The Color of Differences

“It is not our differences that divide us.

It is our inability to recognize, accept,

and celebrate those differences.” 

(Audre Lorde, Our Dead Behind Us: Poems)

In mid-December Anna and I were on our way to the Bay of Pigs on the southern shore of Matanzas Province, Cuba. Our tour guide was a beautiful soul, full of gratitude for her country, her job, and for the day she was spending with us. Along the way we observed and learned about a perspective different from our own.

Cuban roads are an experience of 1950 era cars, fairly new tour busses, horses pulling carts, and people on peddle bikes; all this on their main highways as much as on the back roads. Such patience and cooperation is expressed in the gentle beep of a vehicle horn as it pulls up behind a slow moving cart, waiting for an opportunity to pull around. 

Cuban houses are an expression of the Buddhist ideology of impermanence. They are predominantly concrete in construction, and with the exception of new buildings, they are eroding away. Cubans simply do not have the resources to repair their homes.

Then there is the Cuban government; it is defined as a "Marxist-Leninist Socialist State." I'm not aware of the many layers of implications that this involves for the average citizen, however, our guides gladly illuminated free education and health care, and guaranteed jobs as benefits of the system (they neglected to touch upon the prison system, food shortages, or travel restrictions).  

“Don't let your luggage define your travels,

each life unravels differently.” 

(Shane L. Koyczan)

I found myself experiencing a sense of dislocation in Cuba as a consequence of these many observed differences. Upon further reflection, I realize that I was seeking to make sense of Cuban life through a Canadian lens; more even, through my particular lens. The result was that everything appeared out of focus, somewhat smudged. Reflecting post-Cuba, I am mindful of the "Bill lens" through which I process my experiences. 

“Caminante, no hay puentes,

se hace puentes al andar.

(Voyager, there are no bridges,

one builds them as one walks.) ”

(Gloria E. Anzaldúa)

To hear another's story, to truly take it into one's self, is to be willing to set aside, at least for awhile, one's own view of the world. The story of Cuba is a tapestry rich in color, woven over centuries of conflict, struggle, and hope. Walking the streets of Cardenas, street dogs and chickens in tow, I was greatly aware that even as I observed life around me, that very life was also observing me. Our stories co-mingled there on that dusty street. For a moment I shed the skin of my perspective and looked at the world through another's lens.

I saw then, not Cubans, not tourists, just people. We all had the same look in our eyes - a desire for connection, community, safety, and meaning. We wanted our lives to be worth something more than the circumstances that birthed us. Blue, brown, and hazel-eyed Cubans cry over loses, weep in joy at the birth of babies, and spark with anger at perceived injustices. These things I understand, for my being also cries, rejoices, and reacts to an unjust world.

It is possible that when the skin of culture is scraped away, when the history that colors our experiences has faded, that we really have very few differences. We hunger, we hurt, we heal, we long. Culture is a story unique to geography, time, and circumstance; humanity though, is one species, one people. Canadian culture differs from Cuban; Canadian humans are one people with Cuban humans. 

This Christmas season, this time of cultural and religious undertones, perhaps we can be mindful of those who seem different than us. Love is a bridge builder - spanning lives, stories, histories, and differences. Christmas celebrates Love coming into this world, to heal, to renew, to bring humanity together. Let us then honor Love by celebrating the differences that give us color and hue, even as we see beyond diversity to the Light that defines us all.

I leave the last word to singer, Bob marley:

"One love, one heart . . .

Let’s get together and feel all right” 

(Bob Marley)

The color of differences...

incomplete stories.

Flowers

of every shade

and hue

scent

and texture

are

nonetheless

flowers

Enjoy

the

Garden

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose." (Philippians 2.2)

- From Hinduism: "“He who experiences the unity of life sees his own Self in all beings, and all beings in his own Self, and looks on everything with an impartial eye.” (Bhagavad Gita)

- From Islam: "Would you become a pilgrim on the road of love? The first condition is that you make yourself humble as dust and ashes." (Ansari of Herat)

The Color of Shame

“If we can share our story

with someone who responds

with empathy and understanding,

shame can't survive.” 

(Brené Brown, Daring Greatly)

Carefully woven into the tapestry of my story are many broken and tangled threads. Some are colored with shades of loss or fear; others, though few in number, are of the dark hews dyed by the experience of shame. I will not subject you to tales of this heart's slow human journey of awakening; suffice it to say that I have caused wounding, and in so doing, became bathed in shame for the suffering caused by the raw power of anger and thoughtlessness

“Shame is a soul eating emotion.” 

(C.G. Jung)

Brene Brown states that guilt informs us that our actions are "bad," while shame tells us that we are "bad." Big difference here. Guilt is a blinking light on the dashboard of our life. It warns us that we have veered off of the path. Guilt has whispered, and sometimes shouted to me many times when I have lost sight of who I am, and the reason I am in this life - to be Love. 

Shame, though, is powerless to build us up, for it does not speak any truth about our being. I do not know of any instance where shaming provided the energy for a person's growth in mind, heart, or spirit.

“Shame corrodes the very part of us

that believes we are capable of change.” 

(Brené Brown, I Thought It Was Just Me)

I have given up holding on to shame over my yesterdays. Forgiveness was a part of the path to releasing this shame; compassion was the other part. As some point I reflected back on those memories, standing off to the side, watching scenes unfold. As I did so I realized, with loving-kindness, that I had acted the best I could under the circumstances of life. If I had been more self-aware, more awakened, I would have responded differently. If I was then as I am now... but that was not the case. Am I excused? No. Does grace suffuse yesterday's woundings? Yes.

The key to releasing shame, I have discovered, is in going back and wrapping compassion around the entire story. All of the characters, each emotion, the choices and actions - all bathed in the light of compassion. Then the gift of forgiveness has a chance to take root. This is crucial - that today's self unleash forgiveness for our yesterday's. 

“Shame is always easier to handle

if you have someone to share it with.” 

(Craig Thompson, Blankets)

Another story: I work with men who have perpetrated acts of domestic violence. These brothers of mine, gifts of Light and Love, have been horribly broken in life, and have perpetuated that brokenness with their partners and children. In response, their hearts have bathed them in guilt, and this guilt has driven them to seek change, to awaken to their potential as healers. They have also, however, felt the suffocating grasp of shame, snuffing out any Light that might heal and renew. Some relief comes to them as they tell their stories, becoming vulnerable to the scrutiny, and deep compassion, of their brothers.

“Shame isn't a quiet grey cloud;

shame is a drowning man

who claws his way on top of you,

scratching and tearing your skin,

pushing you under the surface.”

(Kirsty Eagar, Raw Blue)

Perhaps we have all had threads of shame woven into our cloth. If so, it is time that we spoke out, created sacred and safe places to tell our story, to experience forgiveness, to release yesterday's poison from today's cup of life. If you feel shame today - you have my compassion. Nobody's yesterday should be given the power to dictate, or define their today. 

I leave the last word to Stanley Kunitz:

“I can hardly wait for tomorrow,

it means a new life for me

each and every day.” 

(Stanley Kunitz)

The color of shame...

poison in the wine.

My own heart

charged

tried

and convicted

itself

Until Love

was released

into

the castle of my being

flooding

chambers

long enclosed

in darkness

Breathe

Forgive

Be

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." (1 John 2.1)

- From Mohawk Tradition: "Every person has both a bad heart and a good heart. No matter how good a man seems, he has some evil. No matter how bad a man seems, there is some good about him. No man is perfect."

- From Hinduism: "God the Rescuer,
God the Savior,
Almighty, whom we joyfully adore,
Powerful God,
Invoked by all men,
May he, the bounteous, grant us his blessings." 

(Rig Veda 7.100.4)

The Color of Work

“Be the flame, not the moth.” 

(Giacomo Casanova)

I work 24/7 - I am always working. I work from the moment I arise, until I fall asleep, and then I work through the night. Here's the kicker - I am wildly, passionately crazy about work. 

I suppose it would be desirable to shed a little light on this as it sounds as though I'm a workaholic with a horribly unbalanced life. So, if you'll indulge me, I'll tell you a story.

In times past I upheld adages such as, "I am not my work, it just what I do," or "find a work/life balance." When I parted ways with Anna in the morning I might say - "I'm off to work." It was as though my life were fragmented into bits - some bits had to do with "working Bill," and others had to do with "home-life Bill." This began to sit uncomfortably with me.

Well, in this last year I realized that this is all a bunch of silliness. I looked in the mirror one day, and there smiling back at me was... well, me. Just one of me. And suddenly I understood my work. 

“I want to know what passion is.

I want to feel something strongly.” 

(Aldous Huxley, Brave New World)

My work, that is, the "effort engaged to achieve a purpose or result" (dictionary), is to open myself as thoroughly as I can, at any given moment, to the flow of Love through my being. In contemplating this I realize that no matter what I am doing, where I am, or who I am with, my single purpose is to be a healing presence in our world.

Sometimes Love pours through in my role with Hospice; sometimes it pours out upon Anna and our family; sometimes it is with friends, or at a community event. Often it is being reflected back to me in self-care. Thus, even sleep is a part of my work, for it is then that Love pours into my being to nourish and rejuvenate me.

As I am by no means an enlightened being, and often slip into sleepiness in my self-awareness, sometimes it does not look like this endeavor of opening myself up to Love is working out very well. Thank goodness for grace. Even the sleepy times, the forget-who-I-am times, are a part of Love at work; the Love of grace holding me when I cannot find my way back to remembering who I am.

“If you have a strong purpose in life,

you don't have to be pushed.

Your passion will drive you there.” 

(Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart)

This view of work reminds me of my farmer friends. Farming is there life, it is not simply something they do (at least, that is my perspective on most of the farmers I know). Farming is how they be in this world, it is how they engage their day, and their night. So too for me - intending to be a healing presence is how I engage this world - it is the work of my heart and soul. 

What is the work of your heart and soul? As you enter your day, what is Love doing through you to grow this world, to unfold it and and make it flower? 

Be mindful of where the river is taking you; lay down your paddle and trust the current. Sometimes Love will pour through you in your vocation, sometimes with your friends and family. Love will pour through you in your community, with strangers, and in quiet moments when you are filling your tank. And when your head rests upon your pillow, Love will pool in your being until the morning light.

I leave the last word to Ridhdhesh Jivawala:

“We got life to live, not to survive;

do the things you always want to,

be the person you always desire to be...”

(Ridhdhesh Jivawala)

The color of work...

the song of our soul.

I picked up a shovel

and in my hands

it became

a hole

for a tree

for an apple

for a pie

for a gathering

of tears

and laughter

and healing

All from a shovel...

and a little work

Breathe

Work

Be

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters..." (Colossians 3.23)

- Zoroastrianism: "Do you keep your feet, hands, intellect ready, O Mazdayasni Zoroastrians, in order to practice lawful, timely, well-done deeds, in order to undo unlawful, untimely, bad-done deeds. Let one practice here good industry; let one make the needy prosperous." (Avesta, Visparad 15.1)

- From Sikhism:

"One who claims to be a saint,
And goes about begging - Touch not his feet!
He whose livelihood is earned through work,
And part given away in charity - 

Such a one, Nanak, truly knows the way to God."

(Adi Granth, Var Sarang, M.1, p. 1245)

The Color of Right Speech

“The only thing

more frustrating than slanderers

is those foolish enough

to listen to them.” 
(Criss Jami, Killosophy)

As municipal elections are approaching in Alberta, political discourse abounds. Some of this discourse reflects robust debate of issues affecting our communities. Much of the proffered speech, on the other hand, is at its core unkind and quite possibly un-true.

Many of our world's sacred writings instruct us in the way of, what Buddhism calls, "right speech" - words that bring healing to our world. Right speech, in the Buddhist example, is defined by words that are:

• true
• kind
• beneficial
• hearable by the listener
• spoken at the right time and in the right place

If we were all to adhere to these dictums, much of our conversation would not happen. All to often I find myself the recipient of words that are spoken in criticism about somebody else; gossip of sorts, or at the very least, unkind speech. I have also spent my fair share of lung capacity fueling speech that in no way reflects the above list of virtuous discourse.

“Often those that criticise others

reveal what he himself lacks.” 

(Shannon L. Alder)

 

What we say is a window into our perspective on ourselves, and on life as we experience it. As one adage states, "other people's opinions of you are none of your business." Thus, when we are critical of each other in our speech it unveils very little about the other, and a great deal about ourselves.

“How would your life be different if…

You walked away

from gossip and verbal defamation?

Let today be the day…

You speak only the good you know

of other people

and encourage others to do the same.” 

(Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free)

I'm not sure why normally kind and gentle people often feel they have cultural permission to speak very negatively about political leaders/candidates, however, I observe it happening. No good can come of this; this does not heal our world. If we are frustrated we need to seek change, not slander. 

Let us commit to right speech today. Let's pledge ourselves to words that are true, kind, beneficial, hearable, and timely. Let us do this because it reflects the truth of the soul - that we are created as an expression of Love. Let us do this because the world we live in has already heard enough criticism and slander; I really can't imagine that any amount of goodness has ever arisen from hurtful words.

My hope this election time - that candidates would speak honorably of each other; that their words would reveal their most noble character. Then we would have someone worth electing.

I leave the last word to Jean-Yves Leloup:

“Lead us toward a speech,

which is as beautiful as silence,

and toward a silence,

which is as beautiful

as the sweetest and truest of words.” 

(Jean-Yves Leloup, Compassion and Meditation)

The color of right speech...

sunshine and rain upon the soil of our being.

Sticks and stones

heart and bones

some lives mended

some lives groan

some words heal

or sharpen steel

cut you through

the words you wheal

Speak

Listen

Pray

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing. For 'Whoever desires to love life and see good days, let him keep his tongue from evil and his lips from speaking deceit; let him turn away from evil and do good; let him seek peace and pursue it.'" (1 Peter 3.9-11)

 - From Buddhism: "One should speak only that word by which one would not torment oneself nor harm others. That word is indeed well spoken." (Thag 21)

-From Hinduism: "All things are determined by speech; speech is their root, and from speech they proceed. Therefore he who is dishonest with respect to speech is dishonest in everything. (Laws of Manu 4.256)

The Color of Ghosts

“Memories warm you up from the inside.

But they also tear you apart.”

(Haruik Murakami, Kafka on the Shore)

Dad died a month ago, and as the dust from his passing settles, I find myself meandering down long-forgotten paths. I have not lived in Westlock since I left home after high school, though I’ve visited throughout the years. This week is one of those visits – to support my recently widowed mother; to support my recently bereaved self; to converse with ghosts of the past.

Mom and I were chatting about life when we first moved to the area; about buildings, people, and events. As so often happens, our memories did not align; each of us was convinced that our own recollections revealed fact. The ghosts of the past, however, do not revisit us in anything representing a linear or logical fashion.

“Humans, not places

Make memories.”

(Ama Ata Aidoo)

I walked down the residential streets of my childhood, specters of the past drifting along beside me – the briefest whisper of a memory from this house – a friend lived here perhaps; I can’t recall, and the memory is pulled away in the breeze. Everything is smaller now, less grand, closer together. An 8-year-old’s world is big, full of wonder and dangers; the adult world, it seems, has shrunk.

All but one of the neighbors who framed my childhood world have moved away… or died. The house, my home, who’s windows and walls, floors and halls I knew so intimately has been remodeled, the tree in the front yard removed. Ghosts… so many fading ghosts.

“Memories are bullets

Some whiz by and only spook you.

Others tear you open and leave you in pieces.”

(Richard Kadrey, Kill the Dead)

I’ve forgotten most of the life I lived here. I recall only the highest peaks of recollection, those that stand tall above the rising waters of forgetfulness. On some of these peaks are sounds, smells, names; some of their familiarity is comforting, some disturbing, some perhaps would be better left with yesterday’s ghosts.

The very strange thing in all of it is, remembering the boy of this town feels like recalling stories told to me of someone else. I have travelled a very long way down life’s road since the days of my youth; I am no longer who I was, nor am I who I will be. The monsoons of passing time have eroded my yesterdays, leaving me stranded on the sometimes-uncertain ground of right now.

“The past is a foreign country;

They do things differently there.”

(L.P. Hartley, The Go-Between)

Perhaps, though, that is the value of yesterday’s ghosts – that they remind us of who we have been, so that we might understand the great journey we have made to be who we are today. We are never our yesterdays, any more than Michelangelo’s sculpture, “David” is a newly quarried block of marble. We are being sculpted; life, Love, wisdom – these chip away at us, refining, remaking, revealing.

I find that I do not long for the will-‘o-the-wisp of my yesterdays, though there is some pleasure in reminiscing. Life is to be found now, as I am, in this very amazing moment. Yesterday’s ghosts tell me a story, one that perhaps roots me, and so doing allows today’s fresh growth to be full of vigor, nourished by the wisdom of yesterday’s experience, and the sunshine of life in the moment.

If you are tempted to incline your ear to the myths of old ghosts, do so with care. Listen, learn, and then let the past be the past. Be who you ae today, full of possibility, laden with potential. You, right now, are a gift to the world, one that cannot be replaced by anyone else.

I leave the last word to Lewis Carroll, and his good friend Alice:

“It’s no use going back to yesterday,

because I was a different person then.” 

(Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland)

The color of Ghosts…

bitter sweet chocolate.

Past

Done

Present

Be

Now

Is

Breathe

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: “Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3.13-14)

- African Traditional: “You can only coil a fish when it is fresh.” (Nupe Proverb, Nigeria)

The Color of The Little Engine That Could

"Do. Or do not.

There is no try." 

(Yoda, The Empire Strikes Back)

Epic words from Star Wars' little green guru - "Do! Or do not!" Nothing in between. I have read, and observed, that there are basically two ways to approach a dream, project, or intention: begin it with intention of finishing it, and keep intending until it is done.  Conversely, begin by thinking you might not finish it, that you will try to complete it, and keep intending this until it is long cold and dead.

Many, perhaps even most of humanity's great achievers have faced gargantuan odds in the fulfillment of their quests. Siddhartha's journey to enlightenment took his body to the very precipice of death, required that he leave everything and everyone behind. He did not try, he set out to do, and his journey has shaped humanity's path. Jesus of Nazareth also set out to do. He walked the path into and through death, and did not quit his journey until death was conquered.

“If you have a dream, don’t just sit there.

Gather courage to believe that you can succeed

and leave no stone un-turned

to make it a reality.” 

(Roopleen)

Those who say that it is too hard, that the road is too long, or too steep, have fallen short of their goal not because of the conditions that they face, but because they stopped striving. It all comes down to what you believe about yourself and about your goal. If you are committed to your endeavors, if they are a true expression of the Love that you are, then persist until they have come to fruition. It's that simple. Oh, It will also take time, patience, more time... and more patience. That's what success looks like - patience, commitment, and resilience. 

“Whether you think you can,

or you think you can't,

you're right.”

(Henry Ford)

This may all seem a might harsh, a tad bit black and white for Kaleidoscope's perspective. I agree - and I've had my share of projects that have died in the development stage, unfinished, unfulfilled. However, if I am honest with myself I must admit that the only force stopping me from realizing those goals was me. I simply was not committed to doing - I was only trying, and trying is keeping one foot on success and the other on failure, hoping that fate will intervene.

Some have faced injury or illness, bankruptcy, isolation, and even death in their journey to see their dreams made real. Some have passed the torch on to other hands as their own reserves were exhausted. Nonetheless, regardless of the mountains and valleys along the journey, when we relinquish ourselves to the path of Love all obstacles will in time be surpassed.

“Ignore failure. 

Try anew until you succeed.” 

(Tim Fargo, Alphabet Success - Keeping it Simple)

So when should we relinquish a pursuit? At what point is the towel to be thrown in? Perhaps it is time to quit when we discover that our intention did not arise from Love; when the goal does not have the power to change us, our community, and our world for the better. If life, healing, and renewal do not somehow arise from our endeavors of creating, dreaming, and pursuing, then it would be best to let those endeavors drift down the river.

Love is potent in and through us; so much so that it will, in time, overcome all tyranny, all darkness. Love pours through you right now, seeking to touch the people in your life, seeking to ignite passion, possibility, hope. If Love kindles the flame of your dreams pursue them with all of your being, and see those dreams come to full bloom.

I leave the last word to Oscar Wilde:

“Yes: I am a dreamer.

For a dreamer is one

who can only find his way by moonlight, 

and his punishment 

is that he sees the dawn

before the rest of the world.” (Oscar Wilde, The Critic as Artist)

The color of the little engine that could...

being true to ourselves.

Soil pressed down

upon the seed

heavy

dark

smothering

But

seeds

are

persistent

and flowers laughter

is soil's

chagrin

Dream

Breathe

Be

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams." (Acts 2.17)

- From African Traditional Religion: "The snail has no hands, The snail has no feet, Gently the snail climbs the tree." (Yoruba Proverb, Nigeria)

- From Judaism: "Scripture credits with performance not him who begins a task, but him who completes it." (Talmud, Sota 13b)

The Color of Fatherhood

“The heart of a father

is the masterpiece of nature.” 

(Antoine François Prévost, Manon Lescaut)

I visited dad this week. He still knows my name most of the time; still knows the old stories, places, and events. Sometimes, when the widows of reality align, I see a reflection of the intelligence that once guided his life. Just as quickly as it appears, though, the light fades from his eyes and he is somewhere, somewhen else.

This is okay though, for I am reaping a harvest from seeds that my father planted long ago in the soil of my being. These days, however, he is not tilling the soil as he once did in the vibrancy of his middle years. More often now he sits quietly in the shade of trees that found rooting because of his tending and care.

“Beauty is not who you are on the outside,

it is the wisdom and time you gave away

to save another struggling soul like you.” 

(Shannon L. Alder)

Dad bequeathed an eclectic menagerie of wisdom to his sons. Pearls like, "every dog is friendly..." (for those with the dog energy to draw it out of them), or "look for the best in everyone; trust people." Dad taught us to be generous, to laugh, to cheer loudly. He instructed us in straight garden rows, neat workbenches (that one didn't stick so well with me), and above all else, being gentle with all creatures, even humans.

“I believe that what we become

depends on what our fathers teach us

at odd moments,

when they aren't trying to teach us.

We are formed

by little scraps of wisdom.” 

(Umberto Eco, Foucault's Pendulum)

I have much to be thankful for when it comes to dad - he is a very good father (he turned 91 in 2016). Dad and I are much alike; we are both a bit more like squirrels than we are like black labs. That is to say we go hard, don't always think before we act, and are easily distracted; not always helpful, but usually a lot of fun! In his squirrel way dad taught me about life, faith, Love, and family. 

Dad taught me to love the beauty of a sunset on the lake as the water lapped against the boat. He mentored me in loving the earth, fixing the car, and preparing a dish he called "slum-gullion" which meant haphazardly grabbing any leftovers lying about in the fridge and frying them up in a cast-iron fry pan.

He also revealed the power of forgiveness, of kindness to strangers, of giving his life to his family and community. And - he showed me how to make mistakes, how to be human and fallible. He was/is by no means perfect; but he has always been perfectly real, open, and deeply loving.

“The father

who has selflessly poured himself

into the life of his children

may leave no other monument

than that of his children.

But as for a life well lived,

no other monument is necessary.” 

(Craig D. Lounsbrough)

I Love my dad, and I am immensely thankful for him. If I have made any positive impact on this world it is in great part a consequence of the stable ground that is my father's (and for sure my mother's) Love. For fifty years dad has been a steady presence, a weaver of cloth, creating tapestries of life. He has given much, and now it is his time to receive much. He cannot walk, he mostly cannot hold a conversation, and soon, he may not be able to respond. He will, however, always be able to receive our Love. 

Not all fathers have been as my dad has been. Some have been kinder, some terribly brutal. All though, through pain or joy have given us reasons to forgive, to Love, to weep, and to give thanks. 

I leave the last word to Craig Lounsbrough:

“The difference between a ‘man’ and a ‘father’

is that the former shares his genes,

but the latter gives his life.” 

(Craig D. Lounsbrough)

The color of fatherhood...

planting, tending, letting go.

A crumpled

twenty-dollar bill

creased and worn

in the dusty

hole of an

old coat pocket

Is its value

lessened

for its

rumpled state

Not so

worth is intrinsic

Love

does not fade

Laugh

play

pray

 To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible:"As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him..." (Psalm 103.13)

- From Sikhism: "As the child, according to its natural disposition, commits thousands of faults, The father instructs and slights, but again hugs him to his bosom." (Adi Granth, Sorath, M.5)

- From Buddhism: "Brethren, one can never repay two persons, I declare. What two? Mother and father." (Anguttara Nikaya i.1)