A couple of years ago I bought this black shirt and pants I’m wearing for $2—my first black outfit. A.O. Sachs, my friend, who always said, “Call me A.O., the Alpha & the Omega,” whose body recently passed from us, commented at our weekly gathering in this North Berkeley Senior Center’s Lunch Room before the Living Philosophers Group which meets upstairs in Room C from 10 a.m. to 12:45 p.m., every Friday, “You’re dressed rather somberly this morning.” “You think so?” I replied. “I don’t see it that way. Black is a compliment of light—you can’t have one without the other.” “Perhaps,” I continued, “wearing black is a joyous celebration of life: guilt free, without a loss of self due to the loss of another, not lurking in the night to take advantage, not pedaling sins, no evil, but to call attention to the dance of shadow and light, an affirmation of the process of living-being in this universe, whatever that is. A point of view thing, I guess.” “Shall we dance?” says I. With a big grin, A.O. comes back, “Yes. ‘Shall we dance, ta da, da, da,’” (to the tune in The King and I) breaking into song along with Henry Bers (the sing-along dude here at the Senior Center). Now, this was not unusual for Henry and A.O. to do those Friday mornings; they both knew the words to quite a few songs, along with a general joining in by the coffee, tea, juice and buns crowd in the early light of the day.
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