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Tag: eulogies

There Could Be Worse Epitaphs

Here’s something I would consider for mine, lo those many moons from now:

I have had my invitation to this world’s festival, and thus my life has been blessed.
My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.
It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and I have done all I could.
Now, I ask, has the time come at last when I may go in and see thy face and offer thee my silent salutations?
— Rabindranath Tagore, from Gitanjali

And of course, Pink Floyd’s “Great Gig in the Sky” would HAVE to be playing at the recessional.

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Rediscovering Gitanjali

For the first time in my life, I have discovered a poem that perfectly describes my experience with Truth (god, goddess, the infinite, the universe, or whatever you wish to call it):

The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.

I have spent my days in stringing and unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.

The blossom has not yet opened; only the wind is sighing by.

I have not seen its face, nor have I listened to its voice; only I have heard its gentle footsteps from the road before my house.

The livelong day has passed in spreading its seat on the floor; but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask it into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with it; but this meeting is not yet.

— Rabindranath Tagore, from Gitanjali, 1911

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The Neighborhood

There used to be a family-owned store
right there, on the corner where the bus stops;
and when I was a kid, they sold much more
than bubble-gum, candy and lollipops.

It was like stepping into a dreamscape
each time you passed slowly through the front door.

Unlike my house, where you could not escape
and the “you” that they expected got more
attention than the real “you” in progress,
in this place I felt good about myself,
and knew it was okay to be just me.

Even some parents knew the store’s address,
and helped the owners restock the toy shelves
so their kids (and others) could shop for free.

But the neighborhood is different now,
and they have torn down that wonderful store,
built up arcades filled with games that go “pow”;
it’s not a peaceful, calm street anymore.

And there’s no one on our block who’s older
that treats kids like they will grow up someday,
and that offers a supportive shoulder
for those times when the world seems cold and gray.

It’s not all that hard to be nice, you know,
or actually care how the world’s gone wrong
enough to try to help, and comprehend
that neighborhoods, like people, also grow,
and sometimes it takes just a simple song
to convert a stranger into a friend.

in memory of Fred “Mister” Rogers

27 FEB 2003

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Perceived Endings

There’s nothing in this life that I despair
of doing, or look back and wish to do,
save laugh once more in mirth, or perhaps share
with those I love one more sunrise or two.

The earth has been a friend for many years,
and shared with me its bounty and great joy;
I’ve had the best of two or three careers
and been immersed in Music since a boy.

With what I’ve had, I truly have been blessed;
I’ve traveled long with true love and friends, who
have helped me be a man, a friend, a fool.

And now, this incarnation takes its rest,
another turn upon the wheel is due;
until then, to the earth, give back this fuel.

18 DEC 2002

OK, so perhaps its a bit morbid. But reading the poem “from the deceased” in the funeral program this afternoon made me think that it would be better to write it down beforehand, so that nobody else would usurp my general frame of mind and use it to their own evangelical purposes. Of course, I don’t think that’s likely to happen. I trust my loved ones and friends better than that. And it’s NOT gonna happen any time soon, but when it does, this is what I’d like to say. Oh, and while we’re at it, the Music should be Pink Floyd – “The Great Gig in the Sky”. But enough dwelling on that. There’s a lot of living left to do, for all of us here.

It reminds me of reading Edgar Lee Masters’ Spoon River Anthology, a book that was required in high school English (and one of the few reading assignments that left a profound impact upon my brooding, morbid teenage angst-ridden mind).

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