Thursday, October 15, 2009
The flowerings of my soul
It's my birthday. I'm 68. I have grown old enough to notice that there has been more than one flowering in the growth of my soul.
When I was young, I was beautiful and immortal. I was a forever being, with flawless skin and ever-growing grace.
As I matured, I became more certain of my ways, more powerful in my abilities to work the world.
Today, in the deepening embraces of time, I seem to be reaching towards a flowering of wisdom, a growing understanding of both the painful comedy and glorious tragedy, the dances of ignorance and knowledge performed throughout my so far lfe.
The flowerings of the soul are like the play of time and trees: the blossoms of spring, the leaves of summer, the colors of fall, the stark elegance of winter. Lessons so obvious, so poignant, so incomprehensibly beautiful - taught with extraordinary patience, year after year after year.
from Bernie DeKoven, funsmith
When I was young, I was beautiful and immortal. I was a forever being, with flawless skin and ever-growing grace.
As I matured, I became more certain of my ways, more powerful in my abilities to work the world.
Today, in the deepening embraces of time, I seem to be reaching towards a flowering of wisdom, a growing understanding of both the painful comedy and glorious tragedy, the dances of ignorance and knowledge performed throughout my so far lfe.
The flowerings of the soul are like the play of time and trees: the blossoms of spring, the leaves of summer, the colors of fall, the stark elegance of winter. Lessons so obvious, so poignant, so incomprehensibly beautiful - taught with extraordinary patience, year after year after year.
from Bernie DeKoven, funsmith
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