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Originally posted on May 31, 2010.

The one constant companion at every stage of our lives is: Change.

Very few things in our lives can resist change.

Of course, there are a few facts that come to mind, almost instantaneously, that are seemingly exempt from change. One such is:

The sun rises every morning in the east.

However, it is said that our beloved sun is a dying star. It will not die in our lifetime or in the next however many lifetimes of humans, but it is predicted that in 5 billion years from now the sun will run out of hydrogen and fall into itself.

So, in a way, even the sunrises are constantly undergoing transformation, though we cannot discern it.

My point?

Nothing, whether living or inanimate, escapes change.

(Yes, in honor of this topic, I have changed the picture in my blog’s header :).)

Here are some quotes about life and what role change plays in it:

  • God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

                                                 – Reinhold Niebuhr

  • Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.

                                               – Unknown

  • There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction.

                                                 – Winston Churchill

  • You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

                                                  – Mahatma Gandhi

  • Life can either be accepted or changed. If it is not accepted, it must be changed. If it cannot be changed, then it must be accepted.

                                                – Unknown

  • Things do not change; we change.

                                                  – Henry David Thoreau

  • When you’re finished changing, you’re finished.

                                                 – Benjamin Franklin

  • Consider how hard it is to change yourself and you’ll understand what little chance you have in trying to change others.

                                                 – Unknown

  • All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

                                                – Anatole France

And now, to end on a somewhat lighter note:

  • The world is changing so fast I’ve got societal vertigo. 

                                               – Terri Guillemets

Lastly, if Hazel Soares can earn a degree at 94, then isn’t making a sincere effort at embracing change (especially if it’s in the right direction) the least we can do?

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Ahem! Hema has seen some of her blogger friends invite a guest to blog in their stead and has been mulling over whether she should do the same. Since she does not seem to be any closer to making the right decision in the near future, I thought it best to wrest that choice from her and take the appropriate course of action myself.

Hence, here I am, channeling my thoughts to her site, even though I personally abhor self-promotion, and have been successfully able to keep away from limelight for over a decade now.

In case you haven’t caught on to who I am, please allow me to introduce myself in a proper fashion.

I am the mature, shady tree that graces the aforementioned Hema’s backyard.

It is a fact that I would rather be in the exalting company of more sophisticated perennials, such as Sir Isaac Newton’s apple tree, listening to their lives’ rich experiences.

It is also true that being an admirer of master craftsmen such as Charles Dickens and Jane Austen, I would rather be living in the countryside in England, breathing in the same air that they breathed out once.

However, nobody has deemed it necessary to ask my opinion. And not having been gifted with the capacity to move by myself, I am stuck in this backwater.

Having said that, I have to admit, though, that there are certain advantages to living where I do, that make my life not quite such a blight: Hema adores me and makes no bones about it. She fell in love with me when she first set eyes on me over a decade ago, in a tree farm. I was then a mere seedling and had not even acquired any of my admirable qualities – if I do say so myself – yet. She paid a handsome price for me, and had me planted in her backyard in full view of her living room.

She also has never been shy about acknowledging the fact that she is very often visited by her muse when she seeks my shelter.

What she does not yet realize is that it is not strictly her muse that has been finding her whenever she sees fit to gaze up at me or come out and recline underneath my canopy. It is, in fact, mine.

I have always had this bent for classic literature. (Say, could it have anything to do with the possibility that my ancestors have been transformed into the paper that has been used in penning down the thoughts of yesteryears’ master storytellers? Hmm… A thought worthy of further exploration!)

Ahem, I beg your pardon for that detour; I am somewhat prone to getting side-tracked, if I may be so honest.

So, yes, I have been helping Hema with her writing, though I find it rather trying to have to keep sending her ‘womanly’ thoughts rather than my natural masculine ideas. (Also, let it be known that I take umbrage upon whoever burdened me with the family name of “Lace Bark Elm”. Let me take this opportunity to clarify that there is nothing remotely lacy about my attributes, notwithstanding my appearance, upon which I have no say.)

And as if that were not taxing enough, recently, Hema has been seriously bogged down by the need for a more juvenile literary voice. I and think in a childish manner? That is absurd! Hema is definitely barking up the wrong tree in this instance. She is very well on her own for that one, and I am very much tempted to end my authoring-relationship with her!

Finally, this is the conundrum that I am currently grappling with … no, no, a preposterous dangling preposition? Alas, has Hema finally found a way to subconsciously channel her voice and style back to me? That would be the ruin of me!

Let me make another more decent attempt at it:

This is the conundrum with which I am currently grappling:

Do I let Hema know that I have been the one funneling all her writing abilities to her, or not.

Hmm… come to think of it, I may have taken that decision away from myself by being a guest blogger in her blog, even if unbeknownst to her, and attaching my signature to it at the very beginning of this article. She is bound to figure out by herself finally.

Now, if only she would be wise to my feelings about those rowdy chipmunks that see it fit to frolic up and down the length of my branches day in and day out! I lament their lack of respect for age or superiority. I surmise it is in keeping with the sentiments of the majority nowadays. Alas!

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The Constant Called Change

The one constant companion at every stage of our lives is: Change.

Very few things in our lives can resist change.

Of course, there are a few facts that come to mind, almost instantaneously, that are seemingly exempt from change. One such is:

The sun rises every morning in the east.

However, it is said that our beloved sun is a dying star. It will not die in our lifetime or in the next however many lifetimes of humans, but it is predicted that in 5 billion years from now the sun will run out of hydrogen and fall into itself.

So, in a way, even the sunrises are constantly undergoing transformation, though we cannot discern it.

My point?

Nothing, whether living or inanimate, escapes change.

(Yes, in honor of this topic, I have changed the picture in my blog’s header :).)

Here are some quotes about life and what role change plays in it:

  • God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

                                                 – Reinhold Niebuhr

  • Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.

                                               – Unknown

  • There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction.

                                                 – Winston Churchill

  • You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

                                                  – Mahatma Gandhi

  • Life can either be accepted or changed. If it is not accepted, it must be changed. If it cannot be changed, then it must be accepted.

                                                – Unknown

  • Things do not change; we change.

                                                  – Henry David Thoreau

  • When you’re finished changing, you’re finished.

                                                 – Benjamin Franklin

  • Consider how hard it is to change yourself and you’ll understand what little chance you have in trying to change others.

                                                 – Unknown

  • All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

                                                – Anatole France

And now, to end on a somewhat lighter note:

  • The world is changing so fast I’ve got societal vertigo. 

                                               – Terri Guillemets

Lastly, if Hazel Soares can earn a degree at 94, then isn’t making a sincere effort at embracing change (especially if it’s in the right direction) the least we can do?

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Here are excerpts from some beautiful poems about words and thoughts:

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his fame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!

               – Life
by Emily Dickinson *

 

You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t understand.
He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really make out what he meant?
What nice stories, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father write like that, I wonder?
Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and fairies and princesses?
Has he forgotten them all?
Often when he gets late for his bath you have to call him an hundred times.
You wait and keep his dishes warm for him, but he goes on writing and forgets.
Father always plays at making books.
If ever I go to play in father’s room, you come and call me, “What a naughty child!”
If I make the slightest noise you say, “Don’t you see that father’s at his work?”
What’s the fun of always writing and writing?
When I take up father’s pen or pencil and write upon his book
just as he does,-a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,-why do you get cross with me then, mother?
You never say a word when father writes.
When my father wastes such heaps of paper, mother, you don’t seem to mind at all.
But if I take only one sheet to make a boat with, you say, “Child, how troublesome you are!”
What do you think of father’s spoiling sheets and sheets of paper with black marks all over both sides?

               – Authorship by Rabindranath Tagore **

 

There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells where’er the gentle south wind blows;
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade,
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air,
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread.
With what a tender and impassioned voice
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought,
When the fast-ushering star of morning comes
O’er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf;
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandled Eve,
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate,
Departs with silent pace!  That spirit moves
In the green valley, where the silver brook,
From its full laver, pours the white cascade;
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods,
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter.
And frequent, on the everlasting hills,
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself
In all the dark embroidery of the storm,
And shouts the stern, strong wind.  And here, amid
Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth,
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air
Their tops the green trees lift.  Hence gifted bards
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades.
For them there was an eloquent voice in all
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way,
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds,-
The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun
Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes,-
Groves, Through whose broken roof the sky looks in,
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale,
The distant lake, fountains,- and the mighty trees,
In many a lazy syllable, repeating
Their old poetic legends to the wind.

               The Spirit Of Poetry by H.W.Longfellow *** 

A thought went up my mind today
That I have had before,
But did not finish,-some way back,
I could not fix the year,

Nor where it went, nor why it came
The second time to me,
Nor definitely what it was,
Have I the art to say.

But somewhere in my soul, I know
I’ve met the thing before;
It just reminded me – ‘twas all –
And came my way no more.

               Life by Emily Dickinson * 

The above have been extracted from the following sources:

* – Emily Dickinson Selected Poems – Borders Classics Edition

** – PoemHunter.com

*** – The Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – Black’s Readers Service Edition 

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