Streams

Time grows short

For my mom, my Fig

From "Death" By Kahlil Gibran

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides,
that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.


What a battle this has been, Fig.. what a warrior you are.....

I love you

11:15 - 2007-May-10 - post comment

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A few Streams of thought to share, for anyone crazy enough to care...

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