Twilight Beckons · 2:14am May 24th, 2013
We are born to live, and we live to die. We are the night sky, and we learn the most about ourselves in the twilights of our life.
In the morning, as the sun first begins to brighten the horizon, we learn what we are. We are human, with two eyes, two ears, with arms and legs and feet and hands. With a brain. With a heart. We learn how to use them for good or ill purpose, to help or to hurt. We feel pain and we feel loss, and we learn what we are.
The sun comes up on our lives, and we go forth into the day. We play, we love; we fight, we hate. Friends and memories are made that will last a lifetime. As we play along the beach of our lives, we leave marks in the sand from every step and misstep we take. Sooner or later, we will build a castle in the sand and fill it with things. Seashells, given to us as mementos of friends who have begun to build elsewhere; driftwood, scavenged from the beaches as we played. Bits of flotsam that caught our eye with the way they twinkled in the sun. We take these things because they mean something to us, and we put them in our castle in the way that we see fit to recreate the joys we've felt. We arrange these shells to make a picture of the night sky, a picture of ourselves, without ever having seen a star. We don't even see the sun above us as we take its light and warmth for granted, at least until it drops below the horizon and the second twilight sets in.
In this second twilight, we learn who we are. We begin to see the truth of who we are in the stars above. We might go back to try and change the shells we've lain, but there are too many, and time is too short. The night grows deeper as we learn more about who we are from the castle we built. These drifts of wood and shiny trinkets are all dulled by the night. When the night finally takes hold and we see who we really and truly are, we are already dead. Dead, but not gone. Our sandcastles remain, forged as they were by the events of our lives to inspire the next person who walks the beach. The seashells that we've been given by friends are our values, our morals, and our hope. What we left behind will be picked up by another and passed along eternally. And though our castles will be carried away by the tides and time, our shells, our gift to the world, will live on above the tide line.
When the person who finds our shells, our castles, and our lives look to the night sky as their twilight beckons, just know that they are seeing us as we saw the ones before us. Even though we didn't know it at the time. We looked to the sky and saw ourself, just as the sky looked down and saw itself in us. We are the stars in the night sky, and so are they. So let us go forth and frolic in the surf, collect shells as our wont, and build our castles out of sand. When our twilight falls, we will look to the sky together and see ourselves looking back.
Listen. Can you not hear it?
The twilight beckons.
I... I honestly don't know what to say..
You should feel accomplished, you made me shed a few tears.
That in and of itself is saying something.
I need to go think...
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I'm glad that I was able to emotionally impact you like this. Perhaps this point of view will help you one day...
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It wasn't so much a new point of view as a reminder/reawakening of thoughts that have been, 'neglected' so to speak.
And I must thank you again, either way, I owe you for that feeling of revelation.
Stay safe in the desert David. /)
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It is my pleasure to act as emissary to your emotions and ponderings. I
always do, except when I don't.
Ouch, to put this in perspective of scary coincidences each stanza reminded me of a relative's story before they retired in their various ways.
1. So sayeth the mantra of the man of war
2. So whispers the pilot as the engine roars
3. So hopes the cousin as his life flows astray
4. So knows the man who will never see the day
5. So cries the family far away
-As always fantastic work and stay safe out there
This reminds me of a poem that I wrote a while ago.
"Before the stars did sing to me, thought I could not hear their harmony. With blind heart and blind eye did raise me head to see the sky.
Now I see and sometimes hear, though the stars not allways there. The world is crowded, blinding me to the star's song.
But when I am in the heavens sweet, each night out shall I walk, while angels sing and trumpets blare, shall put aside the noise and flare. For though the angel's song is sweet, the sweeter song's not one of ours. For when the star's song is shining bright, the universe stops and listens. And even the angels singing light, stop and listen while they go.
Thank you so much for sharing this piece of inspiration with us.