NOVEMBER 15
Guests of my life,
You came in the early dawn, and you in the night.
Your name was uttered by the Spring flowers and yours by the
showers of rain.
You brought the harp into my house and you brought the lamp.
After you had taken your leave I found God’s foot-prints on my
floor.
—RABINDRANATH TAGOREIt is so easy to think we have some ultimate claim on those
we love, rather than that we have been privileged to share
one another’s lives for a time—they with us, and we with
them.
We know that we pass on our genes to our descendants,
as our parents have passed theirs on to us. We orally pass
on our memories and leave behind times we’ve shared with
those we love.
But always there is some essence which is at its heart a
mystery. And where it came from and where it goes, we
don’t know. But perhaps there is a trace of the divine in each
of us, which comes from its home in God, and returns to
that home.
Before the mystery of life I am silent, and glad.