Moderator: Van Canna
My Little Boy
I remember when you were my little boy,
An extension of my very being.
My every waking moment belonged to you.
One evening when I called you to supper,
You came to the table all grown up.
Where did all the in between go?
Too soon I was to let you go.
Now, I shall always call you "my son"
But in my heart . . .
you'll always be my little boy.
We grieve because we have the capacity for memory, we are thinking and feeling persons, and because life changes—and attachments are developed throughout. There may be more reasons, but that is enough for now.
Because life changes and we are constantly gaining and losing things we are often betwixt between joy and sadness. And our memories are involved when we recall possessions of joy—and these possessions are not material possessions, but experiential ones—that have long disappeared from view
At poignant times, when we allow ourselves to graze over the past, memories flood back and we allow our thinking to search each memory. Our feelings are more instinctive, apart from times when we don’t feel enough. But as we nurture these feelings we experience more of them. There is a blessing in feeling.
And even if it is pain that we feel, it is good for us to give credence to what is part of us. Feeling, here, is very much about honouring our memories—the events that made up our lives. If there is pain, we felt it back then, and what happened was wrong, but it is still part of our lives.
Why would we do these things? It’s because life is about loss and one of the greatest skills we can develop is the ability, the capacity, to grieve well. There is no sense in denying the truth.
Grieving Makes Us Human
As we access our eternally personal grief we honour God by living as full a life as possible. God, out of his unparalleled love for us, saves us from none of this testimony for loss. These memories are a requiem for life experiences that mean so much.
We ought not to resent the fact that we grieve and that grief is a process that follows us from birth to death. It requires us to be courageous. And our courage reaps us a blessing of feeling.
If we would choose to deny or negate our grief we would choose to deny or negate vast numbers of pages from the volumes of our lives. It is not the true or best human experience to do that.
Grief follows us all our days. Human experience is about loss. When we can accept this, bravely venturing inward, we make the most of this strange roller-coaster life.
R. KiplingThe Recall
I am the land of their fathers,
In me the virtue stays;
I will bring back my children,
After certain days.
Under their feet in the grasses
My clinging magic runs.
They shall return as strangers,
They shall remain as sons.
Over their heads in the branches
Of their new-bought, ancient trees,
I weave an incantation,
And draw them to my knees.
Scent of smoke in the evening,
Smell of rain in the night,
The hours, the days and the seasons
Order their souls aright;
Till I make plain the meaning
Of all my thousand years
Till I fill their hearts with knowledge,
While I fill their eyes with tears.
The power of the dog
THERE is sorrow enough in the natural way from men and women to fill our day; And when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy Love unflinching that cannot lie-- Perfect passion and worship fed by a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head. Nevertheless it is hardly fair To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, and the vet's unspoken prescription runs to lethal chambers or loaded guns, then you will find--it's your own affair-- But...you've given your heart for a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will, with its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!); When the spirit that answered your every mood Is gone--wherever it goes--for good, You will discover how much you care, And will give your heart for the dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way, When it comes to burying Christian clay. Our loves are not given, but only lent, At compound interest of cent per cent. Though it is not always the case, I believe, That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve: For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, A short-time loan is as bad as a long-- So why in Heaven (before we are there) Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
GibranYour children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater thar sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
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