On one hand, the familiar phrase, eternal rest, makes me smile: what effort could be so prolonged and great that it would require it? On the other hand, in the realm of human suffering, especially that inflicted by ourselves, upon ourselves, as in violent crime and cases of genocide, I can see where an eternity of rest would not be long enough. Both views seem narrow, though, when we remember we are one small part of a very grand whole, and that our perception of life and the universe is limited by our current knowledge and our fear of death. This fear is so great, and is such a driving force behind our activities, that we are willing to believe almost anything, and to think of that belief as knowledge. A crutch, though, is not a leg; there comes a time when the crutch must be set aside and the leg relied upon, or the use of it will be lost. Likewise, a mind free of belief — if such is possible — is a mind that ever renews itself — a mind that rests even as it acts, and vice-versa. Or so it seems.
I used to want a big old house
in the country with beckoning stairs
and rooms for every mood,
but the children grew
and now I just
Yes, love, time
And it’s cold
again this year.
I can feel it in my bones.
I can feel it here, and here, and here.
Songs and Letters, December 4, 2006
Another Song I Know, Cosmopsis Books, 2007
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