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Playgrounds & Blossoms

April 19, 2017

I thought of this quote the other day, from a science-fiction classic: Men go and come, only Earth abides. – George R. Stewart


It brought the biblical source to mind: 

Vanity Of Human Toil 

What profit have we from all the toil which we toil at under the sun?

One generation departs and another generation comes, but the world forever stays.

The sun rises and the sun sets; then it presses on to the place where it rises.

Shifting south, then north, back and forth shifts the wind, constantly shifting its course.

All rivers flow to the sea, yet never does the sea become full. To the place where they flow, the rivers continue to flow.

All things are wearisome, too wearisome for words.

The eye is not satisfied by seeing nor has the ear enough of hearing.

What has been, that will be; what has been done, that will be done. Nothing is new under the sun!

Even the thing of which we say, “See, this is new!” has already existed in the ages that preceded us.

There is no remembrance of past generations; nor will future generations be remembered by those who come after them. – Ecclesiastes 1:1-11
Governments squabbling on the playground, like so many Facebook feuds; like fighting over whose copied post is more true. When will we, the governed, rise up and really dictate how civil our Servants should be?
We are awash in a sea of technology -a technology that was intended to allow us more time to do what is enjoyable, what is pleasing to God, now, it seems, has only created more time to fill with more technology. I wonder, ‘do androids dream of electric sheep,’ or are they just coming up with new ways to enslave us, the lemmings? Lining up for the cliff…
But eye has not seen and eye has not heard. Nothing is new under the sun. I approach Tea Time for my life. More things I do not desire; I have no compulsion to consume all that is set about me. No, like the explorer, beset by life’s sense of urgency, poignant, insistent, needy even, I desire the mercy of being thrift with time. Time to inhale, time to exhale, time to dream, to share, to learn. How much more valuable things become that are simply within our grasp.


Plum blossoms, cherry blossoms. The dogwood blooms, too. Delicate, beautiful, time stopping. One could spend a lifetime looking for that perfect flower. And yet, we close our lives and the flower is gone. Fleeting such as life. Floating away as rivers, all flowing away to the sea, yet the sea never fills.
Yes Jaques, ‘all the world’s a stage.’ Lives will indeed go, and come, all for a good show I am sure. Me? Only the Earth abides, in the end. I think I will go and touch some of it; to cradle it in my hands like a blossom. And so

onward. And upward.

I dream. I sleep.

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