dual personalities

Tag: Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may

by chuckofish

The twins are back in school–first grade!

Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze

(Jerry Bock)

Oy. On that note we remind you of the poet Robert Herrick (1591-1664) who wrote:

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.

And can it already be the birthday of Jorge Luis Borges? It is!

And yet, and yet… Denying temporal succession, denying the self, denying the astronomical universe, are apparent desperations and secret consolations. Our destiny … is not frightful by being unreal; it is frightful because it is irreversible and iron-clad. Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire. The world, unfortunately, is real; I, unfortunately, am Borges.

Bonus: this is an excellent article by Kevin DeYoung about corporate responsibility, repentance and guilt. “The sins of the past are far from irrelevant. And yet we are not meant to live with a sense of corporate guilt for an ethnic, racial, or biological identity we did not choose and from which we cannot be free. Self-flagellation is not a requirement for spiritual maturity.”

So festina lente, keep cool, read some poetry, and note the time–it’s later than you think!

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”*

by chuckofish

Another summer is slipping away. The twins have started kindergarten! The time just skis by.

Sunrise, sunset.

I must note that tomorrow is the birthday of the great Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986). A toast (or two or three) is in order for this great Argentine short-story writer, essayist, poet and translator, who thought about time a lot too.

We are the time. We are the famous
metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure.

We are the water, not the hard diamond,
the one that is lost, not the one that stands still.

We are the river and we are that greek
that looks himself into the river. His reflection
changes into the waters of the changing mirror,
into the crystal that changes like the fire.

We are the vain predetermined river,
in his travel to his sea.

The shadows have surrounded him.
Everything said goodbye to us, everything goes away.

Memory does not stamp his own coin.

However, there is something that stays
however, there is something that bemoans.

–“We are the Time. We are the Famous”

*Heraclitus

“Some days are diamonds/ Some days are rocks”*

by chuckofish

Mood

Hope you are having a diamond of a day, able to enjoy the weather and read a little poetry.

The Real Prayers are not the Words, but the Attention that Comes First

The little hawk leaned sideways and, tilted, rode
the wind. Its eye at this distance looked like green
glass; its feet were the color of butter. Speed, obviously,
was joy. But then, so was the sudden, slow circle
it carved into the slightly silvery air, and the squaring
of its shoulders, and the pulling into itself the long,
sharp-edged wings, and the fall into the grass where it
tussled a moment, like a bundle of brown leaves, and
then, again, lifted itself into the air, that butter-color
clenched in order to hold a small, still body, and it flew
off as my mind sang out oh all that loose, blue rink
of sky, where does it go to, and why?        

–Mary Oliver

Today is the birthday of writer Eudora Welty (1909–2001) whom I have admired for many years. It is always a good day to take down one of her books from a shelf and open and read.

“The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order, a timetable not necessarily – perhaps not possibly – chronological. The time as we know it subjectively is often the chronology that stories and novels follow: it is the continuous thread of revelation.”

Eudora Welty, One Writer’s Beginnings

I will also note that tomorrow is daughter #2’s birthday.

We will celebrate her birthday in 10 days when she and baby Katie visit for a long weekend. Of course, we can’t wait to hold that baby, but I can’t wait to hold my baby…

…who was a precious bundle of joy not so long ago and is now a beautiful and talented young woman.

Sunrise, sunset. Time is the continuous thread of revelation.

The watercolor is by Louis Michel Eilshemius, painted between 1888 and 1910. (Detroit Institute of Arts)

*Tom Petty, Walls

Time marches on

by chuckofish

April is just around the corner. The year is almost a quarter over!

The 50th anniversaries of some big events are coming up this year.

There’s the moon landing of Apollo 11 on July 20…

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…and Woodstock, of course, in August…

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…and our brother’s 50th high school reunion is this May.

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Sigh. Time marches on.

So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90: 12)

Deep thoughts for Wednesday

by chuckofish

Today is St. Crispin’s Day and the 602nd anniversary of the Battle of Agincourt!

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It is also two months until Christmas! Have you started planning for Christmas?

I have–just barely. But I have been thinking about it. This year, in addition to daughter #2 visiting, we will have her husband staying with us. Zut alors! We will also have grandchildren present for the first time. (Last year they were in the NICU.) And daughter #1 will be driving in from central MO, not jetting in from NYC, praying for good weather. Times change faster than the blink of an eye.

This all got me thinking about the passing of time, which sometimes can be a bit depressing. So here are a few thoughts to get you thinking as well.

“This life therefore is not righteousness, but growth in righteousness, not health, but healing, not being but becoming, not rest but exercise. We are not yet what we shall be, but we are growing toward it, the process is not yet finished, but it is going on, this is not the end, but it is the road. All does not yet gleam in glory, but all is being purified.”
―Martin Luther

“Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.”
―Henry David Thoreau, Walden

“There is a time in the life of every boy when he for the first time takes the backward view of life. Perhaps that is the moment when he crosses the line into manhood. The boy is walking through the street of his town. He is thinking of the future and of the figure he will cut in the world. Ambitions and regrets awake within him. Suddenly something happens; he stops under a tree and waits as for a voice calling his name. Ghosts of old things creep into his consciousness; the voices outside of himself whisper a message concerning the limitations of life. From being quite sure of himself and his future he becomes not at all sure. If he be an imaginative boy a door is torn open and for the first time he looks out upon the world, seeing, as though they marched in procession before him, the countless figures of men who before his time have come out of nothingness into the world, lived their lives and again disappeared into nothingness. The sadness of sophistication has come to the boy. With a little gasp he sees himself as merely a leaf blown by the wind through the streets of his village. He knows that in spite of all the stout talk of his fellows he must live and die in uncertainty, a thing blown by the winds, a thing destined like corn to wilt in the sun.”
―Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio

Do you see yourself as a leaf blown by the wind or someone on the road and growing in righteousness? Or are you fishing and gazing at the sandy bottom?

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Discuss among yourselves.

“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.”*

by chuckofish

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Today is my birthday and at my age this is just not the Big Thing it used to be. But it is still a thing and should be noted.

Time passes and I have to remind myself that I am the mother of three adult, self-supporting children and a grandmother, a wife of going on 37 years, and the director of an institute…because often I still feel like an insecure 17-year old.

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I’ve come a long way, Pilgrim…but then again, not so far.

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So out with the old mantra (Hope for the best, expect the worst) and in with the new: God has blessed me and I am happy.

*Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

As time goes by

by chuckofish

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June 1966

She had taken to wondering lately, during these swift-counted years, what had been done with all those wasted summer days; how could she have spent them so wantonly? I am foolish, she told herself early every summer, I am very foolish; I am grown up now and know the values of things. Nothing is ever really wasted, she believed sensibly, even one’s childhood, and then each year, one summer morning, the warm wind would come down the city street where she walked and she would be touched with the little cold thought: I have let more time go by.”

― Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House