Autumn & Spring

Autumn married Spring in the midst of her winter,
The worn smile warmed while bright eyes dimmed,
Laughter birthed while sorrow brimmed,
The gift of beginning set itself amid so much ending,
And though to him the song was so familiar,
He could not pass on his native trusting in slumber
To return the gift of another rising.
So, marital waltz thrummed for her a dirge,
Shadows deepened and night surged.
Breeze, whisper in well-grooved hands,
Harbor no more on her once-lit shores.
Autumn casts his ballot upon stone floor,
Asks, “King of Tides, unveil Summer once more.”

Humble Fruit

Oh expectation, you are a sinister vine;

When I reach forth for fruit,

I feel the prick of your spine.

The ounce of pleasure is mixed

With a quart of sorrow–

Your twisted game is fixed.

Better is the humble row

With less boastful flowers,

Which quaint men sow.

The gentler cup fits in hand

When it neither grasps

Nor grips such fickle sand…

Meekness, our lowly friend,

Waits on the edge of expectation,

And will kindly refresh us in the end.

Such humble fruit few can find

In the native soil of our proud minds.

Grow, Galatea

Grow, Galatea! The one who carves loves you.

Though he, with tender, tough skill, hews,

He cannot escape the tears of the test

As he works and wonders at what is best:

To love and potentially lose what he makes,

Or withdraw and let Father deem to forge or break?

The costly choice! To empower the gift to refuse,

To stoke the flame of the divine gift to choose.

You are worth the catalyst of a faithful heart,

Poured out for your shattered breast to restart.

When you claim fateful prize as you rise from Gaia,

Know you were loved as you grew, Galatea.

Memento Mori

You will die.

People dread the reality of this statement, whether in their conscious thoughts or the unconscious recesses of their minds. Yet, surprisingly, this is a truth that has the most potential to free our thoughts from fear. Did you ever wonder how daring ninja stalked through fortified castles, soldiers braved enemy-occupied beaches, or the old man peacefully embraced his last moment? What drives them to act in these dire moments without becoming petrified by fear? The answer is contained in the latin phrase, Memento Mori (“Remember death.”)

Hidden in the annals of Shinobi lore, the Japanese primers on ninjutsu (ninja martial arts), a section exists called “The Correct Mind.” This portion is the primary foundation of who and what a ninja is. Within this passage, the writer spends great detail illuminating one point: Only by accepting death can you succeed in being a ninja. Listen to the writer’s sage advice to his pupils:

“‘If you do not throw away concern about yourself, your mind will do harm to you in the end.’…To worry about yourself will do harm to yourself. This is because it offends heavenly principles.”

“To live and die is decided by heaven at the moment when you come into being, inside your mother’s womb…Therefore, if you keep moving forward without fear of death, you may not die, while if you like to live too much and hate to die and run away through fear of your life, you may not survive. Thus, whether to advance or retreat does not matter as you will survive according to heaven’s discretion, so why would you not take the chance to live by advancing, than trying to survive by running away?” -Fujibayashi

In the Confucian-style dialogues between sage and pupil, the writer presents that we should orient life according to the end, which in his view has been prescribed from the beginning. Similarly, we can accept death as a springboard for courageous living, whether entering the battlefield or another day at work. The emphasis is on taking self-preservation out of the center of our thoughts, and offering our lives instead to a greater purpose which will outlast ourselves. The character such living-from-death promotes is that of selflessness, honor, and the pursuit of the unseen rewards life on this earth offers.

The literary world offers great examples of memento mori through sacrificial characters, as well as characters who live honest lives. A favorite of mine resides in JRR Tolkien’s Silmarillion. While this collection of tales is more mythical history than adventure, the book contains a passage about the death of the first human friend of the elves. His passing leaves a great impact for the relationship between Men and Elves, and I believe has a line that will later challenge the character’s heirs and the reader.

“And when [Bëor] lay dead, of no wound or grief, but stricken by age, the Eldar saw for the first time the swift waning of the life of Men, and the death of weariness which they knew not in themselves; and they grieved greatly for the loss of their friends. But Bëor at the last had relinquished his life willingly and passed in peace; and the Eldar wondered much at the strange fate of Men, for in all their lore there was no account of it, and its end was hidden from them.” –Silmarillion

You can see the kernel of memento mori in the line, “But Bëor at last relinquished his life willingly and passed in peace.” (emphasis mine) Bëor welcomed death and went in peace. Similarly to the shinobi above, Bëor braved the unknown fates of the world, leading his people across the empty wastes of primal Middle Earth toward the uncharted West. He then makes the difficult decision of leading his people to dwell among a new race, a people both powerful and strange. In the end, he also discerns the limits of this new friendship, and gives the secret knowledge of his people’s heritage to a few descendants. Bëor’s life exemplifies the lesson of memento mori. Remembering death, he aligned his purpose to best serve his people long after he had passed. Because of this, his children and their children would bear his name as an honorary title.

Now, your family may not coin themselves after your given name or start calling themselves Clan [Dad’s-First-Name-Here], but they will remember you long after you are dead. Death makes life more dear, and in living with death in mind, you can learn to treasure the moments of life. Men who sought to understand the scope of life penned this song,

“The years of our life are seventy,
    or even by reason of strength eighty;
yet their span is but toil and trouble;
    they are soon gone, and we fly away.
Who considers the power of your anger,
    and your wrath according to the fear of you?

So teach us to number our days
    that we may get a heart of wisdom.” -Psalm 90

Instead of obsessing over life, accept existence for what it is: A transient gift. The end comes too soon for most, and rarely is each particular conclusion expected. Remember death, and perhaps it will aid you in living bold, honorable lives. Why retreat when you can advance? As a two-time Medal of Honor recipient, Marine Sergeant Major Dan Daly, cried in the infamous Battle of Belleau Wood, “For Christ’s sake, do you want to live forever?”

Because you won’t in this life. So live boldly.

Fair Falls the Leaves in Lothlorien

Fair falls the leaves in Lothlorien.
Winter frost has nipped her buds, bit her blossoms.
Still lies the remnants of golden summer days…
O Lorien the Lovely, your years are young
Compared to your sire across the sea.

Fair falls the leaves in Lothlorien,
The silver boughs quiver as winds howl,
A darkening day even as the sun climbs
The ramparts of the naked sky.
Where will now the songs of joy arise?

Fair falls the leaves in Lothlorien,
The fabled halls of elven kings of old,
Which call mortal men to deeper thoughts,
To a land far beyond the seas, West of West.
Who can bring feeble gaze to Valinor’s abode?

Fair falls the leaves in Lothlorien,
Still the world will seem without her mirth,
Yet the gleaming stars on Varda’s brow show
The Song of Begetting persists and stirs,
Spring may yet return to the halls of Lorien.

The Scarred, the Scared, and the Sacred

Incense burns at the pearly gates

A subtle summons of what waits

Why are you nervous, little child,

Clutching bloodied robes, wild

With shivers, voiceless cries

Of the pain behind your eyes?

Will you come to stand before

The throne to hear holy lore

From flaming mouths of fire

Who never cease their choir

Of praise afore His pure eyes

That look beyond all disguise?

Yet He has no hate for you,

Child, only love shines through

His glorious gaze high above

Declaring to you undying love,

So why not come and see

The Sacred One’s victory?

What victory does He have

For weary, wounded half-

Hearted tremblers in the dark?

Your adopted Father’s spark

Calls to your lonely, soiled soul

To return and rejoice, whole,

In the beauty of His holy home

Where your scars shine like stone

Edges of a jewel’d masterpiece

Set ablaze in our Master’s peace.

Journeyman

The road runs flat upon the plain
And races up the ridge’s mane
Until it crowns the mountain’s top
Down into the valley, it doesn’t stop
Brave is the man who chases its head
From the foot of his blessed bed
He runs, he walks, he crawls
He covers rivers and climbs craggy walls
Tired and weary, the road beneath his feet
Never ceases, its constancy a mocking repeat
But victorious is the lass or lad
Whose heart travels, and in travels is glad
The journeyman wanders every blessed day
And is the gladder the longer the way.
For, the road has run its merry course
And keeps on running with tireless force
An’ few a man will come to see
The true gift of travel is in the journey.

Sunset

The sun has set and is almost down

The trees have hidden his golden crown

Is the moon upon its way

As the night chases off the day?

Is the Queen at her post

Guiding men as she leads forth starry host?

The jewel glistens behind my head

A silver sphere that watches over nature’s bed

Radiant reflection of the King’s fiery throne

She has the hue of gossamer and bone

But her beauty lives in a different manner

She is, to me, the Father’s tender banner

Hung amid the stars to shine as a mirror

To make dreams alive and vision clearer

Is the moon eluding the morning sun

As the lady her last promenade spun?

Does the regal woman peer

Upon her Father’s subjects whom He holds dear?

Down she goes before first light and feeble ray

Over the hem of the horizon can boldly stray

Hiding her face to keep her blessings hid

She is a gift only evening can truly bid

Is the moon holding her procession in the dark

As a lamp to the blind and midnight’s silent lark?

Is the lady of the eve

Awakening to give tired workmen their reprieve?

The sun has set and settled behind the earth’s cold crust

To allow his lady to grace the heavens above this sapphire ball of dust.

River Song

Down the deep river flows,
Counter-song to roving skies,
A melody no mortal knows,
Its secrets kept from failing eyes,
Still, the waters claim a hold,
Upon the hearts of men,
Calling now with bubbling fold
Answering around river bend.
“Come to me, dear, sweet child!
Stand among my shoals,
Let me tend thy heart with message mild,
And soothe away the pain from thy soles.”
Heeded, the words of the river heal
The heart and soles of many,
And the tears of life its ripples steal,
The spirits strengthened there are plenty.

Who Can Say

Who can say you are neither good nor just,
When the rain that falls on the mountain
Satisfies a wanderer’s thirst,
And drowns a village in the valley;
Or, the sun withers a grassy meadow
With its unquenchable heat,
As its rays feed the green earth
And all who feast upon it?
Whose host of locusts satisfies the weary pilgrim,
While their unbroken ranks devour wealthy states?
Justice and mercy fall in even strokes,
Can make the bitter sweet,
And the soft touch a hard blow.
Hasn’t the painful stroke revived faith,
Even as sweetness has stolen love?
You, in your wisdom, are just and kind,
The source of all healing,
And the bringer of true terror,
So that no man can stand and boast.
Who has seen the full strength of your wrath,
Or felt the full embrace of your mercy?
Who has tasted all of your judgments and pleasures?
How full are your gifts!
How rich are your judgments!
Let everyone come to love you
And give praise to the Father of every living thing.
Honor His name. Amen.