Being Remembered~

“'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away."

What does it mean to leave your mark on the world? It is a bit of an awkward question, because your ‘mark’ cannot be ‘left’ until after you die- and no one wants to think about death, but they do want their legacy to be remembered.

Some people build great things. Some people create art. Some people donate money or help in a worthy cause. Some people kill for power. Some people are killed for taking a stand. Some people sit quietly and let life pass them. -- And in the end, are these people any different from each other?

You can be great and mighty and powerful and kind and famous, but time is a memory’s greatest enemy and you will be forgotten. Perhaps not fully, but time will turn the colors of your life into faded and unrecognizable pictures in a box. Is this sad? Yes.

The take-away from this poem may vary depending on the person who reads it.  For me, the poem spoke of how futile our yearnings for remembrance after death can be. I don’t think we should waste our lives, despairing over the fact that we will probably not be remembered for very long once we are dead, but we should let go of that goal. I think we should live life out of service to others, experiencing what we are called to do, loving others, becoming active participants in society, making colorful memories- but without the always looming cloud of hope and nervousness that we will solidify our mark.

Somewhere a small quarrel has begun~

"Somewhere a small quarrel

has begun, a few overheated words

ignite a conflagration,

and the smell of smoke

is on its way;

the smell of war."

In her poem, "Somewhere in the World", Linda Pastan writes about how somewhere in the world, there is something that will destroy everything, especially everything that holds or symbolizes happiness. This 'something' has made Pastan paranoid, as throughout the poem she expresses how she constantly 'knocks on wood', 'rinses her hands', and 'invents alarm codes'.

However, two particular stanzas caught my attention. While most of the poem describes a force that is unseen and unstoppable (such as a virus or a cold front), a 'quarrel' is something that humans have to start, but also have the power to stop. Often a 'small quarrel' could be worked through by sitting down and discussing the point of conflict. With self control and a mutual desire for resolution, a quarrel does not need to give way to a war. But, a quarrel that turns into a fiery fight can definitely steel and ruin happiness. It is hard to see that we, ourselves as humans, can be the demise of our own joy-- It is easier to assume that a force out of our control will break our spirits, and assuming this would leave no room for regret, since the destroying force would be out of our control, and there would be nothing we could do to stop it.

More than a cold front and more than a virus, a quarrel that is not stopped from escalating can ruin happiness. Not only does it take away joy from a person, but it also takes away the desire for peace within a relationship, as feelings get hurt and harsh words are said, often neither person wants to forgive the other. Such a quarrel later turns into guilt- guilt for not understanding, guilt for not trying harder to reconcile, guilt for arguing over something 'small' in the first place. This removes happiness in a different sense. Instead of replacing it with animosity and hurt and anger, it replaces it with sorrow and regret. Sometimes, all it takes is something small can take away the greatest things in life- and those small somethings were completely under our control.