How little we have, I thought, between us and the waiting cold, the mystery, death--a strip of beach, a hill, a few walls of wood or stone, a little fire--and tomorrow's sun, rising and warming us, tomorrow's hope of peace and better weather . . . What if tomorrow vanished in the storm? What if time stood still? And yesterday--if once we lost our way, blundered in the storm--would we find yesterday again ahead of us, where we had thought tomorrow's sun would rise?
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the fragility of life and the uncertainty of tomorrow, emphasizing the transient nature of our existence.
In this quote, Robert Nathan poignantly captures the essence of human vulnerability and the thin barrier that separates us from the unknown, represented by death and mystery. He delves into the theme of time, pondering what it means to hold on to hopes for tomorrow while being acutely aware of how easily those hopes can be swept away by unforeseen circumstances. The imagery of physical elements like a beach, hill, and fire symbolize the temporary comforts we cling to, contrasting with the profound questions about our past and future, making us reflect on the importance of cherishing each moment.
In practice
In a speech about overcoming challenges, one might reflect on this quote to emphasize the importance of living in the moment and appreciating what we have.
Religious organizations exist to foster the interests of persons subscribing to the same religious faith. Not so of for-profit corporations. Workers who sustain the operations of those corporations commonly are not drawn from one religious community.
My reality needs imagination like a bulb needs a socket. My imagination needs reality like a blind man needs a cane.
We all want things we can't have. Being a decent human being is accepting that.
Most world religions denounced war as a barbaric waste of human life. We treasured the teachings of these religions so dearly that we frequently had to wage war in order to impose them on other people.
I think it was Milosz, the Polish poet, who when he lay in a doorway and watched the bullets lifting the cobbles out of the street beside him realised that most poetry is not equipped for life in a world where people actually die. But some is.
In violence there is often the quality of yearning - the yearning for completion. For closure. For that which is absent and would if present bring to fulfillment. For the body without which the wing is a useless frozen ornament. ("A Short Guide To The City")
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