Love completely, without complete understanding

Some things simply have to be experienced. No explanation will do them justice and no opinion could change their individual effect. Listen to the words that no one is saying, and learn from the depth of each worldly thing’s soul. Only then will you catch a glimpse of true understanding.

Nothing sweeter…

I love the time in spring when the grass is so green it almost hurts your eyes. When it gets cut for the first time, the smell is so refreshing it makes the effort all the more worth it. I love the feel of dirt between my toes and a rake or shovel in my hand as I work the earth into the canvas for what will be a beautiful painting. The combination of colors, bright and swirling, and the heady odor of fruit blossoms and fresh earth mingle and linger in my senses, following me long after I’ve abandoned the serenity of my garden for the peace of my bedroom. The peace follows me here, filling every empty niche, finding every hollow crevice and filling it to its brim, bringing it to a gloriously ripe fullness that the mind requires. Sweet, juicy, crisp, tart – not only words or senses – full powers of embodiment that can transform our perception of the world.

I love standing, at the end of the day, with my hands on my hips and a smile of satisfaction on my face, knowing full well, that  I have accomplished something. That I have earned what I will reap from the gardens that I sow.

The Perfect Heart

   A young man who lived in town was known to have the perfect heart. One day he was walking through the market-place in the small town. It was filled with people, bustling around at their morning chores. The man smiled and gloated about his perfect heart to all those shopping for their daily food. He went on about his wonderful heart, never allowing anyone to touch it, or even get close enough to him to ever possibly damage it. They all stopped and gathered around him like children with a lovely painting. It did indeed seem to be the most beautiful and flawless heart anyone had seen. There was not one scratch or tear in the heart. It was only soft pink and beating gently, and it certainly was beautiful.

 A man in the back of the crowd watched in silence as the man with his ‘perfect heart’ continued to show off his prize. Almost as if it were something worthy of a prize itself.

 “You do not have a perfect heart,” called the old man over the crowds chatter. He held out his heart in the palm of his hand. Up in the air so everyone could see. The crowd stepped back and gasped, for this old man’s heart was torn in many places and patched over and had chunks covering open gashes where blood was still leaking out as the heart beat strongly. Some places the torn out parts had been replaced with other parts that didn’t quite fit, some too small, some much to big, while one in the center was large and deep had no coverings and was open for the world to see. “My heart is more beautiful, son.”

 The young man laughed and said, “You old fool, my heart has not a scratch on it. Not even the slightest mark, while your old organ has gouges and slices through it all! You have a huge gouge right in the center that you didn’t even bother to cover!”

 The old man sighed and said, “My heart is much more damaged, it’s true. But, you see my heart is worth more than yours and is more beautiful because I have shared it. I have taken pieces of my heart and torn them off to give to others in love. They, in return gave pieces of theirs because they returne that love for me. Many of the patches leave rough edges, and some gashes are still waiting to be filled. Some, such as the painfully deep one in the center you noticed, were never covered because those I gave the patch too, did not return my love. You see, love is taking a chance. I have given most of my heart, but have received more in return. You see, there are places with extra that cover no gouges, because when I was young, like you, I did not give back when those who loved me and gave me pieces of their own hearts.”

 The young man looked at the old for sometime. A tear came to his eye. Then, as the crowd moved back, the young man walked up and put his hand upon the old mans shoulder. The young man tore a piece of his heart off and placed it on the older man’s sores. The older man covered the young mans fresh hole with a piece of his own heart. The young man looked down at his heart, crying, laid a hand over it and said, “My heart is not as perfect as yours, but now it is worth while. It is beautiful.”

 The old man just smiled.

 

 

 

The thing that couldn’t be done.

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,
But, he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one has done it”;
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle it in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That “couldn’t be done,” and you’ll do it

Edgar Guest