remarkable.
OK back to me......hehehe I'll clap myself! lol! I'm hoping this year on a world level will be a time for peace and when we finally realize that children are our equals and they deserve huge respect. Everything we say or do alters their lives. Some things especially physical abuse can turn a hurt and scared child eventually in later life into a bitter, twisted and often abusive adult. Lets remember that we should keep our arguments and anger away from children. They deserve beautiful enriched lives and this way they have a chance to become wonderful adults.
On a personal level I'm hoping to expand and enrich my friendships with all you wonderful Michael fans. I have other goals too but hey I'm not writing a book - YET! lol! Take care everyone and have a wonderful MJ year!
Lots of love to everyone - Sean xxxx
Misconceptions
As Michael fans we have all witnessed how the media have an obsession with the way he looks. They scrutinize his appearance and criticize the fact that he may have had operations to change his profile.
It isn't unusual for people to think of changing how they look nowadays especially when they are younger. There is a lot of pressure for young people to look and act a certain way to fit in with their friends. If you aren't blessed with being naturally beautiful then life can be difficult as a lot of things which are taken for granted don't come to you automatically. A lot of our self-esteem is directly connected to the way we look.
It takes a long time for us to accept ourselves for who we really are and concentrate on what is inside us, our inner spirit and beauty. That is what being beautiful is all about.
We don't know the reasons if or why Michael may have changed his looks. He was definitely very unhappy in his teens over his looks and I've heard his dad would often ridicule him. He was blighted with acne which is a terrible and very much understood problem to deal with, as anyone will know who has experienced it.
As a superstar and being constantly in the public eye, no matter what we think there is a lot of attention given to the way a person looks. It is a part of show business. The pressures at times on Michael must have been really difficult. We all know how we feel sometimes when we don't feel or look well but are expected to go out with friends. We would often sooner stay in and hide in a cupboard all night eating junk food than do it lol! Michael has to appear at events no matter what he feels like and in front of thousands. Sometimes his appearances are planned months ahead. Just imagine how hard that must be!
Having said all this I love the way Michael looks and it isn't from a fanciable....oh gosh he's hot point of view hehe... It is his personality which shines out that I see, like I try to see in everyone I meet. Remember to learn that when you make new friends to give them a chance for who they are and not what they look like.
Peace and Love - Sean
To Whom It May Concern
I am writing an open letter proclaiming my undying
love for Mr Michael Joseph Jackson. I ask you to read
this as it is my final
homage to the man that saved my life. Let me begin
from the very beginning.
My name is *James and I am nineteen years young. I
have grown slowly over the years, so in actual fact,
I'm probably thirteen
or fourteen, but my soul feels as though it had lived
a thousand life times, for I have experienced every
emotion possible in a
world full of war and peace, hate and love, misery and
happiness, selfishness and giving.
I was born on August 17th, 1980. I seemed like a
healthy baby boy, but this was far from the truth.
When my mother was told
that I had been born with a hole in my heart, she
foresaw the years to come, making her way to and from,
in and out of
hospitals. My father tried to make the most of a bad
situation, however, only four years after my birth, he
was nearing a
nervous breakdown. He was unable to maintain a stable
job, as he was more or less living in the hospital or
medical center with
me.
But eventually, we were able to overcome the hardships
with more and more treatment. However, our family
wasn't very
financially secure, so we could not afford a surgeon
or a heart transplant. I was slowly dying, even with
my constant medical
treatments, and my parents decided to move to America
to try and find better doctors, or perhaps an
organization to fund my
operation.
My mother, a third grade school teacher, had resigned
when I turned six, only two months before our move to
the States. She
tutored me, and nursed me during the not so crucial
years of my life, when I was able to stay in bed at
home. Occasionally, I
would walk with her to the park if I felt well on the
day.
By the time I was ten, I more or less resembled a
grape, or a blue creature of some sort. My skin was so
pale, it looked grey,
and my lips and fingertips were blue, as well as other
parts of my body which my heart could not circulate
blood to properly.
I was thirteen years old when my father came home with
a gift for me. I had never received gifts before,
except during
Christmas or Birthdays, and I was delighted when I saw
him carrying the parcel, colorfully wrapped with
shimmering paper and
red and gold ribbons. He had a smile on his face, an
expression that I had not seen often, and he came into
the kitchen and
picked my small body up in his strong arms. He handed
me the present, and giggled as I tore off the ribbons,
and ripped open
the wrapping in excited joy. I was puzzled by the
plastic case which I held in my hands, and the black
disk that it protected
within. I wondrously scrutinized the delicate artwork
on the cover of the CD and read the title of the album
which my father had
bought me - 'Dangerous', I read aloud.
I had never heard of Michael Jackson, nor was I
interested in pop music before that day. In fact, the
only music I had ever
heard was the sweet voice of my mother, singing me to
sleep, every night since I could remember.
Nevertheless, this was the
most amazing thing I had ever heard. I felt like I had
been reborn into a brand new world. The world of
Michael Jackson, and I
loved it. I didn't care about who he was, or what he
looked like, or how much money he had. This man's
music made me
happy. It made me want to dance. It lifted my spirit,
and for those reasons alone, I loved him.
I didn't know that I could be any more thankful
towards him, for what his beautiful music had done to
me already, and then the
news came.
Michael Jackson's Heal The World foundation was going
to fund my heart transplant. When my father told me
this, I fell to my
knees and burst into tears. They weren't tears of
grief or sorrow. They were tears of joy. It was the
most heart lifting, spiritually
healing moment of my life, and still is, to this day.
Even the trip to Neverland upon which I had embarked,
several months after my operation, could not compare
to that moment,
when I cried through the night, rocking myself to
sleep with the humming sound of the music from
Dangerous in my room.
Thanks to Heal The World, and the Make A Wish
Foundation, I was able to meet the man that saved my
life. It was a very
brief meeting, but one that will last a lifetime in my
heart and repeat itself a thousand times over in my
mind.
After the operation, my parents were able to get back
into work, and maintain a normal household, leading
normal lives. In
1995, my father bought me a computer, when he
discovered the new craze that was going to soon take
over the world - The
Internet. Since then, I was able to communicate with
fellow fans of Michael Jackson from all over the
world. I started going to
school, although it was very hard to adapt. The only
company I had kept since I was born, were family,
doctors and terminally
ill children, but I managed. My life was headed in the
right direction. I felt like a normal person.
I was sad to have had to sell my computer and take up
a part time job in order to save enough money for the
Hawaii concert
during the HIStory tour, but I couldn't miss it for
the world. I had to see that show. I saw it, and it
was unbelievable! I found
myself dancing and screaming and singing along in the
audience with thousands of other fanatics who shared
the same love for
MJ that I did.
I experienced quite a lot in such a short period of
time. I was approaching my eighteenth year, when I was
diagnosed with
Leukemia. I told my parents to be strong, and not
worry about me, because I understood why it was
happening, and I
accepted it.
Perhaps I was not born for this world. G-d wanted me
to be with him right from the start. I see Michael
Jackson as my angel.
My saviour. He tried, but no-one, not even angels can
defeat G-d.
Dangerous will always be a magical gift to me. It
brought life and love to my soul. I use the hospital
computer now, and I still
keep in touch with all my friends. They don't know
about my past, nor my 'future'. They are the best
friends I could ever wish
for. I'm sure many of you reading this have found
similar companions - You feel as though you have known
them since the
beginning of time. One love brings you together. One
love for the man, Michael Joseph Jackson.
I ask for those of you who read this to realize that
Michael Jackson does make a difference. Not just to
me, but to millions. The
weak, the poor, the hungry, the suicidal, the
addicted, the depressed, the lonely. Perhaps not
directly, but he makes our world
a better place, and also the world of those who are
not fans.
Please appreciate him for what he has achieved, and
hopes to achieve. Try not to be superficial or
judgmental, but accepting
and understanding.
As for me, I would like to say, please do not have
sympathy for me. I may have started off having a hard
life, but I believe that
it only made me stronger. Strong enough to be buried
smiling; for when I die, Michael's words will be with
me forever -
"Born to Amuse, to Inspire, to Delight; Here one day,
gone one night; Gone Too Soon"
I love you all so very much.
* Love James
The girl with the tune
Who sings in the daytime at noon
She was there screaming
Beating her voice in her doom
But nobody came to her soon...
Her dress torn
Oh the blood in her hair...
A mystery so sullen in air
She lie there so tenderly
Fashioned so slenderly
Lift her with care,
Oh the blood in her hair...
The girl that now is dead
So blind stare the eyes in her head...
And suddenly a voice from the crowd said
This girl lived in vain
Her face bear such agony, such strain...
But only the man from next door
Knew Little Susie and how he cried
As he reached down
To close Susie's eyes...
She lie there so tenderly
Fashioned so slenderly
Lift her with care
Oh the blood in hair...
For her singing the tune
For someone to feel her despair
To be damned to know hoping is dead and you're doomed
Then to scream out
And nobody's there...
Leaving Susie alone
Grandfather's soul too had flown...
No one to care
Just to love her
How much can one bear
Rejecting the needs in her prayers...
Like a knife in your soul
Oh it will
But Susie fought so hard to live...
She lie there so tenderly
Fashioned so slenderly
Lift her with care
So young and so fair
Where a man can live a million years
With never a grief, an ache, or a pain,
And never a thought of dying again
He can sit in its shade and say "This is mine."
He will live in the house his own hand has made,
And naught shall molest, or make him afraid
Where no man dare take another man's life.
Where man unto man will unite in peace,
And malice and hatred forever more cease.
Where Mountain and desert will dazzle your eyes,
With beautiful flowers and shrubbery and trees,
With gay butterflies, songbirds, and bees.
A man shall return to the days of his youth.
His flesh shall become as the flesh of a child,
And the words that he speaks will be cheerful and mild.
From crag to crag like a deer or a sheep.
where none will be deaf or none will be blind,
And the dumb shall sing and speak forth his mind.
Not esteeming himself above that of another.
Where man unto man will be friend to friend,
In a world without tears, that will never end.
From their silent tombs that hold them in prison.
To forever live to love and caress,
Their loved ones and friends in righteousness
As many a person might make it seem.
For just as sure as the Bible is true,
A world without tears now lies before you.
Wouldn't you like to live in such a paradise?
And share all the blessings that God has in store,
For all who would do his will evermore.
Throughout every nation, kingdom and tongue.
And all who are thirsting for Truth are invited,
To join the New World Society and be united.
And giving to Him all we have, everything;
That we might live through endless years,
In a world without sorrow, "A WORLD WITHOUT TEARS."
Being Alive
I have a story to tell of how we shouldn't ever take life and each other for granted.
I work in a hospital. I'm there to make sure all the technical equipment is running correctly. I always thought that was all I had to do but like most people who work in hospitals you become a carer of people too, you can't help it. I spend a lot of time in the children's ward trying to make sure their stay is that much happier. A hospital is a scary place for a child because they don't understand illness. They are the bravest people though and they accept that us adults know how to cure them and we are there to help as much as we can.
My story is about a little girl called Michelle. I first got to know Michelle when I was doing my routine checks in the ward, she was just 10 years old. The children always love having me being around in the ward. I know I have a way with children it's a gift god has given me and although I'm an adult the children see me as being like them. Let me tell you it's the greatest compliment you can get! Anyway Michelle was special she immediately attached herself to me and every time I was in the ward she'd rush to be the first to see me. We'd speak quite often and she'd tell me about her little life, the things she knew, the things she liked and what she wanted to be when she was older. I loved talking to her, I knew she was a special child.
I did know something about Michelle, something terrible…she was terminally ill. I'd spoken to the doctors and there wasn't anything they could do…she had a rare cancer. It's a terrible thing knowing a child will die.
I often take videos into the ward for the children to watch. One day everyone sat down to watch a film I'd brought and Michelle as usual was first to sit on my knee. You have to realise Michelle was really very ill and it's not exactly comfortable watching a film for over an hour sat like that. It was part of her fight though and she was determined to stay by me. This still sticks in mind how determined Michelle was.
I say was because recently she died. I was very fortunate to have a few moments with her before she died and she said a lot of things. Firstly she whispered in my ear that she didn't want to die, that she was scared but she couldn't say because her mother was always in tears when she came to see her. There wasn't much I could say when she told me that. How do you respond to such a thing? I hugged her and fought back my own tears and I just said, “It’s OK Michelle you know something? You’ll be an angel soon and that isn’t so bad? I mean angels are special they look after other children and even adults sometimes”. She seemed OK after that, like she'd be important in her new role. She said she would make sure people liked each other more and she smiled.
A few hours later she was gone. I've never seen a death of a child affect so many people. The whole of the staff was numb in disbelief. We'd had her around for so long, it didn't seem right.
I've spent a lot of time coming to terms with what happened, even now months later it still affects me. The only thing I can think is that we are all lucky to be alive and that we shouldn't take any moment we have for granted because we really don't know how much time we have. That time shouldn't be spent hurting each other but we should realise who we love and let them know. So if you have friends and family who you haven't spoken to because of a small difference take the time now to tell them you love them. If you have children or you have a chance to be around them then make the most of it and be attentive and loving.
Don't do this for me, do it for Michelle - she is an angel watching you and hoping.
An experience of a MJ fan.