Archive for February, 2013

And a Clanging Cymbal

Thursday, February 14th, 2013

meQuery letters continue.  Life goes on, and as it does, it behooves us to remember the important things.  Often I lose sight of these, distracted by my circumstances, by despair at what I have not accomplished, by my hopes of things yet to be accomplished.

Fortunately, there are reminders, like today, Valentine’s Day. It is easy to become jaded, to become disillusioned by the commercial rush to exploit this annual reminder of the importance of love, when ginormous heart-shaped boxes of chocolates infest the stores, when trees die that we may send paper cards to our significant others, assuring them of the high regard in which we hold them in our hearts.

But step back from the brink of contempt.  Do we despise the shopkeepers for selling us food or clothing?  No, because we recognize these as necessities. But how much more necessary is love!  Can a soul survive, loving nothing and no one?  Yes, I have had times when , as a male, I thought love to be nothing but a conspiracy of poets and troubadours, something made up to “pretty up” human reproduction, something to which we males must pretend to subscribe if we wish to get laid. I was younger then.  Much younger.  I have seen fads flit, wars rage, and presidents come and go. I have come near death and confronted my mortality. I have held jobs and lived in various states. But love, I have discovered, is not a luxury.  It, too, is a necessity.  As food nourishes the body, and experience the mind, so love nourishes an ancient part of us that has not left when civilization arrived. Therefore, it is only right to stop and remember, when reminders such as today arrive, what love means to us and how it has enriched our lives.

To The Women of My Life

I’m not a wealthy man.  For me is not
the mansion in the country.  Nor have I
fine clothes or rich possessions; so I think
when to such others turns my envying eye…
But when I think of you, who gave me love,
a love no man can earn, no artist paint,
and no musician play into the wind,
My error shows; for you have made me rich
a pauper loved holds more than any bank.
Without the love my parents shared,
I never would have drawn a single breath;
without the love a mother gives her sons
who knows how cold and callous I might be?
My heart’s been broken, many times repaired
by ladies come and gone, that I have lost
from foolishness or distance.  Still I say
the fault was mine that I have never wed.
I want you all to know that you are loved
and will be loved, as long as I draw breath
and even longer, if there is no death.

— MRK  2/14/2013

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