even the sweetest rose has thorns
For me, remembrance is a dangerous game of standing on one foot at the edge of a cliff. Ahhh, the vistas! Oooh, the sky! Mmmm, the fragrant breeze. Guard down, I misstep and go-a-tumbling over the cliff into the past of times-best-left-unremembered.
The rose smells sweet but its’ thorn draws blood, and, just now, all my roses seethe with thorns.
Maybe it is because I have returned to my home of 40 years where memories of my family of origin, all passed now, haunt my days. Maybe it is because I have just turned 60, and my life, being in place I didn’t foresee, begs reliving. Maybe, I need to face my past, and I finally have the time to do it. Maybe I need to let go of my past, and I finally have the time to work through it.
All I am sure of right now while I truly love roses, I fear their thorns.
So for now anyway, like a Lenten sacrifice, I am giving up Remembrance and replacing it with mindfulness of this day. No remembrance (and no conjecture), just now-ness. I’ll drain my mind and let it fill again with this moment, which is almost always good.
Out my window, I see the spring rising up and hear the songs of the new birds. A good beginning to loving life as it is today and praising the Creator for all the good He gives.