Loving, Living, and Dying

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Loving, Living, and Dying


Loving.  Think of it!  What for eons was just water and dust,

Forming somehow into shapes of male and female, and becoming alive.

Capable of feeling deep and true love, and also burning lust.

Able to feel and give pleasure, in the act of love.

By the act of love, bonding two as one.

And by the act of love, sometimes to give new life.

Something new under the sun.  Love.  Loving.  The act of love.

Linking life to life.  Flowering into every other kind of love.

The greatest of love: a mother’s love, for her precious new baby;

And in later years, for her beloved child.

Second only to mother’s love, a good father’s love for his children.

The deepest and most joyful love: the love of a husband for his wife—

The love of a wife for her husband—the love of two lovers, mixed in must.

The death-defiant love and the faith between friends, in total trust.

And no love goes higher or farther,

Than the love of a good grandmother and a good grandfather—

And no purer love has ever been,

Than the love for mother and father, and for sister and brother,

And for grandma and grandpa—and for uncles and aunts and cousins—

And for childhood friends—for labyrinthine bends of roads and winds—

And for life in the world—like a spark in the dark each life is hurled—

The purest, truest, most innocent love of all: from the hearts of children.

And all this life and love, rising up from scattered sunlit stardust!

A human spirit, a human soul, animating the earthen sod.

How did this happen?  Blind chance?  Iron necessity?  Divine design?

No matter what it was, the Power that caused us to be—definitely—

Deserves the name of God.

-       - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Living.  Oh, what greater word could be!  Or more wonderful!  Living.  Living! 

Taking and giving—to and from those around us in the great world of life. 

The earth circles the sun.  The earth’s elliptic solar orbit brings the seasons to everyone.

But if no one were here, what would the seasons mean?  What could they mean?

Those orbital flights would be meaningless.  Unknown.  Unfelt.  Unseen.

But life transforms those blind flights into sighted years.

Life rephrases the phases of the moon into months of felt time and living.

Life transforms the blind rotations of the earth into the living time of nights and days.

Life—the gift received in our mother’s womb, from our loving parents, bringing our birth.

Changing clouds to glorious art-works in the sky; and precipitation into snow and rain.

Giving us the opportunity to find friends and love.  Changing blind sunbeams

Into the glory of eyesight.  Enabling minds with knowledge and dreams.

Life.  Changing invisible vibrations of molecules in the surrounding air

Into sounds: birdsong; a lover’s beloved voice; music; the singing of the heart and soul.

Living life.  And every single moment of life is its own meaning, reward, glory, and goal.

-       - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dying.  Here is a word that has caused so much sorrow and crying.

So much fear.  So much grief.

As for Life, we accept its mystery—which makes us here and gives us now.

But death—death’s mystery steals our breath—its secret embalms our being.

We dream death is a door to something more—more life—and not the end.

But we do not know.  What do we know?  We know only that we must go.

Think of friends.  Show your friends you care.  Show love to every friend. 

Show love to children.  Show love to old people.  If you care, then show you care. 

Show it, if you love your fellow and sister people.

Love is more sacred than the highest spire or the most splendid steeple.

Dying and living must take place together.  Death stops all we see.

Love may or may not transcend dying and death.  So while living, love now. 

Love your father and mother, sister and brother,

And all your close family; and all your precious friends.

Guys, love your girl friend, your lover, your wife—

Girls and ladies, love your boyfriend, your lover, your husband—

Live and love, like there is no tomorrow.  The time of life is fleeing.

There are only so many blossoms and fruits upon life’s brief bough.

Take them now.  Touch the faces of those you love most, best, and truly, now.

If you love your fellow and sister people in this world, show them love now.

Dying cannot stop you from living now.  Dying cannot stop you from loving now.

If God gives us the grace of some new good life, then neither can death.

But until we go, we do not know.  And so: Live now.  Love now.

Love is what gives life its vast value, poignant joy, greatest glory, and deepest meaning.

=======================


Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Written on Sunday, December 19, 2010  7:18 pm PST
Temperature: 58 degrees F.  Humidity: 72%  Forecast: light rain
Copyright © 2010 by M.L.P. All rights reserved

 

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abuelita1 commented on Loving, Living, and Dying

12-28-2010

As I read this again, your heart truly speaks through these words. As I sit here with coffee in hand and dreams in my mind of what I want to do, I see what is truly important through your gracious words. The emotions these words bring about are truly life, with it's ups and downs. I am feeling so many different emotions right now, your words really bring comfort, hope and dreams. Thank you once again for sharing your heart .....Love....Super Angel

amithissecret commented on Loving, Living, and Dying

12-28-2010

beautiful that the only word i can think of to describe this poem simply beautiful

Lunabella commented on Loving, Living, and Dying

12-27-2010

Beautiful...simply....I don't know what else to say. I love it. -Lunabella

abuelita1 commented on Loving, Living, and Dying

12-20-2010

Thank you, Michael......what more can I say than that....Love you...Super Angel

slohan4u commented on Loving, Living, and Dying

12-20-2010

very well written. also very good advice.like the line there are only so many blossoms........

In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

PoetWithCancer’s Poems (224)

Title Comments
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A Few More Times 1
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Summer-Brief 2
Seasonal Ring 0
Shakespeare's Birthday and Death 0
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I Remember Brian 0
Light of Life 0
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The Old, Old Words 0
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A Sad Contemplative Christmas Today 0
Moments of Memory; In Memory of Moments 0
Sun and Rain, Joy and Pain: I Miss My Friend Brian 0
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Love, Loss, and Lennon 0
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Two Loved Ladies Undergoing Surgery Now 0
The Masks Fall Off at Midnight 1
Prime of Life 1
Low Energy and Less Time: And Too Many Things to Do 1
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Shakespeare's Birthday 0
Friends During Need 1
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Moods 0
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Prayers 3
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Dreaming and Seeming 3
Poem Prayer 2
Science, Poetry, Philosophy, and More 2
Super A, Abuelita1--Th
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Using and Losing Time 1
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Hippocratic Hell 1
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Broken 1
Birthday Termination 1
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First and Last Cry 1
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