Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.*
It’s a rhyme of time by our “glass-half-full” ecclesiastical brother. How can I add to what’s already been said, except by more examples? The author calls it all “meaningless” and I see his point, but can just as well take the other tack.
What are these cycles but an eternity within time? And they’re an infinite resource thereby.
Do we not have what we need, and is there not plenty enough, even for us born so late in time?
We drink the water the ancients did; we breathe their air. From their same soil we dig our potatoes, feed our kine, take our meals.
The cycles of seasons, and of rain, sustains.
Is this tiresome? Sir, try living without it.
What we experience those before us also experienced, connecting us.
Time’s a circle, not a line . . . or perhaps, at best, a spiral.
We each have our turn, born, cycling through our stages, dying. Nothing new about it . . . except the variation on a theme, the distinction of you and me.
Each of us takes our turn on the swing, gently pushed at first, then learning to pump on our own, gleefully striving to fly the highest, maybe jump out the farthest, or just enjoying the movement and the ever changing scene.
When we get off, the swing set remains, and others take their turns.
We’re not quite sure how it happens . . .
why we get to swing at all
or who put the swing set there.
These are mysteries to a child
or would be if they thought about them,
which they don’t, not for long,
and neither do we much either.
The mystery remains.
But through my cycles, I’m changed.
And that, I think, means something
Whether half empty or half full, it’s still a glass,
and there is water.
Come and drink.
Next: We seldom reflect on the days of our lives. Coming Thursday.