More botanical illustration adapted for a more contemporary audience. Mulling over what to do for my next project whilst prevaricating over the ironing. Mulling is a preoccupation of mine. This is probably self evident in the blogs. Not much of my time is spent with others, and that allows the mind to wander, to meander and to explore. Then the dilemna arises when the others do appear and more domestic chores rear their heads demanding attention. Part of the human condition is the need to be employed in service. Servitude is a default setting. You might not recognise that and think ‘hey, I serve no one mate’, but take a moment. Its when you are in service that you probably feel most acheivement, whether you’re serving your family, a corporate boss, a God, or the Army, even a rebel leader. When we serve, we transcend our own needs. I serve my family. Sometimes with joy and grace, and sometimes with an imp on my shoulder pressing me to jump. Mostly with a sort of resigned shrug and a contentment that they are all healthy and living a life they like, even if that means at a distance. They are growing up and away, and I find it inevitable and a little bit sad. Nothing unusual there. Listened to Kahlil Gibrans verse on the same theme from the Prophet on Sunday, driving across the country and leaving my 17 year old alone to manage his own breakfasts etc for the first part of the week. He is delighted to be in charge , I am missing him already.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.