Friday, April 30, 2010
Raise me high, raise me high,
That I may see my fallen kindred seated.
Who met with death upon the battlefield,
Who, in the end, fell and were defeated.
And the way they were tricked by death,
Betrayed, betrayed, leveled and mistreated.
I've stuck a knife in a man for less,
But Death is not so easily defeated.
And you can pray, pray and pray for Life.
But know my friend, my dearest friend, please know this,
That Life is but Death's own right-hand man.
In every piece of his own left-hand business.
So, arm in arm, we'll run toward that pair
And, we as they, join them double-threaded
And, arms flung wide, we'll run towards that pair
And never fear that which once we dreaded.
I guess when something happens to someone else, it is impossible to experience it without trying it on yourself and imagining it could happen to you. That is how we humans connect, A lot of my quiet moments have been consumed with this sort of thought since I heard the news of a fellow traveler's death a while back. I have struggled with my own demons in life, but it is not my happiness that I worry about anymore. Am I here for Anatoly? Are we giving him the love he needs to navigate his obviously stormy seas? If he grows into a beautiful young man, as I feel sure he will, will he be happy? Whatever may come, we will always be intertwined, and I am not sure that any harm to him will ever be okay with me.