This post contains a poem I wrote as a gift to a friend years ago. He’s gone now, but his influence lives on. His physical presence is nothing more than a memory. I don’t even have a photo of him, yet his image is as vivid to me as the first time I ever met the man. It’s almost as if I can see him in my reflection now, not as a copy or imitation, but as a continuation of the best he had to offer.
How does one repay someone for saving their life? Is there any price that can be offered to balance the scales and compensate for this act of selflessness? Yes, there is. The gifts we receive that allow us a better life must be shared; they must be, or they will not fulfill the intention of the universe, and that is perpetuation with abundance.
You may be wondering how this blog entry applies to the subject of self-help. There was a time where I wasn’t sure my existence had any significance at all. This has changed. I now know we all have a place, a destiny, that fits in perfectly and harmoniously with the world around us. Unfortunately, the opposite is also just as true. All of us also have a path we can choose that is destructive and painful to those we care for as well as ourselves. The more we nurture our environment, the more we draw sustenance from it. The more we abuse our surroundings, the more it will, in turn, injure us. There is a way to manifest that place that gives life meaning, and it’s not difficult to find. For the moment, the observation that it functions in others is priority. The more we observe something at work that does not exist in our lives, the more we create faith that it is indeed possible in our own.
Look to those you know or have known in your life that live with purpose. They move effortlessly and gracefully through their days, doing what they do well, sharing their talents without demanding and accepting everything with an abundance of gratitude. Is there not admiration for these people? Is there not a healthy dose of envy that beckons us to reproduce these conditions for ourselves?
This poem is not directly about the man in question I mentioned at the beginning. The imagery is more representative of how I felt he had found his place and in turn mine as well.
THE POTTER
When a lazy sun
Draws its colors
From the evening clouds,
And shadows lengthen
To embrace the night
In silent murky shrouds,
And as the world
Goes to sleep
Under starlit skies,
There comes to life
An old man
With kindness in his eyes.
He slowly rises
And lights a lamp
To start his work again.
A crust of bread,
A bit of drink,
And then he does begin.
Just as he who picks
And presses grapes
Off the family vines.
From the juice that flows
Will then be made
Into family wines.
Just as he who cuts
From the weavers cloth
Patterns which he sews.
And skilled hands
Will turn his craft
Into wearers’ clothes.
Just as he who shapes
Red-hot iron
With a mighty hammer.
As the strokes do fall
Upon the anvil
There’s peace among the clamor.
Just as he who sits
At the wheel
Molding clay and water.
As the stone does whirl
Another vessel rises
From the old town potter.
With a tranquil look
And gentle touch
He moves in loving grace.
Shaping his gifts to share with others,
He has found his place.
No longer burdened
By the woes of man,
He works without a sound.
For in himself there lies a calm,
A treasure that’s been found.
And when he is done
Sitting slowly back
To see what’s been turned,
He will always find
That for his efforts
There’s more than what’s been earned.
When the morning sun
Marks another day
And birds begin to sing
The old town potter
Will close his eyes
And dream of what the night will bring.
Thank you for letting me share this with you, and may you too find the bliss that is more valuable than all our “material” world has to offer.
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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood
LIGHT ON THE THRESHOLD 