Scattered Thoughts

I stumbled upon this while reading a book of mine the other day and it immediately brought memories of the past rushing back into my mind.

I had to post it here…

If you can keep your head when all about you
   Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
   But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
   Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
   And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
   If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
   And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
   And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
   And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
   And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
   To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
   Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
   Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
   If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
   With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
   And which is more; you'll be a Man, my son!

-Rudyard Kipling

The last summer that Craig was Program Director, he, Luke, someone I can't remember, and I read this poem at the opening campfire. If was the theme of that summer. The four of us, standing on stage as the voice of experience, the voice of wisdom… We played the role, but we hadn't earned it yet…

It didn't seem like anything more than a minor hassle then, but looking back on it, it's one of my favorite memories from all the summers I spent at Ransburg.

I read the third stanza then and now that I read back through the whole poem, I get chills…

I step outside the front door like a ghost into a fog…

There's a strange mistress in my life. Someone who has always been a part of it, but I never paid much attention to her until now. I've already dedicated a lot of time and energy to our relationship and it's one I know will never fail, for every bit of time and effort she receives, she returns ten fold.

She's everything I need in my life right now. She's not demanding. She's not vindictive. She's outgoing, yet down to earth. She does more than her share of good in this world every day. She's has guidelines that are difficult to meet sometimes, but every moment spent with her is amazing. She accepts almost everyone from almost every walk of life and those who she rejects are not immune to her influence. She's powerful yet gentle.

Her interests lie everywhere, but I don't have to keep them all occupied; she only asks that I believe what she believes and that's good enough for me.

She feels no emotion, but I am in love with her…

If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts…