For the last month Saturday has been our weekly Allen the Alien day, as we explore relations between earthly rubber ducks and those from another planet. I very much hate to disappoint the vast army of Allen the Alien fans out there, but the writers room did not deliver Chapter 9 in time for today’s post.
While we’re waiting, here’s your chance to get caught up with the story from the beginning. The editors apologize for the delay and encourage you to tune in next Saturday morning as our tale of interplanetary intrigue resumes.
That is a scary thought when life is going well, and an encouraging word when it isn’t.
In the middle of a wonderful experience, the knowledge that all things pass is a reason to savor the moment to its fullest. In the middle of an ordeal, the knowledge that all things pass is a reason for hope and an incentive to endure. There is “a time to mourn and a time to dance”; everything, indeed, has its season.
Sometimes these seasons end suddenly, and sometimes we have time to prepare as best as we can. The only certainty is that it will end. It’s a sad fact: Even if we are able to fulfill the vow that “till death do we part,” for example, we acknowledge in the vow that we will part one day.
Once bitten by this fact and exposed to the devastating pain of that parting, a person can withdraw and never emerge to share again. I think that’s a tragedy; I would not wish a lonely life as a hermit on my loved one after I’m gone. And we each are capable of giving all we have, as long as we live. Life does goes on after loss.
In the meantime, the most important message I can offer is to savor the time while it is happening. Let the knowledge that it will pass encourage you to love and live life with everything you’ve got.
Writing can come in fits and starts, but I am full of words, every day, all day.
“My God, it’s full of stars.”
My God, I’m full of words.
It’s only that I don’t always write them down, but when I do … catharsis.
The dance of the pen across the page is a deer prancing in the snow, kids racing through the grass, a performance car zipping across the flats so fast the videographer struggles to keep the machine in the frame.
When it works, the words flow like water.
When it doesn’t, the words drip – drip – drip –
and then stop.
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This is the title entry from my book Full: Rockets, Bells & Poetry, available wherever fine books are sold — have your bookseller order ISBN 978-1-7373499-0-7
