Guest guest Posted April 8, 2005 Report Share Posted April 8, 2005 , I am so moved by your writing. I know you suffer terribly but your soul is so healthy and alive. You are a wonderful writer. I hope you will share with us often. Marie --- Schaafsma <compucruz@...> wrote: > > The River Before Me > > I think of my life as a river, and these painful > years of illness as > a high mountain pass, full of sharp edges and hard > turns, that my > life must cross over, to reach its destination. > > I try to ask: > > Right now, > As my lower gut rumbles and strains, > And my lungs are nearly flattened > By the effort of breathing, > How much farther to the top? > How much longer till gravity > Works with me, not against me? > > If I let myself see it, really see where I am, would > there be > beauty? It seems to me there must be, that in life > there is always > suffering, and there is always beauty, and they are > not separate, > not really. > > Now this is the point where my mind, which runs its > own winding > course, would normally go off about all the ways > that beauty and > suffering might transform each other, but that is > not going to > happen tonight, because I really am fighting > gravity, and in this > fight my only chance of surviving is respecting my > opponent. > > At certain turns in its course, life cries out in > wonder `I was old > and now I am young. I was dying and now I am being > born.' > > Listen for those gasps of delight, rising off the > water of your > being. Listen and you when you hear them try to > catch them as a > shell catches the sound of the sea. For just as > surely as a shell > can be stolen from the shore and taken hundreds or > thousands of > miles from the source of its being, your life can be > taken so far > from deep bliss that memory will be your only > comfort. > > Our memories cannot be counted, they are not coins > to be stacked up > and measured or weighed in some industrial scale. > Memory is not a > table in the counting house. Memory, as all > forgetful people know, > is NOT to be counted on, much less taken for > granted, but must be > courted like a lover, wooed and won over with > tokens, gifts, and > praise. > > I cannot see the river before me. > > Sometimes we can't see what lies ahead because its > path is hidden in > a valley hidden beyond the next rise. > > Sometimes we can't see what lies ahead because it is > not our destiny > to move any farther than we have already come. > > Sometimes we can't see what lies ahead because we've > gotten turned > around and are in fact looking back on the way we > came. > > Sometimes we can't see what lies ahead because it is > already here, > flowing all around us. > > I cannot see the river before me. > > > > > > > __________________________________ Messenger Show us what our next emoticon should look like. Join the fun. http://www.advision.webevents./emoticontest Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted April 8, 2005 Report Share Posted April 8, 2005 nice words paul. > > The River Before Me > > I think of my life as a river, and these painful years of illness as > a high mountain pass, full of sharp edges and hard turns, that my > life must cross over, to reach its destination. > > I try to ask: > > Right now, > As my lower gut rumbles and strains, > And my lungs are nearly flattened > By the effort of breathing, > How much farther to the top? > How much longer till gravity > Works with me, not against me? > > If I let myself see it, really see where I am, would there be > beauty? It seems to me there must be, that in life there is always > suffering, and there is always beauty, and they are not separate, > not really. > > Now this is the point where my mind, which runs its own winding > course, would normally go off about all the ways that beauty and > suffering might transform each other, but that is not going to > happen tonight, because I really am fighting gravity, and in this > fight my only chance of surviving is respecting my opponent. > > At certain turns in its course, life cries out in wonder `I was old > and now I am young. I was dying and now I am being born.' > > Listen for those gasps of delight, rising off the water of your > being. Listen and you when you hear them try to catch them as a > shell catches the sound of the sea. For just as surely as a shell > can be stolen from the shore and taken hundreds or thousands of > miles from the source of its being, your life can be taken so far > from deep bliss that memory will be your only comfort. > > Our memories cannot be counted, they are not coins to be stacked up > and measured or weighed in some industrial scale. Memory is not a > table in the counting house. Memory, as all forgetful people know, > is NOT to be counted on, much less taken for granted, but must be > courted like a lover, wooed and won over with tokens, gifts, and > praise. > > I cannot see the river before me. > > Sometimes we can't see what lies ahead because its path is hidden in > a valley hidden beyond the next rise. > > Sometimes we can't see what lies ahead because it is not our destiny > to move any farther than we have already come. > > Sometimes we can't see what lies ahead because we've gotten turned > around and are in fact looking back on the way we came. > > Sometimes we can't see what lies ahead because it is already here, > flowing all around us. > > I cannot see the river before me. > > > > > > > > > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted April 9, 2005 Report Share Posted April 9, 2005 : You gotta oublish this stuff somewhere other than here. You missed your calling- you are a poet. Put them together and try to get them published. Barb Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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