The Beautiful Monster

We leave this world the way we came into it

There’s a lot of cycles in this world, and I’d venture to guess that we’ve all seen some of them. One of the biggest, of course, is the life cycle.

In nature this cycle trudges onward continuously, and plays an important part in keeping the world in balance. All living things have a life and eventually, a death. For example, a weak and helpless baby being born, and some time later, that same baby dying weak and helpless in the care of others. But many humans don’t see it this way, and instead of celebrating this age-old progression we try and stop it. At the very least, lessening our fear of the life cycle can let us lead happier and more fulfilling lives.

One of my biggest fears is the thought of my parents passing away. I’ve always been preoccupied with it, and I am convinced that every time I see a new wrinkle around their eyes that my time with them is being cut short by years at a time.

The family living across the street from us are undergoing something similar, their mother has been in and out of the hospital for some time, and is now too weak to provide for herself. In fact, today her daughter, who’s about my mom’s age, came over and spilled her heart out about how she feels watching her mother fade away, having to provide for her mother, when all her life it’s been the other away around.

After listening to her talk about this, I thought to myself: isn’t that absolutely beautiful? Having someone provide for you their entire life, and then having you get to do the same for them as they themselves become less independent. It’s like a huge reverse that happens, when parents become the cared-for, and the children the care-givers.

I hope that when my parents do get to that point in their lives that I’ll be able to accept it, and cherish every moment I have caring for them, taking them under my sister and I’s wing. I don’t want this to sound depressing, talking about parents passing way, but I just think I need to reevaluate the way I think about the life cycle, and how the end is not necessarily the “end.”

“Quand vous serez bien vielle” par Pierre de Ronsard

This is a beautiful french poem that I discovered a few days ago. Read it, et n’obliez pas : je t’aime. :))

Quand vous serez bien vieille

Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,
Assise auprès du feu, dévidant et filant,
Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant :
Ronsard me célébrait du temps que j’étais belle.

Lors, vous n’aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle,
Déjà sous le labeur à demi sommeillant,
Qui au bruit de mon nom ne s’aille réveillant,
Bénissant votre nom de louange immortelle.

Je serai sous la terre et fantôme sans os :
Par les ombres myrteux je prendrai mon repos :
Vous serez au foyer une vieille accroupie,

Regrettant mon amour et votre fier dédain.
Vivez, si m’en croyez, n’attendez à demain :
Cueillez dès aujourd’hui les roses de la vie.

— Sonnets pour Hélène, 1587

…………………………………………………..

When you are very old

When you are very old, at evening, by the fire,
spinning wool by candlelight and winding it in skeins,
you will say in wonderment as you recite my lines:
“Ronsard admired me in the days when I was fair.”

Then not one of your servants dozing gently there
hearing my name’s cadence break through your low repines
but will start into wakefulness out of her dreams
and bless your name — immortalised by my desire.

I’ll be underneath the ground, and a boneless shade
taking my long rest in the scented myrtle-glade,
and you’ll be an old woman, nodding towards life’s close,

regretting my love, and regretting your disdain.
Heed me, and live for now: this time won’t come again.
Come, pluck now — today — life’s so quickly-fading rose.