Somewhere a tiny bud had opened its eyes and was seeing the world for what it was for the first time. As he felt the gentle breeze and the glorious sun, he stood there smiling. He was happy. He could feel the pulse and the rhythm of life.
And then he noticed the big blossoms next to him and he was intimidated by them.
He looked at his tiny, shriveled self and then glanced at the blooming, bright petals that danced around him. He saw the bees ignoring him as they hovered around the bigger and brighter flowers. He wondered if he would ever become like them - bright, colorful and fragrant? Even as he stood admiring them, the older blossoms stood staring at him, envious of his youth. While, they were counting the hours that lay ahead of them, they knew that he had many more sunrises coming his way. They knew he had a lot to live for and lot to fight for.
And thus, all the flowers of the garden stood wondering about their future, envious of the lives of others and completely unaware of the twists and turns of fate.
The tiny bud would probably never know how important a role he would play in changing so many lives. He wouldn't know how he would help a young man declare his love to the lady of his dreams and how because of him, two lives had come together to begin a single journey. He would probably never know his impact on their world.
He, like the other flowers would probably never know his impact on the world. As they all sat there together, envious of each other, wondering about their purpose in life or their future in this world, they were unable to see the roles they had played. Some flowers had marked the beginning of a life, while some had marked an end. Some were silent witnesses to our lives reminding us of life as it was. Some brought joy and comfort while some heralded a sense of quiet and peace. From births to funerals, those flowers were a part of our life and they were oblivious to the many ways in which they had changed our worlds. Unbeknownst to them, they had all made a difference.
Like the flowers, we too are perhaps limited by our vision and our perspectives. We fail to appreciate our true impact on this world. Like that tiny bud, we too play these many tiny parts every day in setting the wheels of fate in motion, of altering lives and of making a difference.
We can never see these influences but a lot of our choices impact others and many of their choices, impact us. We fail to see those invisible links that hold us all together in this complex web of life. Our lives are interconnected with so many other lives in this one vast tangle that it is sometimes difficult to find the single thread that belongs to you and to pull it apart from all the other lives. Even as we struggle with our daily battles, we fail to see a bigger picture. A picture where we are all a part of one cosmic whole, where everyone affects everyone else in however small a way it maybe. Our lives are a result of many coincidences, random events and occurrences, some of which were beyond our individual control.
As our lives face the winds of time and fate, we leave behind these tiny pieces. As we learn new lessons and unlearn the old ones, we leave behind these pieces of ourselves. Some from the surrounding crowd, pick up these pieces and move ahead with them as lessons to pass on. While some run over our lives in complete oblivion. But one way or another, the crowd makes us a part of their lives and it becomes an extension of ours.
And while we may never be able to gain a complete perspective of this complex web, it pays to reflect, once in a while on this grand scale of events, where everyone impacts everyone else in some small measure or another.
This is a poem that I have posted before but it is something that beautifully illustrates what I have been attempting to say.
Candles
If on your grandmother's birthday you burn a candle
To honor her memory, you might think of burning an extra
To honor the memory of someone who never met her,
A man who may have come to the town she lived in
Looking for work and couldn't find it.
Picture him taking a stroll one morning,
After a wasted month with the want ads,
To refresh himself in the park before moving on.
Suppose he notices on the gravel path the shards
Of a green glass bottle that your grandmother,
Then still a girl, will be destined to step on
When she wanders barefoot away from her school picnic
If he doesnt stoop down and scoop the mess up
With the want-ad section and carry it to a trash can.
For you to burn a candle for him
You needn't suppose the cut would be a deep one,
Just deep enough to keep her at home
The night of the hayride when she meets Helen,
Who is soon to become her dearest friend;
Whose brother George, thirty years later,
Helps your grandfather with a loan so his shoe store
Doesn't go under in the Great Depression
And his son, your father, is able to stay in school
Where his love of learning is fanned into flames,
A love he labors, later, to kindle in you.
How grateful you are for your father's efforts
Is shown by the candles you've burned for him.
But today, for a change, why not a candle
For the man whose name is unknown to you?
Take a moment to wonder whether he died at home
With friends and family or alone on the road,
With noone to sit at his bedside
And hold his hand, the very hand
It's time for you to imagine holding.
---- Carl Dennis
And such are the ways of life.
Such are the ways in which we make or break lives - unaware of the true impact of our actions...
And then he noticed the big blossoms next to him and he was intimidated by them.
He looked at his tiny, shriveled self and then glanced at the blooming, bright petals that danced around him. He saw the bees ignoring him as they hovered around the bigger and brighter flowers. He wondered if he would ever become like them - bright, colorful and fragrant? Even as he stood admiring them, the older blossoms stood staring at him, envious of his youth. While, they were counting the hours that lay ahead of them, they knew that he had many more sunrises coming his way. They knew he had a lot to live for and lot to fight for.
And thus, all the flowers of the garden stood wondering about their future, envious of the lives of others and completely unaware of the twists and turns of fate.
The tiny bud would probably never know how important a role he would play in changing so many lives. He wouldn't know how he would help a young man declare his love to the lady of his dreams and how because of him, two lives had come together to begin a single journey. He would probably never know his impact on their world.
He, like the other flowers would probably never know his impact on the world. As they all sat there together, envious of each other, wondering about their purpose in life or their future in this world, they were unable to see the roles they had played. Some flowers had marked the beginning of a life, while some had marked an end. Some were silent witnesses to our lives reminding us of life as it was. Some brought joy and comfort while some heralded a sense of quiet and peace. From births to funerals, those flowers were a part of our life and they were oblivious to the many ways in which they had changed our worlds. Unbeknownst to them, they had all made a difference.
Like the flowers, we too are perhaps limited by our vision and our perspectives. We fail to appreciate our true impact on this world. Like that tiny bud, we too play these many tiny parts every day in setting the wheels of fate in motion, of altering lives and of making a difference.
We can never see these influences but a lot of our choices impact others and many of their choices, impact us. We fail to see those invisible links that hold us all together in this complex web of life. Our lives are interconnected with so many other lives in this one vast tangle that it is sometimes difficult to find the single thread that belongs to you and to pull it apart from all the other lives. Even as we struggle with our daily battles, we fail to see a bigger picture. A picture where we are all a part of one cosmic whole, where everyone affects everyone else in however small a way it maybe. Our lives are a result of many coincidences, random events and occurrences, some of which were beyond our individual control.
As our lives face the winds of time and fate, we leave behind these tiny pieces. As we learn new lessons and unlearn the old ones, we leave behind these pieces of ourselves. Some from the surrounding crowd, pick up these pieces and move ahead with them as lessons to pass on. While some run over our lives in complete oblivion. But one way or another, the crowd makes us a part of their lives and it becomes an extension of ours.
And while we may never be able to gain a complete perspective of this complex web, it pays to reflect, once in a while on this grand scale of events, where everyone impacts everyone else in some small measure or another.
This is a poem that I have posted before but it is something that beautifully illustrates what I have been attempting to say.
Candles
If on your grandmother's birthday you burn a candle
To honor her memory, you might think of burning an extra
To honor the memory of someone who never met her,
A man who may have come to the town she lived in
Looking for work and couldn't find it.
Picture him taking a stroll one morning,
After a wasted month with the want ads,
To refresh himself in the park before moving on.
Suppose he notices on the gravel path the shards
Of a green glass bottle that your grandmother,
Then still a girl, will be destined to step on
When she wanders barefoot away from her school picnic
If he doesnt stoop down and scoop the mess up
With the want-ad section and carry it to a trash can.
For you to burn a candle for him
You needn't suppose the cut would be a deep one,
Just deep enough to keep her at home
The night of the hayride when she meets Helen,
Who is soon to become her dearest friend;
Whose brother George, thirty years later,
Helps your grandfather with a loan so his shoe store
Doesn't go under in the Great Depression
And his son, your father, is able to stay in school
Where his love of learning is fanned into flames,
A love he labors, later, to kindle in you.
How grateful you are for your father's efforts
Is shown by the candles you've burned for him.
But today, for a change, why not a candle
For the man whose name is unknown to you?
Take a moment to wonder whether he died at home
With friends and family or alone on the road,
With noone to sit at his bedside
And hold his hand, the very hand
It's time for you to imagine holding.
---- Carl Dennis
And such are the ways of life.
Such are the ways in which we make or break lives - unaware of the true impact of our actions...
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