Saturday, January 30, 2016

Heather Jephcott writes

The Beauty of Boundaries

She felt light and bright
most of the time,
the warmth of love hovered over,
within most of her relationships
and friendships.

But sometimes
she was asked why
her love differed in intensity.
There was at least one other
who felt her love like snow
an icy covering
blocking the warmth she knew to be beneath.

Boundaries lined her way, her life,
happy ones that helped her to see
the limitations that were good, right, honourable,
guiding her to love appropriately,
enabling her to dance freely,
to see the light, the beauty
of friendship
in sparkling greens and soft mauves
and the purity of white
to be found
when these borders were in place.

The demarcation line became clear
for this one
desiring to be pleasing to
the one and only one who had created her
and everything else.

She did not feel restricted, restrained
but rather content,
knowing that true happiness
comes from understanding
and remaining within the boundaries
drawn by the hand of the all-knowing.

There was a truth recently understood
that should she choose
to go outside her own boundaries
she would invade
the territory of another.

1 comment:

  1. In "Mending Wall," Robert Frost offers a contrasting view:

    Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
    That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
    And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
    And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
    The work of hunters is another thing:
    I have come after them and made repair
    Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
    But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
    To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
    No one has seen them made or heard them made,
    But at spring mending-time we find them there.
    I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
    And on a day we meet to walk the line
    And set the wall between us once again.
    We keep the wall between us as we go.
    To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
    And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
    We have to use a spell to make them balance:
    'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
    We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
    Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
    One on a side. It comes to little more:
    There where it is we do not need the wall:
    He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
    My apple trees will never get across
    And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
    He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
    Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
    If I could put a notion in his head:
    'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
    Where there are cows?
    But here there are no cows.
    Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
    What I was walling in or walling out,
    And to whom I was like to give offence.
    Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
    That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
    But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
    He said it for himself. I see him there
    Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
    In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
    He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
    Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
    He will not go behind his father's saying,
    And he likes having thought of it so well
    He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."


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