When bitter loss seems hard to bear, think long before you pay such fare. *”The wings of time though black and white”, leave other colours in their flight . Oft, before our heart grows cold, our loss is filled a thousand fold. From what may seem a finished lot, such ashes prove that it is not! And from them rise the greater means to realize unfilled dreams.
Looking forward to January
from this, the finish of the old year and the start of the new, I record the
passing of yet another ending and another beginning.
For so many years I have
tried to understand why each new year seems designed to defeat me. Each came
with so much potential and promise, but within a few short months ended in
frustration and disappointment. I am beginning to suspect I am the problem: A square lid on a round cookie can.
Still, there is something about this year that I seem to perceive differently. I have always assumed each year was a one-off, single shot in the dark, like the annual, yearend entry. Suddenly, I now see that each is always followed by another shot, another entry, another year. There is a synchronization, a discernible flow carried from one year to the next. What has also appeared this time is the realization that each year is linked to the others, and has been since my birth. Each has been piled upon an ever increasing stack of years, with the newest on top. As I turn around, standing on the cusp of the latest year, I imagine that from here I have the perfect attitude, the best opinion on how things work in life or even the latest and most complete point of view. However, the point on which I have derived all of this, as noted, is not very stationary. How can it be? It changes every year and it keeps moving like a small raft on a swiftly moving river. The whole of it, with me at the apex, flows through ever changing circumstances, experiences and scenery.
Those new year starts,
which lasted only 3 or so months, now look like I was drifting into backwaters
where I got temporarily slowed down for a bit. While each backwater held new and
tempting things, I rested there only so long as there were more experiences to
ingest. Then, just as certain, the time would arrive when a higher flow of
water would flush me out into the main current again to be moved on. Even now
at the thresh hold of this New Year, I can already feel the irresistible pull
of the current.
What guides the tides of
time and the affairs of men? How is it that now that I am aware of it, I do not
feel the least bit inclined to try to rearrange or change the speed or
direction of the current?
My journey is becoming the center of my interest and attention as
I ponder the unanswered questions it presents to me.
1/ I must have started
somewhere, at some time. Did I have any choice regarding the destination or
duration? Or were they chosen for me?
2/ How will the journey
end?
3/ Does my life or its end
really matter to anyone besides myself?
4/ What does” eternal
time” mean when there is so much meaning to understand in just one
day?
5/ Everything I must once
have known, is all forgotten now. Why is that so?
6/ Everything I see, smell,
touch or learn today becomes woven deep, deep into the innermost fabric of my
soul. Why weren’t those things I once knew, woven in as well?
7/ If time began, and I
began, and my journey began, then surely there has to be an end to everything as
well. When it is all over? What then?
8/ Will there be another “ shot in the dark” like this one, followed by another and still another? I now begin to understand the gift of my years. I feel, more than hear, the perplexing answers in the wind. They start quietly in my mind, assuring me as long as I am willing to move forward, I will find a river waiting — with a current over which I will be permitted to travel.
9/ How much is there yet to
see, to hear, to learn?
10/ Does any of it depend
on me? My choice?
11/ Who keeps track of all
the journeys like mine?
12/ Is there an ever-watching
eye somewhere that records it all?
13/ Where might that seer sit? In the Holy Halls of some Grand Palace in a land beyond where I can now see?
14/ Is there carved in the
stone of that great vaulted Hall, a message written by a ghostly finger that
makes my course unalterable. “Whosesoever yearns and would dare to
desire to travel where the Gods have gone before them, must first learn what
they have learned, and do what they have done. To these will be granted the
space, the time, the opportunity required, that they may do so.”
15/ Will we ever have
answers to these questions?
16/ Could it be that
endings are only for who reject new beginnings?
17/ Are the opportunities
of the new beginnings influence by our previous journeys?
18/ From the height of our
years, piled one upon the other, we perch to get our points of view, our
opinions and our attitudes which then determine everything we do. Is this the
never-changing pattern of all our progression?
The memory is vague, the vision dark and distant. My hands tremble
upon the oars at the very hope of such a thought. It is enough to stir a
longing in my soul. “Come, my hesitant arms. We cannot rest or sleep yet.
The current beckons and we must follow. The way is not well marked or brightly
lit, but we must finish.”
What manner the finish
shall be, has not been reveal to me.
What reward of greatness we
will receive at the finish, I cannot remember — if I was ever told.
Who I will have become in
the process, I cannot imagine. I have already changed so much.
This however, I do know. I will give all I possess to finish, and perhaps, to remember. Sufficient to itself, in the meantime, is to know I have moved far, oh so far. Yet all the while, so infinitely closer.