I'm but a boy, abandoned and left to die. I have nothing to shield me against the storm, nothing except my will to live. I'm but a young boy, my safety seriously in jeopardy. Between the colliding forces of nature, the only other sound I hear is the beating of my heart and the gurgles of hunger.
I'm all alone, a solitary beacon nearly faded in the sea of darkness.
I turn inward. Why me? I'm but a boy, a good boy, who entered this world not only with opened eyes but an open heart.
The thunder, it slams down hard against my soul. The walls of my sanctuary tremble, then shake vigorously. Fear is harboring me from movement; I'm paralyzed, close to death.
I feel like closing my eyes, giving up. Perhaps, the world will be better without me.
Lightning slices through the sky, tearing apart whatever gets in its way. I will no longer fight back.
And then, from behind the clouds appears the sun. And suddenly, a voice so strong echoes throughout the whole of my being: "Fight . . .baby, fight!"
And so I did fight and awoke to a new world. . .
In my world there is harmony with nature -whether it be with beast or fowl or mountain or sea or with flower or tree.
In my world there is peace between men -differences in religion or political belief does not lead to war, it only leads to a more qualified understanding.
In my world children are not left on the doorstep to die nor are they ever considered a burden, an unnecessary mouth to feed. Whether the child is of the human species or other animal, it makes no difference. Whatever lives has the right to breathe.
In my world charity still begins at home. Do for your mother, your brother, your daughter what they in turn will do for you.
In my world, abundance of material possession does not ensure you a higher station.
In my world, love is sacred. In my world, love is real.
And now...lessons from my past
Being born into poverty made me see how easy it was to be categorized by those born with silver spoons in their mouths. I know first hand about segregation. I know from personal experience how it is to be ostracized just because I had to go to school with hand-me-downs and cardboard-soled shoes. I know how it is to be ridiculed and scoffed at because I was different. But was I really? In many ways, yes.
I've always had a lot of compassion and empathy for the downtrodden, understood well their plights. I can sympathize with those who were forced to be different. I really have low-tolerance for people who are selfish and inconsiderate, who are lazy, and who are egotistical and those who think that they are owed something.
Being born into poverty provided me many advantages. For example, the simple things in life made a big difference to me. Simple things like love, caring, understanding - those were but a few of the scant possessions I had. Monetarily, they cost me nothing. Doing without an abundance of material possessions provided me more time to contemplate the universe, more time to look within myself.
Being born into poverty I learned not to take things for granted and not to waste what I did have. There's too much waste in this world and I feel it a sin to contribute to the burgeoning heap. Being born a poor boy made me realize early on of the many gifts that I was given. Those who are preoccupied with their man-made materials may never know of such wonderful gifts.
From a very early age I understood what was right and what was wrong. It was not something I was told. It was not taught to me. Perhaps I was born knowing. I knew it was not right to ridicule others who were born with handicap. I knew it was not right to horde just because you felt this need to have more than anyone else. I knew it was wrong to laugh and mock those who had less than you.
Being born into poverty provided me so much. Perhaps, I had been provided the greatest education, one you would not be able to get in any of the Ivy League schools. Monetarily, my education cost nothing. All it cost me was my understanding. Throughout the years I learned to understand why I was put on this obstacle course. Without the obstacle course I would not be here. Easy as that . . .
"The amount of money spent does not equate to the greatness of memory for the greatest of memories are those that are provided by means that are immeasurable." Ricky J. Fico
This quote I wrote when thinking of what truly matters and where our greatest memories are derived... It is nicely inscribed on my Memories series of inspirational gifts, keepsakes and apparel.
No comments:
Post a Comment