I seem to be reading books I need lately. I seem to be choosing books I need. Books about love, life and how to move forward. How life springs from death but more importantly how life springs from allowing yourself to mourn death … the death of loved ones and the things you love. It can only be through mourning these things that you can truly allow yourself to live.
Mourning/Morning = a beginning which comes about through an end. How odd that two words that seem so far apart can have similar meaning to me now.
There will be moments throughout the rest of my life which I will long to tell my parents about – when I will have to love them and leave them over and over again (acknowledgement to Julia Gregson – ‘East of the Sun’). I’ve felt those moments throughout my life but chose to block them out as they got too painful. The pain is many things; the love I had, the love I never thought I had, the love I lost, the love I chose to throw away. I never allowed myself to really mourn those losses and move on. It would have meant feeling a sense of belonging and loss in a world I was determined to live in on my own. But I’m coming to realise that the desolation of living on my own is more painful than the desolation of losing someone close to me and acknowledging it.
How can I move on if I don’t acknowledge that lost love? And is it really ever lost? I carry it with me in many ways. It seems now that to carry it forward with me is to allow myself to love and live.
I thought it strange that when I finally got the pictures of my father that I had longed for that I missed him more than ever. 35 years later! Perhaps it’s not so strange after all. Looking at the photographs was like facing up to him and facing up to the loss of him. I can see in the pictures of him holding me, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved me. I can see that my mother loved me too. It’s written in their faces. After all these years of wondering, now I know. With the pain comes comfort and I hope it is the comfort that will ease the pain.
East of the Sun made me weep uncontrollably towards the end because it touched so brightly on something that flared inside me.
Look well to this Day
For it is Life…
the very Best of Life!
In its brief course lie all
the Realities and Truths of Existence
the Joy of Growth!
the Splendour of Action!
the Glory of Power!
For Yesterday is but a memory
and Tomorrow is only a vision
but Today if lived well makes
every yesterday a Memory of Happiness
and every tomorrow a Vision of Hope
Look well therefore to this day.
(Ancient Sanskrit Poem)
Chris, you can’t get it “wrong.” It’s life and it’s steps–one after another. Every step is a right move. Disregard the outcomes in advance; take the lessons and adjust as needed. Know your intent, but accept your humanity, frailty, as well as your immense, innate, inimitable self-power in the unified spirit of all that is and has ever been. In short: live lively, as you will live on anyway no matter what. Your words have already found immortality; should your thoughts and heartfelt word-wanderings go out in vain? Nope. Simple as that.
By the way. This poem was the life-changer for my mate in his youth, he said many times. He lived a blessed 79.5 years, a reward after a meandering journey you’d probably be able to relate to in some ways, but you’d surely sit in awe of the whole story–and he didn’t reach his most insightful years until after 52. He never loved the written word until that age. He self-taught, self-discovered, self-redirected his life and gave thanks to his God for allowing it to be so. Along his journey after self-spurred turbulence, he found peace; a living peace. And he wrote poems, winning a well-known competition that meant the world to him. It believe it is still on Poetry.com, called “Intelligence” by Lawrence Robinson. He wrote it in 1972 (when he had a lot of time on his hands, shall we say.)
It later toured with Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, due to the irony between the poem and the origin of it. This poem was selected by a U.S. president (LBJ) to be included in his library in Austin, TX. It resides there to this day.
So, I tell you this, because I read your words in your so-called “ramblings” and you reminded me of his profound, perfect journey. I believe that to wonder IS getting it right. To ramble is to care enough to try saying something that matters. You matter and thanks for this insightful visit. So Sniffy, be well, stay well and continue to express well.
From Parker’s Pen