I think we do forget to be in the moment. We see the big picture as overwhelming forgetting that all the little pieces are what makes is special in the moment. I know I'm guilty of that a lot.
Joy Apr 28, 2025 at 11:22am In response to "The Prompt"
Absolutely! I agree with you. After a certain time in our lives, circumstances permitting, we can create ourselves. The problem, if there's a problem, lies with our paying far too much attention to what others may say. As you pointed out, mostly, external creation leads to self-creation.
Awesome response. The poem Wasteland poem was also written shortly after the ending of World War I and there were many areas that looked like wasteland so it's an effective reminder of what man is capable of doing. Also in earlier times when battles were more dependent on good weather typically April the troops would stir after their winter encampments and begin fighting again. Another sad reminder of man's creating wasteland and burials of the dead.
In Japan I saw very old trees. In the USA trees are not always valued for their "inner spirit" nor the joy they give others. One tree I saw in Takayama was 800+ years old. Americans cannot fathom that.
Not only do you summarize one of Chaplin's movies - City Lights (and I do believe the flower girl was blind) - but you manage to weave in Chaplin's life story and why 'The Tramp' was created in the first place.
He came from nothing and became such an icon, all while showing the world that you did not have to lose your humanity in the process.
Thanks for joining me in celebrating Charlie Chaplin's 136th birthday with your tribute!
"On this tiny raft
I shall cross the river of life.
When twilight descends,
I shall discard and heed it no more.
Let it drift away.
Then what shadows, what lights!
I am a pilgrim of the Unknown,
That is my Joy.
It raises and resolves
All my conflicts.
No sooner has the Known bound me fast in her net,
Than appears the Unknown
And it bewilders me!
The Unknown is my helmsman,
My deliverance!
With him is my covenant.
His love is terrible,
With his terror he breaks my fear,
He heeds not the caution of the old.
Breaking the shell,
He frees the pearl.
Perhaps you brood and ask if the past returns,
And the raft pulls alongside the old pier.
No, it will not.
You are afraid of what lies ahead,
Are you so poor
That only the past is you?
O poet! the hour has struck;
End thy banquet.
The waves flow in the flood-tide.
He has not yet shown his face,
Therefore my heart throbs.
In what form shall the Unknown come to me?
In what new colors, at the shore of what sea?"
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