A Poem and a Journey
Folks, as you know, I only get one column a month. It has been several years since I shared two of my favorite framings of verse. I want to offer this again as readership grows and changes and I also think regulars will agree this is well worth the read.
In my lifetime I have never seen such wisdom contained so well, as it is in these two brief writings. These compendiums of profound and compassionate thought are the wisdoms of decades placed ingeniously in enjoyable and extremely valuable prose.
Some years ago I worked for a Priest that fully understood that doing well in life is a gift. Not a right, but something to humbly be thankful for. Tragedy often rips the heart out of those that otherwise would have found fortune and happiness. If there are such things as Saints, or those that somehow touch the spirit world and come to represent the finest that we are, then this Priest was such a man. Surely I saw the deeds that are the will and the way of this higher plane. His heart was pure and giving like no other I have ever seen. His name was Father Ray McVey. His charge was those that were forsaken the gift of a good life. The reasons were many that his charge was broken, from losing families in crashes, to being confined for years in a tiger cage in China during WWII, to being bashed too much too young without the good fortune to meet those angels of mercy that repair broken spirits. One day I found the following untitled poem on a bulletin board at this miraculous little place called Unity Acres where this Priest cared for those the world had let go. I will never forget these men, humbled by extraordinary tragedy and pain. Men with nothing left, that found a Priest that gave them hope, and care, and dignity, and respect. One man in a wheelchair who had lost his family in the same accident told me that Father McVey had shown him how to love the sky and the trees and the smell of grass and flowers, once again. There were 133 more stories at Unity Acres at that time. Each one with tragedy that took the heart out of a life. Each one with a Priest, that lived through daily deed, his love and compassion for them. Each with a Priest they loved and revered that gave meaning and hope, where meaning hope was no more.
Herewith “Untitled” by an unknown lonely wise man at Unity Acres.”
“Pray don’t find fault with the man that limps or stumbles along the road, unless you have worn the shoes he wears or struggled beneath the load. There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt though hidden away from view, or the burden he bears placed on your back might cause you to stumble too. Don’t sneer at the man that is down today unless you have felt the blow that caused his fall, the blame that only they the fallen know. You may be strong but still the blows that are his, if dealt to you the self-same way at the self-same time might cause you to stagger to. Don’t be too harsh with the man that sins or pelt him with word or stone, unless you are sure, yea doubly sure, that you have no sins of your own. For you know perhaps if the tempter’s voce should whisper as soft to you, as it did to him when he went astray it might cause you to falter too…” Author Unknown..
The following poem, when taken to heart, has a wisdom that enhances our appreciation for life. For each day as we live it. What could be more valuable? It has a calming affect that sets upon us as we ponder our stay. These are thoughts that we already know and understand, yet greatly enhance our being when the proper words enlighten them.
Herewith: “The Station” by Robert J. Hastings
“Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We’re traveling by train, and from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls.
But uppermost in our minds is our final destination — for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the station with bells ringing, flags waving and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, and waiting for the station.
“Yes when we reach the station, that will be it!” we promise ourselves. “When we’re 18…win that promotion…put the last kid through college…buy that 450 SL Mercedes-Benz…pay off the mortgage…have a nest egg for retirement.”
From that day on, we will all live happily ever after.
Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion — it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday’s a memory; tomorrow’s a dream. Yesterday’s a fading sunset; tomorrow’s a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.
So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather the regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.
So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss more babies, count more stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot more often. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as we go along.”
“See you on the train my friends”.
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