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from "The Gifts of Life and Love"
By Ben Zion Bokser
Of Time and Life
Time is the duration of life and life is God's creation. And part of what
God created when He created life is a span of time for each creature to be
born, to grow, to attain its maturing, to decline and to pass away from the
scene of its labors. By the way we live, by the play of circumstances, we may
fall short of the time allotted to us, or we may hold on to the time of our
life and live it to its maximum possibility. But there is an end to every life
under the sun, and rich man or poor man, the great and the humble alike are
subject to the same law. They must all live within a boundary, a boundary of
time, and when they near the edge of the boundary they must be ready to bow
out from the scene.
We grieve when somebody dear to us has reached the boundary, and it is right
that we grieve. But our grief is mitigated by the knowledge that every day
of life is the renewal of a miracle, the miracle of life, and if those we have
lost are precious to us, then we must be grateful for whatever time they were
permitted to be at our side. Nor must we be upset when we ourselves come to
the boundary. There is just so much in the cup of wine. Drink what you are
given and be glad that you were privileged to taste the wine of life. And when
you have reached the end, graciously pass the cup to other hands waiting to
receive it.
Copied without permission
from "The Gifts of Life and Love"
By Ben Zion Bokser
Death is Not Extinction
Death is not a total extinction of life; it is like the sculptor's smashing
of a clay model. The form is destroyed; but it returns to its raw matter out
of which the artist will attempt some new creation.
In the economy of God's universe, there is a conservation of elements. We may
disintegrate an atom, but the essence survives in the stupendous energy which
has been released. Similarly death cannot destroy the body or the soul. The
body returns to the treasury of primordial earth from which all physical life
emerges and to which it returns. It decomposes into its constituent elements
and continues to be part of the cycle of unending existance. The soul is
invisible and it returns to its invisible living source. And if we have lived
with any beauty or goodness during the span of our years, then that beauty has
entered the permanent resevoir of life's assets, and it will continue to
exist in newer incarnations; our deeds will be an inspiration to other lives.
Even our individuality is not wholly lost. For the seeds of immortality have
been planted in us, and out of these seeds spring new life. For the creator
is infinitely resourceful and He emplys the same stuff of life in eternally
novel ways. Yet in that new life, we live on, for it is flesh of our flesh
and spirit of our spirit.
Destruction is a prelude to new creation It enables the Architect of our
existance to wipe clean the slate at intervals and to start over again. The
loss of the old is vindicated in the new - in the fairer copy which comes
after it.
Laura
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| TAKE A DEEP BREATH, AND FEED THE BIRDS
The following article first appeared in the Providence Sunday Journal
of December 18, 1994. - Eds.
By BRIAN DICKINSON
Time to take a deep breath - a deep breath, then pause. There. Feel
better already, don't you? Close your eyes. Tight. Count to 10.
Slowly. Afterward, eyes still closed, mind you - think of a
particularly upbeat something that you did this year. Call up an
image of this episode. Why is it memorable? How long will you
remember?
You say 1994 wasn't an especially upbeat year for you? That happens.
No problem. Go back two, three years - more if you need to - until
you come upon an image that makes you smile. The important thing is
to stay in the game.
When in doubt, feed the birds.
Write a letter. The exercise will benefit your immortal soul and
absolutely floor the recipient, who probably hasn't received a letter
from anyone since Earl Butz was secretary of agriculture. Teach
yourself to tie a few good knots. While you're at it, knit up the
raveled sleeve of care. Allow 10 minutes extra for everything. When
worried, just remember the words of Bernard de Clairvaux: "Hey, babe,
chill. Things could be worse."
Feed the birds.
Listen as the tea kettle whistles. Watch it steam up the kitchen
windows. Write down Grandmother's recipe for potato pancakes
Parmesan, before you lose it again. Avoid throngs. Laugh out loud
when you feel like it. For one day, leave your wristwatch at home.
Learn to whittle; throw shavings into the fireplace, where they will
do some good.
Break the mold.
Drive a different route to work. Say "good morning" to those
glowering faces in the elevator (don't worry; Most people don't bite).
Be aware of the fact that rock salt on sidewalks can kill grass.
Watch dawn arrive; see how many colors the sky turns.
Take a deep breath.
Count your blessings.
Harboring a grudge against someone? Has it helped? (Didn't think
so.) Sing, if only in the shower. Get older family members to tape
their reminiscences. Wiggle your toes. Next time you make chili, add
extra spice. Whistle while you work. Go for a good long walk;
stretch those legs, including those important Achilles tendons, so
easily forgotten in the hectic pace of today's living.
Take the dog.
Remember what my father used to say. When I was a boy, and about to
head off somewhere or other, my father always used to say, "Don't do
anything dumb!"
Remember to feed the birds.
Take a chance now and then. Look for a new friend. Telephone an old
friend. Seize the moment. Believe in yourself. If you keep kicking
yourself, you're going to fall down. Davey Crockett, he of the long
rifle and wild frontier, said: "Make sure you're right, then go
ahead," which put it nicely. A carpenter says: "Measure twice, cut
once."
Take your choice.
Breathe deeply. Let your memory slip back to that summer when you
were quite small, at the beach with your family, and your father
hoisted you onto his shoulders and waded into the lake until his knees
were covered. You had never seen so much water. You trusted your
father totally.
Close your eyes. Squint hard, relax. How long ago was the first date
with the person you later married - 25 years? More? Certainly a
long, long time. Just as certainly, a very short time. How can it be
both?
I've no idea. But it is.
Smile. Give a loved one a good, strong hug, just on general
principles; because we never can tell, can we?
Don't forget to feed the birds.
Think about this for a moment. Humans are said to be the only
creatures with a time sense, including an ability to contemplate such
a thing as a future. Does it follow that human kind is the only
species able to deal with the concept of hope? I suspect that we are.
I do believe that the capacity for hope can help us meet stiff
challenges.
Open the bedroom window a crack at night; sleep in fresh air.
Take a time-out now and then as a way of reducing stress. It works
for sports teams, long-distance truckers and troublesome toddlers; so
why shouldn't it work for you?
Seize the moment. Make it your own. One never has quite enough
moments, although we don't know this when we are young. Then, if we
look ahead, we see an endless stream full of moments, so many that we
could never count them, and all of them ours for the taking. Before
we know it, though, the stream has struck dramatically and the
available moments are growing scarce; and we wish that we had gone
after them more assiduously when the stream was full.
So, we say again: Seize the moment - while you can.
As long as you are seizing moments, use the opportunity to divest
yourself of all that residual guilt you're carrying around. Guilt
gives us warts and yellow teeth, among other things, and never did
anyone any good. Gather up your guilt, wrap it with care and send it
Federal Express to my cousin Pearl in Bayonne, who can never get enough
of the stuff.
Forgive. Smile, Walk. (Oh, do walk when you can.) Share. Reach.
Laugh. Teach. Learn. Run. Believe. Lift. Climb. Understand.
Explore. Give. Appreciate. And, since you can never do it all, savor
the small moments that, aggregated, become great. Stay in the game -
oh, and do remember to look after the birds.
Brian Dickinson is the Providence (R.I.) Journal's editorial
columnist.
- Providence Journal editorial columnist Brian Dickinson, battling Lou
Gehrig's disease, continues to write his columns even though he is
confined to a wheelchair and can move only one finger on his left hand.
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| Some favourite quotes from Henry David Thoreau...
"What you call bareness and poverty is to me simplicity. God could not be
unkind to me if he should try. I have never gotten over my surprise that I
should have been born into the most estimable place in all the world, and in
the very nick of time, too".
"Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste
the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of each. Let them be your only
diet, drink, and botanical medicines. Be blown on by all the winds. Open all
your pores and bathe in all the tides of nature, in all her storms and oceans,
at all seasons".
Take time by the forelock. Now or never. You must live in the present,
launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand
on their island opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other
land; there is no other life but this, or the like of this.
We can only live healthily the life the gods assign us. I must recieve
my life as passively as the willow leaf that flutters over the brook. I must
not be for myself, but God's work, and that is always good. I will wait the
breezes patiently, and grow as they shall determine. My fate cannot but be
grand so. We may live the life of a plant or animal without living an animal
life. This constant and universal content of the animal comes of resting
quietly in God's palm. I fell as if I could at any time resign my life and the
responsibility into God's hands and become as innocent and free from care as a
plant or a stone.
All that a man has to say or do that can possibly concern mankind, is
in some shape or other to tell the story of his love - to sing, and, if he is
fortunate and keeps alive, he will be forever in love. This alone is to be
alive to the extremities. It is a pity that this divine creature should ever
suffer from cold feet; a still greater pity that the coldness so often reaches
to his heart.
We have lived not in proportion to the number of years that we have
spent on the earth, but in proportion as we have enjoyed.
I know that I am. I know that another is who knows more than I, who
takes an interest in me, whose creature, and yet whose kindred spirit in one
sense, am I. I know that the enterprise is worthy. I know that things work
well. I have heard no bad news.
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