| Commentary and Philosophy Non-Fiction posted February 17, 2008 |
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Contest Entry: To Be Remembered
When That Day Arrives
by Mrs. KT
I do not fear my passing.
When I die, I shall be laid in a simple wooden casket and buried in a country cemetery surrounded by northern Michigan woods, farmland, and cherry orchards.
My family will plant forget-me-nots around my gravesite; thereafter, a lasting carpet of the softest blue will joyfully greet each spring morn for years to come.
I will become one with the earth:
"Remember, Man, that thou art dust, and to dust thou shall return."
All too soon no one will know that I physically existed:
No shroud.
No sarcophagus.
No shrine.
Or will they?
Will the memory of my existence continue long after I am gone?
If so, then I pray that:
I shall be in the countless flakes of frozen snow that silently fall upon the brilliant landscape.
I shall be in the northern breeze that gently pushes waves upon the shore at the water's edge.
I shall be in the rain that instinctively flows from the hills, to the rivers, to the sea.
I shall be in the firefly's glow, the trillium's blossom, the robin's song, and the children's laughter.
Look, and you will see me.
Touch, and you will feel me.
Listen, and you will hear me.
Do not build me a monument.
Do not preserve me.
Do not enshrine me.
To those I love and to those whose lives I have touched along the way, I impart these final wishes:
May my spirit embrace yours as it soars and transcends its earthly bonds.
May I have spent my time on earth in such a way, that should I leave this world today, in the words of the Azeri poet, Rajul Rza, ". . .everyone will know that where I once was an emptiness now yawns."
That will be enough.
<<<~~~>>>
I do not fear my passing.
When I die, I shall be laid in a simple wooden casket and buried in a country cemetery surrounded by northern Michigan woods, farmland, and cherry orchards.
My family will plant forget-me-nots around my gravesite; thereafter, a lasting carpet of the softest blue will joyfully greet each spring morn for years to come.
I will become one with the earth:
"Remember, Man, that thou art dust, and to dust thou shall return."
All too soon no one will know that I physically existed:
No shroud.
No sarcophagus.
No shrine.
Or will they?
Will the memory of my existence continue long after I am gone?
If so, then I pray that:
I shall be in the countless flakes of frozen snow that silently fall upon the brilliant landscape.
I shall be in the northern breeze that gently pushes waves upon the shore at the water's edge.
I shall be in the rain that instinctively flows from the hills, to the rivers, to the sea.
I shall be in the firefly's glow, the trillium's blossom, the robin's song, and the children's laughter.
Look, and you will see me.
Touch, and you will feel me.
Listen, and you will hear me.
Do not build me a monument.
Do not preserve me.
Do not enshrine me.
To those I love and to those whose lives I have touched along the way, I impart these final wishes:
May my spirit embrace yours as it soars and transcends its earthly bonds.
May I have spent my time on earth in such a way, that should I leave this world today, in the words of the Azeri poet, Rajul Rza, ". . .everyone will know that where I once was an emptiness now yawns."
That will be enough.
<<<~~~>>>
When I die, I shall be laid in a simple wooden casket and buried in a country cemetery surrounded by northern Michigan woods, farmland, and cherry orchards.
My family will plant forget-me-nots around my gravesite; thereafter, a lasting carpet of the softest blue will joyfully greet each spring morn for years to come.
I will become one with the earth:
"Remember, Man, that thou art dust, and to dust thou shall return."
All too soon no one will know that I physically existed:
No shroud.
No sarcophagus.
No shrine.
Or will they?
Will the memory of my existence continue long after I am gone?
If so, then I pray that:
I shall be in the countless flakes of frozen snow that silently fall upon the brilliant landscape.
I shall be in the northern breeze that gently pushes waves upon the shore at the water's edge.
I shall be in the rain that instinctively flows from the hills, to the rivers, to the sea.
I shall be in the firefly's glow, the trillium's blossom, the robin's song, and the children's laughter.
Look, and you will see me.
Touch, and you will feel me.
Listen, and you will hear me.
Do not build me a monument.
Do not preserve me.
Do not enshrine me.
To those I love and to those whose lives I have touched along the way, I impart these final wishes:
May my spirit embrace yours as it soars and transcends its earthly bonds.
May I have spent my time on earth in such a way, that should I leave this world today, in the words of the Azeri poet, Rajul Rza, ". . .everyone will know that where I once was an emptiness now yawns."
That will be enough.
<<<~~~>>>
 Recognized |
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"Remember, Man, that thou art dust..." is the religious admonition a Roman Catholic priest gives to each penitent on Ash Wednesday as he makes the sign of the cross in ashes on the penitent's forehead. It is a religious rite performed each Ash Wednesday to remind Roman Catholics of the inevitability of death.
Rasul Rza (1910 - 1981): Azerbaijan people's poet.
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and 2 member cents. Rasul Rza (1910 - 1981): Azerbaijan people's poet.
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