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Life is a Saga

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Saga

Life is a Saga

Birth is a constant and death is a constant. These two constants happen in every one’s life. As soon as birth takes place that constant has begun. Now it becomes intermittent and irregular. When that part ends, then the other constant is in place, death.

Intermittent and irregular things happen to all of us between the constants of birth and death and that is called life. There have been many things that have happened to all of us. Many of them were good, and those are the memories that should be the only things in the forefront of our minds. Unfortunately, there were also the many tragedies that happen in all of our lives and people think they should just forget them; as it were, out of sight out of mind.

Wouldn’t that be nice if they were wrapped in neat little packages of good and bad? If that were the case then life would be good. The intermittent cycles of life would be in neat and self-contained packs.  Life isn’t like that though. The bad things in life are not ever wrapped in neat little packages. Unfortunately, the bad always contaminates the good and the owner spends a lifetime trying to clean up the contamination.

That is what makes everyone’s life a saga. Each of us could write a story about our own lives. They would all be different, very interesting, and no two stories would be the same. At the same time, that other constant is the end of the line for everyone, and isn’t that the end of everyone’s story?

Sing

Sing

When I sing, the birds disappear, the trees shiver, and people cover their ears with a look of terror in their eyes. I don’t understand why. I love to sing. A song can make you feel as if you are floating on a cloud but it could also make you feel as if your heart is about to break. Sometimes songs can make you feel empowered as if you can accomplish anything.

I have heard the expression, “…couldn’t carry a tune in a basket.” I wonder what that means?  Well, it doesn’t matter. I sang in the chorus in school, and I sang in the church choir when I was a child. I even sang a solo once in church. I was too soft, so the choir director motioned for me to sing louder. I thought I was doing great. The louder I sang, the more people began stirring. At the end of my part, I was singing so proudly, and I ended with a smile from ear to ear. As I waited for the applause, I looked up.  I saw the seats empty, and the choir director galloping out the door. Was it something I said?