Pink lily
I am closer to my death than my birth.
I have sat with my mother and my father through long nights as each in turn lay dying. Now they are memories. Existing in faded pictures of their youth, their parents looking on.
Pictures of a time when they were young in another world from me, yet I came from them.
I have witnessed the birth of each of my own children and I wait.
Wait as a link in the unbroken chain of consciousness from our beginnings. Through millions of years, life into life.
As a link in this endless chain of life I carry the past and pass it to the future.
A future that I will not see, but it will see me.
When the business, the distractions and vanities of life fall away what is left? What is life?
Simply the joy of a child. The wondrous joy with which we are all born.
Joy that is our window into the unmeasurable.
I have sat with my mother and my father through long nights as each in turn lay dying. Now they are memories. Existing in faded pictures of their youth, their parents looking on.
Pictures of a time when they were young in another world from me, yet I came from them.
I have witnessed the birth of each of my own children and I wait.
Wait as a link in the unbroken chain of consciousness from our beginnings. Through millions of years, life into life.
As a link in this endless chain of life I carry the past and pass it to the future.
A future that I will not see, but it will see me.
When the business, the distractions and vanities of life fall away what is left? What is life?
Simply the joy of a child. The wondrous joy with which we are all born.
Joy that is our window into the unmeasurable.
Ref:
Flower
Date:
Location:
Photographer:
Pink lily
I am closer to my death than my birth.
I have sat with my mother and my father through long nights as each in turn lay dying. Now they are memories. Existing in faded pictures of their youth, their parents looking on.
Pictures of a time when they were young in another world from me, yet I came from them.
I have witnessed the birth of each of my own children and I wait.
Wait as a link in the unbroken chain of consciousness from our beginnings. Through millions of years, life into life.
As a link in this endless chain of life I carry the past and pass it to the future.
A future that I will not see, but it will see me.
When the business, the distractions and vanities of life fall away what is left? What is life?
Simply the joy of a child. The wondrous joy with which we are all born.
Joy that is our window into the unmeasurable.
I have sat with my mother and my father through long nights as each in turn lay dying. Now they are memories. Existing in faded pictures of their youth, their parents looking on.
Pictures of a time when they were young in another world from me, yet I came from them.
I have witnessed the birth of each of my own children and I wait.
Wait as a link in the unbroken chain of consciousness from our beginnings. Through millions of years, life into life.
As a link in this endless chain of life I carry the past and pass it to the future.
A future that I will not see, but it will see me.
When the business, the distractions and vanities of life fall away what is left? What is life?
Simply the joy of a child. The wondrous joy with which we are all born.
Joy that is our window into the unmeasurable.
Ref:
Flower
Date:
Location:
Photographer:
THOUGHT
Pink lily
I am closer to my death than my birth.
I have sat with my mother and my father through long nights as each in turn lay dying. Now they are memories. Existing in faded pictures of their youth, their parents looking on.
Pictures of a time when they were young in another world from me, yet I came from them.
I have witnessed the birth of each of my own children and I wait.
Wait as a link in the unbroken chain of consciousness from our beginnings. Through millions of years, life into life.
As a link in this endless chain of life I carry the past and pass it to the future.
A future that I will not see, but it will see me.
When the business, the distractions and vanities of life fall away what is left? What is life?
Simply the joy of a child. The wondrous joy with which we are all born.
Joy that is our window into the unmeasurable.
I have sat with my mother and my father through long nights as each in turn lay dying. Now they are memories. Existing in faded pictures of their youth, their parents looking on.
Pictures of a time when they were young in another world from me, yet I came from them.
I have witnessed the birth of each of my own children and I wait.
Wait as a link in the unbroken chain of consciousness from our beginnings. Through millions of years, life into life.
As a link in this endless chain of life I carry the past and pass it to the future.
A future that I will not see, but it will see me.
When the business, the distractions and vanities of life fall away what is left? What is life?
Simply the joy of a child. The wondrous joy with which we are all born.
Joy that is our window into the unmeasurable.
