Hearts of olden glory

Up the mechanical stairs of the tube, if you look out at the adverts stuck on the wall, you might see this one of the RADA offering courses in communications skills. Or this other one of some another institution selling acting techniques for teachers. Etc... I praise the learning of skills. Certainly. One never knows himself entirely, never knows how far he can go into the new. Not only the evil universe is unfenced. We can better off and renew. In fact, the learning and practice of skills is fundamental for continuing education in a number of activities, and must be carried out, blessed be the down-to-earth mind against the tyranny of ideas! However, those adverts got me astonished. They target the overcrowding profession against the gifted vocation. There is much more than acting in teaching and the connecting end of communication goes beyond tricks and tools, even practice. The heart is missing. I say this because everything I have is a heart. It is my sole possession, unripe. The frames on the wall act like a parade of doorknockers pounding into my conscience: it is about time! It is time! I must find the proper soil to boost my blossom before it is too late. Just run into these verses of Runrig:

"There must be a place
under the sun
where hearts of olden glory
grow young".

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