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IT IS NEVER TOO LATE

MOVE ON

Somewhere, sometime along the circling roads of life, each must have longed to do something really neat, really interesting, exciting, perhaps challenging – yet for one reason or another never got to do it.  Well, the case is not closed; on the horizon there are always second and third chances.  It is never too late.

Chance and opportunity are of two different kinds:  one blooms from a source within, self-generated; the other is external, independent of our control.  External chance and opportunity, sweet and ardently wished for by everyone, are seasonless and timeless.  They follow stars unknown to us, dawning and smiling even when we least expect them, yet always favoring the prepared mind.

Self-generated chance and opportunity exist at all times, hovering around, perpetually circulating the inner sphere of our own perception, and subject to our recall and will.  It’s up to us to “get with it”, move on, and keep our inner spark kindled and live.

We Must Not Permit Our Spirit To Slacken Or Despair.  If We Do, There Is Nothing To Accuse But Our Own Ineptitude.

PERSEVERE UPRIGHT

I Know.  I Know.  It Is Bleak; From Tough To
Tougher, To Gruesome.  HANG ON.  Dawn Will
Dawn.  Sun Will Always Rise.  Moonlight Returns.
And We All Reap What We Sow; A Cosmic Law;
Even The Monsters Are Not Exempt.  Just Wait And
See; Meanwhile, Don’t Surrender Your Soul.

HANG ON

Moving along, I encountered trees older and taller than myself, with tales to tell; and I listened, somewhat not enough, though; not enough.  Was I in a hurry?  Still, I would stop to take note of a lonely yellow dandelion making it through the asphalt pavement of a busy city street; grass sprouts bursting through concrete.

I met a blind man reciting a poem; I saw the eager hands of deaf children touching the stage while the band was playing; I spoke to a woman; a Hiroshima atomic bomb survivor who lost the basic features of her face and paralyzed from her waist down selling flowers in a town square.

I talked to an excommunicated priest taking his sermon to the road and to an old man climbing 37 steps to water his vegetable patch and to an old woman with aching legs walking her old dog in the park on a dreary winter day.

I witnessed lizards gallivanting in the scorching desert and a parched tree trunk, rejuvenated by unexpected rain, letting out new branches and pretty green leaves.  I bore witness to heavy fog lifting off the pier.  THE MESSAGE IS:  HANG ON.