A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER
What will you take from me
For your wayfaring?
What shall I have to give
You would be sharing?
When you are lonely,
When your feet falter
You will need song.
Music to march by,
Silver and gold,
Fire for warming you
If it be cold;
These things will comfort you,
Carry you far
On the road you are going.
But if a star
Tempt you to follow,
Wings will be needed,
Wings for your flying,
These I have fashioned
From pinions of light,
Caught as they fell
From a swift bird in flight.
I give you for courage
A light heart that sings,
And I who have never flown,
Give you my wings.–Emma Gray Trigg
Jim Orr edits images for Emma Gray Trigg Emory’s slideshow
We seem to give them back to you, O God, who gave them to us.
Yet as you did not lose them in giving, so we do not lose them by their return.
Not as the world gives do you give, O Lover of souls.
What you give you take not away, for what is yours is ours also if we are yours.
And life is eternal, and love is immortal, and death is only an horizon,
and an horizon is nothing, save the limit of our sight.
Lift us up, strong Son of God, that we may see further;
cleanse our eyes that we may see more clearly;
draw us closer to yourself that we may know ourselves to be nearer our
loved ones who are with you.
And while you do prepare a place for us, prepare us also for that happy place,
that where you are, we may be also for evermore.–Fr Bede Jarrett O.P. (order of preachers)
It Is Well (With My Soul)
It Is Well (With My Soul) performed and used here courtesy of my friend David Ezell.
Resting in Peace, Emma Gray Emory, born June 18, 1922. Died February 8, 2014.
This photo taken by her grand-daughter, Emma, February 3, 2014.
Sophia is thirteen today. Celebration consisted of a road trip, pack time and howling with the Prowlers at NKT.
the day after we buried my sister my mom and I drove back down the road
Sophia is fine.
But there is a sadness as we approach the still point. Pack members gone. Life changing. Loss of familiar voices. Old ones going going. Dance and sing. Pause, remember, mourn.
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.–T.S.Eliot
I asked her not to smile.
Father, husband, brother, uncle, friend… A very very very good man.
June 30, 1926 — June 11, 2012