Day 24
Rise Up Rooted
Today's fill-in-the-blank prompt inspired by,"If we surrendered to earth's intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees." ~Rainer Maria Rilke wrote that
If I surrender to my limitations
I would adapt to my abilities.
If I surrendered like (with) Grace
I could have Peace .
In all honesty, I have never been good at accepting my limitations in any form. I have always thought that I could set my own boundaries. Although this is still true, there are more factors now that determine HOW I establish those boundaries. For me surrendering means that I will no longer attempt to do things in the same manner I had done them before.... That path leads to frustration, anger, and usually...grief.
However, I will still DO all that I intended.
I may pursue my days more gently but,
I will not go quietly.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan ThomasOld age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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