Reflections on Impermanence

 

 

—Poetry by Linda Klein, Los Angeles, CA

—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of 

Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA

 

 

 

REFLECTING ON REFLECTIONS

There are differences in reflections that appear in every
polished stone, body of water, glass, or mirror.
I have pondered as to whether such variations
are caused by the particular properties
inherent in those reflective mediums,
their qualities and composition,
or are the differences due to
the amount of light available
at the time an image is viewed.
What is seen might also be effected
by one's state of mind when viewing it,
and might vary from individual to individual,
meant to communicate a unique message to each.

 

 

 

 

                                   

THE LEGEND OF LYMAN

He had a broad nose and agate eyes that looked directly at you.
A golden mane encircled his large face and head like a halo.
Other lions either admired or envied Lyman.  He preferred his 

admirers. He trusted them, for they nurtured his sensitive nature.

Lyman was one of seven siblings.  He had only one brother.
Morgan was slightly older than Lyman, his best friend and hero.
The others were five sisters, whom Lyman judged were foolish 

and flighty.  It was actually not the case. Zyl, Zal, Bara, Dori, 

and Gita were nice, normal, young lionesses. The pride also in-

cluded their father, Moro, and their mother, Rishi.

The young lions were now adults and still without mates.
They were devoted to each other and to their loving parents.
By day the entire pride roamed the veldt in search of prey.
Moro, the leader, along with his sons, Morgan and Lyman,
had the task of cornering and killing small animals which might 

have been spotted by any member of the pride.  Rishi and her 

daughters then joined them to systematically tear the animal 

apart with their claws and teeth.  They then feasted upon it,

right at the site of the kill.

On sunny days, Lyman and Morgan liked to walk together,
down to the marsh to drink from the shallow lake, perhaps to 

have some time away from their ever-present sisters. Lyman's 

stride was proud and deliberate with his head tilted toward the 

sun.  He basked in the sun's warm radiance.

On one such walk, Lyman failed to see a stealthy hunter
hiding in the high grass, neither had Morgan as he walked
beside his brother.  The hunter rose and pointed his rifle at 

Morgan, smiling as he fired, killing the lion instantly.  Morgan's 

body dropped down beside Lyman.  He murmured a soft purr.  

Those sounds—the shot, thud, and Morgan's final whimper of 

distress ignited a fire in Lyman more powerful than that of the 

lethal bullet. The lion leaped into the air.  His body slammed 

the shocked the hunter with great force, discharging a second

bullet that entered the hunter's heart.

When Moro and Rishi learned of their eldest son's death,
a dense cloud of depression engulfed them both.  The family
knew their aging parents would never recover completely.
Without hesitation, Lyman assumed leadership of the pride.

He took on the responsibility of finding mates for his sisters.
At first, he thought it would be difficult, but it went well.
Each of them was paired with a compatible male from
a neighboring pride and went to live with a new family.
Lyman was left with only his parents to care for.  He did this
unselfishly, without regard for his own personal happiness.

Coincidentally, in the process of visiting other prides
to negotiate matches, Lyman met Gala, a lovely lioness,
who was the sister of Kong, the mate he had chosen for his
own sister, Bara.  Eventually, Gala became Lyman's mate,
strengthening his pride and reuniting them with Bara.

They lived happily until a terrible tragedy struck the combined
pride.  Gala succumbed to a serious illness and was suddenly
taken from them.  Lyman felt that life no longer held anything 

for him. Confident that his remaining family was secure, on a

quiet, starlit night, he curled his sad, tired body up under an 

acacia tree and went to sleep, a sleep from which he would not

awaken.

I have heard the nearby villagers speak of three lions they 

often see strolling through the marshlands along the lake, two

males and one female.  One of the males has a broad nose, a

full golden mane, and agate eyes that, when not looking up to

the sun, look directly at you.

 

 

 

 

IMPERMANENCE

In time, everything changes, crumbles, crashes,
or tumbles, and crumples to tiny bits of dust.
All things wither and waste away, while we watch,
            nonplussed.
Some things rust, eroding, corroding,
often exploding, as they spontaneously combust.
Some things grow rotten when they are forgotten,
            or become broken from
overuse and abuse.

We too, stagger, stumble, and mumble
as we fumble in our foolish, humble existence.
Dreary, wary, weary of wearing down badly, in spite
            of our persistence.
Graying and wrinkling, worrying sadly,
with never an inkling of what will happen to us,
            until it            hits,
until it pits us flatly against a wall,
            falling,
                           calling out—
life is appalling.  What is it all about?

Remember when we were bursting with dreams and wishes,
            looking ahead with longing,            thirsting
for the paradise we promised ourselves.  —Wouldn't it be nice?
Perhaps we missed that chance while pondering our pitiable
                           Impermanence.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the river, and he is not the same man.

—Heraclitus

_____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Klein for today’s leontine poetry!

 

 

 

—Public Domain Cartoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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