It is amazing the synchronicity of life when you are open and aware of the potential. I’ve learned to grasp onto the little voice, the whispering of my spirit, that urges me to act. We all have it, like a candle wick waiting to ignite and shine. What we sometimes lack is the spark. Our interest is peaked, but it is either drown out in the sound of blubbering busy thought or we ignore it, letting fear materialize into an excuse. Keeping our lives dim and dark, not fully able to glow. Sometimes things will just set off an interest in me, an intrigue of a new subject will just suck me in: last month I saw a ballet picture and began my fascination with movement. At about the same time I had a spiked urge to read poetry all of a sudden. ‘Rumi, Rumi, Rumi,’ is what my mind to me, escalating further into the depths of the poetry world from there. Granted I have a passion and thirst learning. Books are seriously like food feeding my ravenous knowledge appetite. The scope and variation is astounding, there is nothing (it seems) that doesn’t intrigue more. Anything I want to learn or know, all I have to do is go to the library. A little while after these topics grasps me, I decided the time was right at work to do a blog series based on the book The Fourfold Path to Healing. It was amazing because Cowan’s chapters were broken down into: nutrition, therapeutic, movement (cue in the ballet, which I had a stockpile of photos for. Did you know you can change the way you feel by changing the way you move?) and meditation. Cowan also began each chapter with a poem, as does the book I am currently reading. So it’s like my fascinations were preparing me for my current mindset. Something was driving me to pick up that Rumi. This is a tiny, seemingly obscure example of synchronicity, but this small awareness prepares and trains me to be receptive when the big ones come along. Be listening for the voice, follow it to the places, people, and ideals that will be rewarded in unsuspecting ways. You may not know where it’s taking you at first. You may be scared because the road is covered in shadow, so you can’t see the end, but one step over and over is what takes you on the greatest journeys to the greatest destinations that you could never dream of.
Now, originally I was going to just write a poem, but I felt that a little prelude to what brought me to the poem, would enrich the piece. While reading one of my poetry book, I stopped at the one. I had to write it for myself, for my parents, and now I have to have it saved here too. Poetry, like are is personal to the reading. That’s part of the art, we can all read it and illicit a different response. I know I’ll make a kick ass mom someday because of my mindset. It also makes me think of my conditioning that helped form said mindset (majorly my parents in this instance). This poem embodies (more eloquently) my thoughts on children and the type of parent I want to be, while also reminding me of my own parents. Like it was written for me to see, the analogy of the bow and arrow fits perfectly into our clan of hunters. Without further babble (that I realize seems a little disconnected-but I promise in my head it connects, as I question how this poem and all my interests are brought to me), here is the poem that I lovingly dedicate to my parents. Who, although they provide a sturdy bow, they always let my arrow fly, bound for my target not theirs.
Your children are not your children
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself
They come through you but not for you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them love but not your thoughts.
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer see the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and he bends you with his might that his
arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness,
For even as he loves the arrow that flies,
So he loves also the bow that is stable. -Khalil Gibran
BE, Love, Illuminate,