Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight....
This is one of my favorite poems of all time. I have always turned to it when there is a big change in my life, and one part passes as another begins. Change is not a bad thing, but a necessary thing. It keeps us striving for truth, and life and experiences. Without change we would stagnate, and stagnation is a cruel mistress.
Feeling kindof philosophical today. A little introspective. The charybdis of thoughts over the past few weeks are finally starting to lay themselves into some kind of semblance of order. Like a mental tetris game where the blocks represent all feelings of acceptance and love, as well as rejection and angst. There is fear and loathing here, as well as joy and ecstacy, and they swirl together in a jumbled mass. Hopefully once the waters calm, the person they reveal is the person I want to be, and a person that others want to be around. Sometimes it happens, many times it doesn't. However it turns out I am still me, and that's all I can ever expect. And it's never a boring ride....
I leave you with Dylan Thomas. Some of the most beautiful words ever put together into poetry (sorry HD Thoreau, Walden is great, but this gets to the point faster...)
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Feeling kindof philosophical today. A little introspective. The charybdis of thoughts over the past few weeks are finally starting to lay themselves into some kind of semblance of order. Like a mental tetris game where the blocks represent all feelings of acceptance and love, as well as rejection and angst. There is fear and loathing here, as well as joy and ecstacy, and they swirl together in a jumbled mass. Hopefully once the waters calm, the person they reveal is the person I want to be, and a person that others want to be around. Sometimes it happens, many times it doesn't. However it turns out I am still me, and that's all I can ever expect. And it's never a boring ride....
I leave you with Dylan Thomas. Some of the most beautiful words ever put together into poetry (sorry HD Thoreau, Walden is great, but this gets to the point faster...)
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.