I love lives. All sorts of lives. Tree lives and glacier lives and insect lives and people lives. I love lives of the past and possible lives of the future; I love dreams of lives , and your dream of what your own life can be.
I love watching the lives of newborns slowly grow into five-year-old lives and twenty-year-old lives and fifty-year-old lives.
I love bittersweet too short small lives ,and long lingering lives. I love lives of those so old and tired of having them -and those so old and sad that their lives are now ending.
I've loved lives of sick dying children and lives of those who can no longer speak or move ; and those who took their own, to end their immeasurable, unimaginable agony.
I love stories of lives , and in my own imagined Forrest Gump-type movie, I'm the person , perpetually on the park bench, waiting for one person after another to take their turn, sitting down, opening their box of lives, carefully leafing through hopes and dreams and tragedies and gifts. Through their long hot eventless days ,and their times that just flew by, only to end up nestled in their heart ,forever.
For that is one of the secrets of lives - the nestling, the heart, and that forever.
I love the life of the next day's cloud as it passes by overhead, and the life of the enormous old toad in the garden bed. I love the lives of each and every bird and insect and creature and moss and human on earth-even the ones who hurt and harm and then harm again.
I love having a life today and yesterday and hopefully tomorrow; though making assumptions about our lives, versus just breathing thankfully for this given moment, increasingly becomes not a great idea, as we age and our wisdom does grow.
Most of all, I love how there is no actual beginning, nor any end, but simply being a grateful part of the continuum . Of All That Is.
"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be:
world without end. Amen."
I love watching the lives of newborns slowly grow into five-year-old lives and twenty-year-old lives and fifty-year-old lives.
I love bittersweet too short small lives ,and long lingering lives. I love lives of those so old and tired of having them -and those so old and sad that their lives are now ending.
I've loved lives of sick dying children and lives of those who can no longer speak or move ; and those who took their own, to end their immeasurable, unimaginable agony.
I love stories of lives , and in my own imagined Forrest Gump-type movie, I'm the person , perpetually on the park bench, waiting for one person after another to take their turn, sitting down, opening their box of lives, carefully leafing through hopes and dreams and tragedies and gifts. Through their long hot eventless days ,and their times that just flew by, only to end up nestled in their heart ,forever.
For that is one of the secrets of lives - the nestling, the heart, and that forever.
I love the life of the next day's cloud as it passes by overhead, and the life of the enormous old toad in the garden bed. I love the lives of each and every bird and insect and creature and moss and human on earth-even the ones who hurt and harm and then harm again.
I love having a life today and yesterday and hopefully tomorrow; though making assumptions about our lives, versus just breathing thankfully for this given moment, increasingly becomes not a great idea, as we age and our wisdom does grow.
Most of all, I love how there is no actual beginning, nor any end, but simply being a grateful part of the continuum . Of All That Is.
"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be:
world without end. Amen."
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