The Lorax - By Dr Seuss

In memory of the Hopea sangal tree in Changi.
Hopea sangal was assumed to be locally extinct till the tree was re-discovered in Changi in Sep 2002. Unfortunately, it was felled by developers two months later. Now nine pieces of its trunks, sculptured, are displayed in the Singapore Zoo.
In Nov 2004, Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew planted a Hopea sangal sapling in Henderson, which was grown from a seedling collected when the tree was discovered.

At the far end of town, where the Grickle-grass grows
and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows
and no birds ever sing excepting old crows...
is the Street of the Lifted Lorax.

And deep in the Grickle-grass, some people say,
if you look deep enough you can still see, today,
where the Lorax once stood, just as long as it could
before somebody lifted the Lorax away.

What WAS the Lorax? And why was it there?
And why was it lifted and taken somewhere
from the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows?
The old Once-ler still lives here.
Ask him. HE knows.

You wont see the Once-ler. Dont knock at his door.
He stays in his Lerkim on top of his store.
He lurks in his Lerkim, cold under the roof,
where he makes his own clothes
out of miff-muffered moof.

And on special dank midnights in August,
he peeks out of the shutters
and sometimes he speaks
and tells how the Lorax was lifted away.

He'll tell you, perhaps...
if you're willing to pay.

On the end of a rope he lets down a tin pail
and you have to toss in fifteen cents and a nail
and the shell of a great-great-great
grandfather snail.

He pulls up the pail,
makes a most careful count
to see if you've paid him the proper amount.

Then he hides what you pay him
away in his Snuvv,
his secret strange hole in his gruvvulous glove.

Then he grunts, "I will call you by Whisper-ma-Phone,
for the secrets I tell are for your ears alone."

"SLUPP!"
Down slupps the Whisper-ma-Phone to your ear
and the Once-ler's whispers are not very clear,
since they have to come down
through a snergelly hose,
and he sounds as if he had
smallish bees up his nose.

"Now I'll tell you," he says,
with his teeth sounding gray,
"how the Lorax got lifted and taken away...
It all started back...
such a long, long time back...

Way back in the days when the grass was still green
and the pond was still wet
and the clouds were still clean
and the song of the Swomee-Swans rand out into space...
one morning, I came to this glorious place.
And I first saw the trees!
The Truffula Trees!
The bright-colored tufts of the Truffula trees!
Mile after mile in the fresh morning breeze.

And, under the trees, I saw Brown Bar-ba-loots
frisking about in their Bar-ba-loot suits
as they played in the shade and ate Truffula Fruits.

From the rippulous pond
came the comfortable sound
of the Humming-Fish humming
while splashing around.

But those TREES!
Those TREES!
THOSE TRUFFULA TREES!
All my life I've been searching
for trees such as these.
The touch of their tufts was much softer than silk
And they had the sweet smell Of fresh butterfly milk.

I felt a great leaping
of joy in my heart.
I knew just what I'd do!
I unloaded my cart.

In no time at all, I had built a small shop.
Then I chopped down a Truffula Tree with one chop.
And with great skillful skill and with great speedy speed,
I took the soft tuft. And I knitted a Thneed!

The instant I'd finished, I heard a GA-ZUMP!
I looked.
I saw something pop out of the stump
of the tree I'd chopped down.
It was sort of a man.
Describe him?...That's hard.
I don't know if I can.

He was shortish. And oldish.
And brownish. And mossy.
And he spoke with a voice that was sharpish and bossy.

"Mister!" he said with a sawdusty sneeze,
"I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.
I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.
And I'm asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs"--
he was very upset as he shouted and puffed--
"What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?"

"Look, Lorax," I said. "There's no call for alarm.
I chopped just one tree. I am doing no harm.
I'm being quite useful. This thing is a Thneed.
A Thneed's a Fine-Something-That-All-People-Need!
It's a shirt. It's a sock. It's a glove. It's a hat.
But it has OTHER uses. Yes, far beyond that.
You can use it for carpets. For pillows! For sheets!
Or curtains! Or covers for bicycle seats!"

The Lorax said,
"Sir! You are crazy with greed.
There is no one on earth
who would buy that fool Thneed!"

But the very next minute I proved he was wrong.
For, just at that minute, a chap came along,
and he thought that the Thneed I had knitted was great.
He happily bought it for three ninEty-eight

I laughed at the Lorax, "You poor stupid guy!
You never can tell what some people will buy."

"I repeat," cried the Lorax,
"I speak for the trees!"

"I'm busy," I told him.
"Shut up, if you please."

I rushed 'cross the room, and in no time at all,
built a radio-phone. I put in a quick call.

I called all my brothers and uncles and aunts
and I said, "Listen here! Here's a wonderful chance
for the whole Once-ler Family to get mighty rich!
Get over here fast! Take the road to North Nitch.
Turn left at Weehawken.
Sharp right at South Stitch."

And, in no time at all, in the factory i built,
the whole Once-ler Family was working full tilt.
We were all knitting Thneeds just as busy as bees,
to the sound of the chopping of Truffula Trees.

Then..
Oh! Baby! Oh!
How my business did grow!
Now, chopping one tree
at a time was too slow.

So I quickly invented my Super-Axe-Hacker
which whacked off four Tuffula Trees at one smacker.
We were making Thneeds
four times as fast as before!
And that Lorax?...
HE didn't show up anymore.

But the next week
he knocked on my new office door.

He snapped, "I'm the Lorax who speaks for the trees
which you seem to be chopping as fast as you please.
But I'm ALSO in charge of the Brown Bar-ba-loots
who played in the shade in their Bar-ba-loot suits
and happily lived, eating Truffula Friuts.

"NOW...thanks to your hacking my trees to the ground,
there's not enough Truffula Fruit to go 'round.
And my poor Bar-ba-loots are all getting the crummies
because they have gas, and no food, in their tummies!

"They loved living here. But I can't let them stay.
They'll have to find food. And I hope that they may.
Good luck, boys," he cried. And he sent them away.

I, the Once-ler, felt sad
as I watched them all go.
BUT...
business is business
And business must grow
regardless of crummies in tummies, you know.

I meant no harm.
I most truly did not.
But I had to grow bigger. So bigger I got.

I biggered my factory. I biggered my roads.
I biggered my wagons.
I biggered the loads of the Theends I shipped out.
I was shipping them forth to the South! To the East!
To the West! To the North!
I went right on biggering...selling more Thneeds.
And I biggered my money, which everyone needs.

Then AGAIN he came back!
I was fixing some pipes
when that old-nuicence Lorax came back
with MORE gripes.

"I am the Lorax," he coughed and he whiffed.
He sneezed and he snuffled. He snarggled. He sniffed.
"Once-ler!" he cried with a cruffulous croak.
"Once-ler! You're making a smogulous smoke!
My poor Swomee-Swans...why, they can't sing a note!
No one can sing who has smog in his throat.

"And so," said the Lorax,
"--please pardon my cough--
they cannot live here.
So I'm sending them off.

"Where will they go now?... I dont hopefully know.
They may have to fly for a month...or a year...
To escape from the smog you've smogged-up around here.

"What's more," snapped the Lorax. (His dander was up.)
"Let me say a few words about Gluppity-Glupp.
Your machinery chugs on, day and night without stop
making Gluppity-Glupp. Also Schloppity-Schlopp.
And what do you do with this leftover goo?
I'll show you, you dirty old Once-ler man, you!

You're Glumping the pond where the Humming-Fish hummed!
No more can they hum, for their gills are all gummed.
So, I'm sending them off. Oh, thier future is dreary.
They'll walk on their fins and get woefully weary
in search of some water that isn't so smeary."

And then I got mad.
I got terribly mad.
I yelled at the Lorax, "Now listen here, Dad!
All you do is yap-yap and say 'Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad!"
Well, I have my rights, sir, and I;m telling YOU
I intend to go on doing just what I do!
And, for your information, you Lorax, I'm figgering
on biggering,
and Biggering
and BIGGERING
and BIGGERING,
turning MORE Truffula Trees into Thneeds
which everyone, EVERYONE, EVERYONE needs!"

And at that very moment, we heard a loud whack!
From outside in the fields came a sickening smack
of an axe on a tree. Then we heard the tree fall.
The very last Tuffula Tree of them all!

No more trees. No more Thneeds. No more work to be done.
So, in no time, my uncles and aunts, every one,
all waved good-bye. They jumped into my cars
and drove away under the smoke (or smog)-smuggered stars.

Now all that was left 'neath the bad-smelling sky
was my big empty factory...
the Lorax...
and I.

The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance...
just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance...
as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants.

And I'll never forget the grim look on his face
when he heisted himself and took leave of this place,
through a hole in the smog, without leaving a trace.

And all that the Lorax left here in this mess
was a smaLl pile of rocks, with one word... "UNLESS."
Whatever THAT meant, well, I couldn't guess.

That was long, long ago.
But each day since that day
I've sat here and worried and worried away.
Through the years, while my buildings have fallen apart,
I've worried about it with all of my heart.

"But NOW," says the Once-ler,
"Now that YOU'RE here,
the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear.

UNLESS someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It's not.

"SO...
Catch!" calls the Once-ler.
He lets something fall.
"Its a Truffula Seed.
It's the last one of all!

You're in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds.
And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs.
Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care.
Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air.
Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack.
Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back."

Food for Thought - This Earth Is Precious

In 1854, the "Great White Chief" in Washington made an offer for a large area of Indian land and promised a 'reservation' for the Indian people of the North West of the USA. Chief Seattle of the Suquamish was said to have made this reply. Although this piece of writing is commonly attributed to Chief Seattle, historians do not believe he said these precise words.

Whoever is responsible for the text below, there is no doubt that it is a beautiful and profound statement on the environment and our relationship with it.

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land?
The idea is strange to us.
If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?
Every part of the earth is sacred to my people.
Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people.
The sap that courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.

The white man's dead forgot the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars.
Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man.
We are part of the earth and it is part of us.
The perfumed flowers are our sisters: the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers.
The rocky crests, the juiced in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man - all belong to the same family.

So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us.
The Great Chief sends word that he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves.
He will be our father and we will be his children. So we will consider your offer to buy our land.

But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us.
This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors.
If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lake tells of events and memories in the life of my people.
The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father.

The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst.
The river carries our canoes, and feed our children.
If we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.

We know that the white man does not understand our ways.
One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs.
The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on.
He leaves his father's graves behind, and he does not care.
He kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care.
His father's grave, and his children's birthright, are forgotten.
He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads.
His appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.

I do not know. Our ways are different from your ways.
The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man.
But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand.
There is no quiet place in the white man's cities.
No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring, or the rustle of an insect's wings.
But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand.
The clatter only seems to insult the ears.
And what is there to life, if a man can not hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night?
I am a red man and do not understand.
The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of a pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned by a midday rain, or scented with the pinon pine.

The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath.
The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes.
For a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench.
But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.
The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh.
And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers.

So we will consider your offer to buy our land.
If we decide to accept, I will make one condition: The white man must treat the beasts of this earth as his brothers.
I am a savage and do not understand any other way.
I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train.
I am a savage and I do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.
What is man without the beasts?
If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit.
For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man.
All things are connected.

You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of your grandfathers.
So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin.
Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother.
Whatever befalls the earth, befalls the sons of the earth.
If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

This we know: The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know.

All things are connected like the blood which unites family.
All things are connected.
Whatever befalls the earth, befalls the sons of the earth.
Man did not weave the web of life: he is merely a strand in it.
Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, can not be exempt from the common destiny.
We may be brothers after all.
We shall see.

One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover - our God is the same God.
You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land; but you can not.
He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white.
This earth is precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator.

The whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes.
Contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.
But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man.

That destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forests heavy with the scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by the talking wires.
Where is the thicket? Gone.
Where is the eagle? Gone.
The end of living and the beginning of survival.

Food for Thought - Little Froggies

Typical but still inspiring at times.

Once upon a time there was a bunch of tiny frogs.... who arranged a running competition. The goal was to reach the top of a very high tower. A big crowd had gathered around the tower to see the race and cheer on the contestants. ...

The race began....

Honestly: No one in crowd really believed that the tiny frogs would reach the top of the tower. You heard statements such as: 'Oh, WAY too difficult!!', 'They will NEVER make it to the top.' or 'Not a chance that they will succeed. The tower is too high!'

The tiny frogs began collapsing. One by one.... Except for those, who in a fresh tempo, were climbing higher and higher....

The crowd continued to yell, 'It is too difficult!!! No one will make it!'

More tiny frogs got tired and gave up.... But ONE continued higher and higher and higher.... This one wouldn't give up!

At the end everyone else had given up climbing the tower. Except for the one tiny frog who, after a big effort, was the only one who reached the top!

THEN all of the other tiny frogs naturally wanted to know how this one frog managed to do it?

A contestant asked the tiny frog how he had found the strength to succeed and reach the goal?

It turned out.... That the winner was DEAF!!!!

The wisdom of this story is:

Never listen to other people's tendencies to be negative or pessimistic... because they take your most wonderful dreams and wishes away from you -- the ones you have in your heart!

Always think of the power words have. Because everything you hear and read will affect your actions!

Therefore: ALWAYS be...POSITIVE!

And above all: Be DEAF when people tell YOU that you cannot fulfill your dreams!

Always think: God and I can do this!

Food for Thought - How the poor people live

Being someone who takes time to reflect occasionally, I know the power of such thoughts. This is also the reason why I took on a liking for community and outreach projects. Hence I decided to add a small section to the blog called, 'Food for thought', hoping it will play an effect upon someone, someday...

The following will be the very first entry - one that was sent to me by a Rover of mine. Enjoy!

__________________________________________________________

One day, the father of a very wealthy family--living in the city--took his son on a trip to the country with the express purpose of showing him how the poor people live.

The father wanted the experience to really "sink in" so they spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family.

On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, "How was the trip?"

"It was great, Dad."

"Did you see how poor people live?" the father asked.

"Oh yeah," said the son.

"So, tell me, what did you learn from the trip?" asked the father.

The son answered:

"I saw that we have one dog and they had four.

We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a beautiful winding creek that has no end.

We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night.

Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon.

We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight.

We have servants who serve us, but they serve others.

We buy our food, but they grow theirs.

We have walls around our property to protect us, they have friends to protect them."

The boy's father was speechless.

Then his son added, "Thanks Dad for showing me how poor we are."

Isn't perspective a wonderful thing? Makes you wonder what would happen if we all gave thanks for everything we have, instead of worrying about what we don't have.

Appreciate every single thing you have, especially your friends!
"Life is too short and friends are too few."