and a rock feels no pain
May. 10th, 2007 04:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mamajoanIn conversation I was reminded of that Kahlil Gibran poem, and had to go look up the full text.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you
yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Yes. I am a bow. This imagery really resonates with me today. The bow bends, but doesn't break. And once the arrow is released and begins its flight, the bow trembles, does it not? it vibrates in reaction to the loss of the arrow. For every action an equal and opposite reaction.
I strung my own bow and bent willingly to the task. But still, each bending takes its toll.
and in less melancholy news, here's a teaser for an upcoming picspam post.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you
yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Yes. I am a bow. This imagery really resonates with me today. The bow bends, but doesn't break. And once the arrow is released and begins its flight, the bow trembles, does it not? it vibrates in reaction to the loss of the arrow. For every action an equal and opposite reaction.
I strung my own bow and bent willingly to the task. But still, each bending takes its toll.
and in less melancholy news, here's a teaser for an upcoming picspam post.
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no subject
Date: 2007-05-11 12:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-11 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-11 01:17 am (UTC)heh
Date: 2007-05-11 01:07 pm (UTC)must dash-- the thing he's distracted himself with is my sewing machine. argh...
both Sweet Honey in the Rock & the Flirations do nice versions of that poem
Date: 2007-05-13 08:59 pm (UTC)