old

at what age does someone become old? i find that my definition of 'old' is anyone above my parents' age level. which is interesting. because it seems as if, by setting 'old' above my parents, i make my parents ageless. or perhaps more accurately, i'm afraid to see them grow old, to see change. can you imagine the day that your parents are 'old' to your eyes? the day that you realize, yes, your parents, possibly the one constant throughout your entire life, will one day leave this earth?

which begs a deeper question: what is old? when does something move from the new to the established to the old? the answer is deeper than any time length or superficial judgment. to be old, in all honesty, implies irrelevance. when a mouth casually says, 'oh that's old', the heart actually says, 'oh that's obsolete' or 'useless' or 'unnecessary'. which is why being 'old' implies such negative things to our minds. to be old is to be irrelevant and passé, which we humans with our egos hate.

so in the end, perhaps the answer is right before us. oldness has nothing to do with age or time or the freshness of the air but the relevance and the heart of a person. the body may be old and irrelevant to the young eyes of today, but the heart may still be vibrant and young. the face may wrinkle with the troubles of yesteryear, but the smile may still be brighter than the birth of a star. and the hands may be cracked and worn, but the eyes may gleam with the joy of an eagle in flight.

so with that, my friends, may you never grow old, and may your lifesong sing of the joy and the sorrow and the grandeur all the days of your life.

judgment

step in someone else’s shoes. we hear that a lot, an analogy for understanding another person. especially when the person’s actions are despicable to your eyes and demand explanation. and it makes sense; try to see their perspective, and you will judge them less for what they do and how they act. but you could understand and still judge. because inherent in our analysis is the strong idea of personal right. ‘oh i see why they do this i’m glad i don’t act that way’ or ‘i’m glad i’m not as messed up as they are’ or some variant. and through these analyses we forget that we are often just as messed up or worse off because we fail to see our own wrong. the very act of Judgment indicates that you consider yourself wise enough to make a valuation of that person’s worth. is that true? or, is it possible that we have all set ourselves up to be gods?

of love

it is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.
it is not the strong who need grace, but the weak.
it is not the rich who need compassion, but the poor.
it is not your friends who need mercy, but your enemies.

it is not pity that is asked of you, but Love.

hypocrisy

when the world is too much, when my proud truths are naught but lies, what then? who will accept this shadow of a man? when the heart does not reflect the ideals proclaimed boldly and loudly, when the facade crumbles under the burning persistence of the racing world, where is the freedom, and where is my honor? where the prestige consumes the love, and the bitterness exceeds the mercy, there lies the fallen man, the broken man.

but sing, my soul, of the one who is not the shadow. the one whose truths are real, and whose love is impractical. his heart is for all, and his gaze never falters. may he take this twisted life and place it on a firm foundation.

beyond today

how can you say goodbye when the world gives you no guarantee of a reunion? for truly, this world gives you nothing but a breath of life to use as you will. who knows what will happen tomorrow? Tomorrow has never been steady; she is the most fickle of things. when she ushers herself into your life, how do you know that your loved one has not already passed out of your reach?

lacrymosa

do you dare touch the shards of a broken world?

look at it. there it lies, shattered by our manhandling, our roughness, our greed. see the genocides, the wars, the lies that have warped it. see it cry in agony and beg for mercy as we continue to let the hate bend and twist the very matter this world is built on. see its scars, the wounds that never healed. it writhes as it continues to birth evil.

can you stand by? can you indifferently watch this world in its neverending pain? will you not reach out? though it will hurt to grasp those bitter shards, will you not reach out?

music of the heavens

such a nice day today. just sat for a bit in the sun. the Sun is such an interesting thing. it, or maybe he or she, radiates light, which travels over millions of miles of vacuum and still manages to impart heat and light to this little planet. you'd think it'd lose something across those millions of miles, but i guess not. or if it does, we unfortunately don't know what we're missing out on. maybe the Sun sings, and its song just never makes it here. maybe the stars sing, and they're just too far for us to hear. then again, maybe it does make it. maybe, the music of the heavens lies right above our heads and we, in our self-centered way, just miss out.