Each moment – for an instant – is the beginning of the rest of your life; like the first pearl slipped onto a string. When you look back at the beauty across time, the primary compulsion is to find the next pearl, to string the next moment.
As a child I remember collecting sea glass on the beach. I exalted at each discovery, slipping each piece into my pocket as I walked in the surf. Every new chip all the more beautiful as I stowed it away anxiously. For hours my day was beautiful and I never as much as paused to stop and count my bounty of color. Just as dusk fell I found the most beautiful crimson shard, a twinkling drop of ruby, and it was so beautiful I lost my breath for a moment…and I carried it all the way back, running. Little did I know, there was a huge hole in my pocket – and every tiny treasure pocketed was instantly falling right back into the shifting sands … except the last, which I held tightly in my hand.
Which reminds of the poem Winding to a Point by LDF,
“…So are the thoughts of aging men
Holding dreams in the palms of their hands
They cast their stones along the surface of time
And spend their lives trying to find them again…”
(The poem, “Winding to a Point” can be found somewhere, down below, scroll to the depths – I’ll pull you up)
