June 3, 2016
Stop the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Around the world, people catch their breath at the news. They light candles, repair to mosques, and churches, and temples of different faiths. In boxing gyms, they pay homage through the flat hard patting of fists, and the rolling thunder of the speed bag.
Converge in body or in mind in Louisville Kentucky. Remove hats or don Taqiyahs. Raise one fist or hold the hand of your neighbour. Look upwards or downwards or stand with eyes closed. Tell stories or say nothing. Weep or don’t.
Let your mind float like a butterfly.
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See him in grainy black and white, shaking up the world.
See him in technicolor on a hot night in Zaire, doing it again.
“I am the greatest!”
You are the greatest.
“I aint got no quarrel.”
There’s no quarrel to have.
“I’m pretty.”
You’re beautiful.
Strew the streets with flowers to attract the bees.
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See him jogging the roadside of an African highway, trailing laughing children like a comet’s tail.
See him shaking like a leaf, led round the charity events by a wizened arm.
Lo but he burned bright.
And what burns twice as bright…?
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I am the greatest.
Of all times, Ali. Always.
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We love you.
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Converge on Louisville in body or in mind. Laugh or cry. Dance or shuffle. Recite his poetry or yours. Tell a joke. Deliver a line.
Do whatever feels right.
There is no one so sure to hear your thanks no matter how you choose to speak it.
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