Posted in Daily, Life, poetry, Reflections

DEPTHS

Guarding the pile of newspapers kept safe in the wall unit requires a certain amount of skill, specially in camouflaging the surroundings. With kids and pets running amok in the house, the set of the current week’s newspapers are kept up high, but one has to be wary of their wily ways and means. When the reader wonders the purpose of this, for the daily paper is meant for reading each day and with plenty of “visual media”-nization, why do so. The reason is simple, for the editorials as well as the obituary section. Even though one is well informed of the local news (specially those of the bad type), those pages are scanned through each day, only to read the bare details. When one reads those smaller words, is when figures out the person behind those lives. Noticing such things gives a daily to weekly reminder of not just how precious life and time is, but also how we lived through them.

“It is not length of life, but depth of life.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

Making a difference never lies in the strength of how much time or resources one has at hand. Instead it lies in the way one prefers to wield them in the best possible manner. Whether it was an unfortunate end or the passage of years slowly over time, the mark one leaves behind is what matters.

When the hue and cry dies down on the weekend mornings, these sections are given a thorough read, for they do deserve it. As the sun rays filter through, the morning sky makes realize the strength of what we hold in our hands and thoughts within. No one knows how long one has. On the other hand when the talents gifted, blessed or acquired put to use in their deserving manner, then whether the days be short or long, one has their due and left their mark in the world and lives around them. Depths do matter as lengths, more or less, doesn’t make a difference. As shown daily through the contrast of day and night, as long as one breathes, live the hours not simply to one’s heart’s content but also to appreciate the chances given or taken, and their due difference made in their right and true manner.

Part Two: Nature

XXXIX

BRING me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning’s flagons up,
And say how many dew;
Tell me how far the morning leaps,
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps 5
Who spun the breadths of blue!

Write me how many notes there be
In the new robin’s ecstasy
Among astonished boughs;
How many trips the tortoise makes, 10
How many cups the bee partakes,—
The debauchee of dews!

Also, who laid the rainbow’s piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue? 15
Whose fingers string the stalactite,
Who counts the wampum of the night,
To see that none is due?

Who built this little Alban house
And shut the windows down so close 20
My spirit cannot see?
Who ’ll let me out some gala day,
With implements to fly away,
Passing pomposity?

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

Author:

Step back and look at the bigger picture.

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