Two years ago when we walked to Pittsburg from Louisville I took with me a pocket sized book by Kahlil Gibran. A short tale of a man stranded on an island state for twelve years. On the day a ship from his homeland came the people of the city gathered to ask him to share his thoughts on simple things like marriage, children, giving and work.
On the day my father passed I read it aloud at his bedside.after I finished we all left his room, but for my sister. He passed minutes later. I have never read from it without inspiration or comparison to my life.Both my mother and father(niether outwardly religious to extreme) had given me this short tale at different times as I was growing up. Now since I have this time of healing from my fingertip being removed I will share a section or two.So I'll flip open my mothers own copy and copy the chapter it opens to...
Then a Ploughman said, "Speak to us of Work."
And he answered saying:
You work that you keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons,and to step out of lifes procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the invinite.
When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.
Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else is singing in inison?
Always you have been told that work is a curse
And labour a misfortune.
But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth's furthest dream,
assigned to you when that dream was born,
And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth
loving life,......work is Love made visible.
Ok I shortened it s bit the b
finger is throbbing.