…the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
We start out early, learning, in the beginning. ‘In the beginning’ starts a tale, or ‘once upon a time’. Every story has a beginning, as such. Really, it just has a place to start.
Not every story has a ending. Actually, stories never really end. The tale just stops being told.
And sometimes, it is not as easy as you would think, to find the beginning. Stories are shared, after all. But where each person starts being in the story, well, that may be their beginning, but it isn’t the same for all the people who will be in the story.
The beginning, then, belongs to the person whose tale is told. That is why stories never really end. People just stop being part of it. I cannot tell you a whole story. We don’t have that long. Like unraveling the threads of a tapestry we are, trying to follow one length amongst the whole woven story.
Let me wander for a second to explain this more clearly.
Talking of life as tapestries, the Greeks knew this better. They would talk of Fate as the decider of lives, as three women. Clothos, Lachesis, Atropos, the young maiden, the middle of life mother woman, the old crone. One to measure the thread of each life, one to weave it in, one to cut it at its allotted span.
Each life had its beginning and ending. But the tapestry went on. On and on, it told a story. the story never ends. Threads are woven in, with their alloted span, their length. What we try to do is temporarily unravel this weaving this work of fate, and follow the path of one small thread.
What impact, then, is one small thread to the great tapestry? It could be so much, so little. The length of the thread has nothing to do with it. Don’t think that a small thread is insignificant, though. Ever pulled the loose thread on your sleeve, that small, annoying tickling piece you feeling dusting your skin. You pull it away, and watch your sleeve unravel. One small thread. So much impact.
We won’t ever know unless we follow the thread.
philosophy storytelling fate
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…but you can control your attitude toward what happens to you, and in that, you will be mastering change rather than allowing it to master you.
He comes at night most often, but sometimes, sometimes, brazenly by day, defying my attempts to conceal him. At night, oh, then he can sneak into my room, forbidden, unasked, uninvited. He wields power casually, knowing just how to move me, reach me, render me his slave.
Yet I resist him. He calls me to sink into him, to surrender, to accept he is my master now. I will not. He may be able to win the wars we wage daily, but I will never give in to him. I will be stronger. He is my enemy, not my master. I cannot defeat him, but I will defy him, not give him what he demands. I will not be lessened, I will be strengthened by this battle.
I never asked him to be my partner. He arrived in my life unbidden, unlooked for. He has defeated better than me, I am well aware. My defences seem pitiful at times against him, my weapons so small, so inadequate. Here I am, another night where I will not sleep, as he tries once more to overwhelm me with his sheer strength, utter persistence, absolute power.
My feeble will, my pathetic arsenal of weapon, tools, techniques to resist, they are all bought into play, until, exhausted by the struggle, I wish I could just give in. Often, sadly, weakly, I do give in, surrender the fight, and ashamed, I face the new day, swearing I will do better, I will be stronger, I will not be so easily beaten tomorrow.
It is not a battle I can share with others, though some have seen the depth of my despair, and try, want to help. They cannot reach him, he is immune to their counsel, their sympathy, their support. Or so he thinks – I know better. They are probably my greatest strength. They cannot fight him directly, but they can give me strength, courage, and shine a small ray of light into the dark nights, when the war rages around, and he is at the height of his power, trying to overwhelm me.
Cruel master, yet oddly, strangely, loyal, reliable. He will not leave me, and that thought is strange in a transient world. He will not win. I know I have to fight him daily, and I am so tired, so very very tired of it. Yet I do not surrender to him, with his strong embrace, his ability to leave me breathless, weak, sobbing against his will.
He is Pain, and he will not overcome me.
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…if you want to be happy, practice compassion.
I had a boy in NICU. It is one of the most intense, overwhelming experiences of your life.
If you can, support this family. Maybe, just maybe, you could donate your coffee money. Or not buy that shiny tech toy this week. Something, if you can. If everyone does, it makes a huge difference to a family.
You can also follow their ongoing story.
Just watch. I think I am in serious guy-crush.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4CV05HyAbM
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