Bumps and shocks.
resounding blows.
accurate shots.
bitter blow.
stray strokes.
The same word is blunt: goal-eg, is entitled by itself. How many get along in life? Countless. We have the money, the verses of a poem, daylight hours. And we have the hammer, which we in the car, the four strokes that knock out this guy because he deserved. Fortunately, we do not usually dedicate (though some masochist himself out there ...) to count the blows of life. To them it is better not name them in the end, they all have the same mission. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But they are always many, if not lose sight of that, nor with so many in such a short life, we learn in all cases to fit completely .
Linking to yesterday's post, I can comment that the blows of life are perfect companions to get friendship with death. And once again, is not the quantity but the quality determines the degree of friendship that we achieve with it. It is not receiving many hits, it is a matter of intensity. also vital blows There are many types and colors. And while some can dodge a bit of art, most need to feel them, not away, so do not make the mistake of underestimating the surprise of the next.
was going to write that the hardest are those who give the children to their parents. But it also is well spent. It occurs to me that perhaps they are those who receive them, the children, their parents. Why? As simple as that when the receiving is not possible to guess even a shadow of its purpose (You were a child). We do not speak of a slap, please! I am referring to those that they feel in the heart as if they had won a vested right to his birth. The beat of "no", the blow of punishment, hit "stop acting like a kid" and many others.
Do not be offended, fathers and mothers of the world blows we receive from our children are not worse than we were inflicted on them. Because we are aware that those going to the office. But they do not know-until late age-that they receive from us are also part of their role as children. And that hurts. Hurts. Hurt more by its inherent lack of understanding, impossible to untangle until the passing of the years he discovers the mystery.
I love the years, are everything! Not met without more. Fulfill means being satisfied with what has been done. Years can be met who meets a commitment. Then, pass one after another almost unnoticed by the sunrises and sunsets. Yes, sunsets, that are so vivid, a sunset over a year, a weariness over the precipice of life. Our blessed years are those that teach us to fit the blows of the most elegant, with dignity. At first, well, you're there, like Shokan, as no very well find out what is happening. Little by little, very slowly, so that the pain is more progressive at entry and thus more effective, being born the flexibility provided by adapting to what it is. Thus, body, mind and heart undergo a transformation, molded with successive hits to become one with them. The brand is no longer seen because, at first, is steeped in the current year, then turn to the privileged status of what never existed by itself. Because there was not isolated suddenly makes no sense. Yes it is in the strange way he is guided by a child.
That road, which is many times seems the most devious, is the key of wisdom that never fails well. It's like a precious stone in its purest form, after a few maneuvers and misguided handling of the burin to go, removing all its brightness to the gem, is sticking to its very nature to be choosing their own way, receiving in his own hand that unique engraving that will help you become your own guide.
and silk hand Nature was the mother with her baby and, later, she learned to forge iron gloved pure silk, suddenly, in a year of those good "compliments" reborn to be the prerogative of only the softest silks, to let the child their own iron silk dress. I imagine that the peer-gold then we assume that always comes a sense of fa ...- third change has to be awesome, like being at the climax. As touching the summit after trek by side and driven escarpadísima the way back to the green pastures of the valley.
will be when a mother, with all the tranquility of the world, can say, "My grandchildren that educate their parents. Now I enjoy being just pure silk and pure silk."