Years ago singer Mary Hopkins sang a catchy song called Those Were The Days. It was a great beer tavern song and those who like to reminisce will find comfort and some sadness in singing the tune and recollecting memories of friends now long gone. Artist Terry Jacks redid the popular song by Jacques Brel called Seasons in the Sun. The lyrics summon the past and in some sorrowful way allow for the sentimentalist the bitter-sweetness of having loved, lived and known the pangs of something dying but such is the string of life that must be severed, sooner or later.
“Goodbye Papa it’s hard to die. When all the birds are singing in the sky. Now that the spring is in the air. Little children everywhere. When you see them, I’ll be there”
The songs are simple, the imagery in both songs are rich. Each tells of moments that will not come back. We give love. We should get love.
Sometimes there’s a lot of value in feeling pain from loss because the mind becomes quite introspective. The heart and mind both open and wounded will seek closure and may grasp onto ignoble things to seal the rupture. If it’s a choice between choosing cheap immediacy over worthwhile remoteness to bridge that gap I’d choose to search longer for a place to make my crossing, and ensure that suture holds. The thread of time will join us one day closer together to what we lost. The vile will always be vile and the worthy will continue to be worthwhile so let the good hold, for the twain should never meet. Cheapness will never hold. Seek out good things to pull your injury together. Time will cross this world into the next and let you know the scar you believed could never heal in fact healed. Be patient, love richly, and wait for the secret chord to pull you together with what you lost.
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