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Work is Love Made Visible

Having a productive, enjoyable job can significantly increase our years on this dirtball...if ya really wanna. My ubersuperobermeistervisor (with whom I'm stressed right now, ironically) let me borrow a book about stress (she's never read it...I'm not surprised now). Very good schtuff (Entitled "Stress: Living and Working in a Changing World"). I highly recommend it, and shall share a passage that sounds um, hauntingly like Kahlil Gibran, although he wasn't credited:

And a ploughman said: Speak to us of Work.

And he answered, saying:

You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.

For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.

When you work, you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.

Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?

Always, you have been told that work is a curse and labour, a misfortune.

But I say to you...that when you work, you fulfill a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born.

And in keeping yourself with labour, you are in truth, loving life.

And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's innermost secret.

You have been told, also, that life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary.

And I say that life is indeed darkness, save when there is urge.

And all urge is blind, save when there is knowledge.

And all knowledge is vain, save when there is work.

And all work is empty, save when there is love;

And when you work with love, you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God.

And what is it to work with love?

It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.

It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.

It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.

It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit.

And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching.

Often, have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep: "He who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is nobler than he who ploughs the soil."

And he who seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet.

But I say, not in sleep but in the over-wakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass;

And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving.

Work is love made visible.


Ah. It was this, or a letter from Abraham Lincoln to his lazy brother. LOL. Actually, it was a great letter, and sounded...frighteningly...like something I'D say to my sister. *snort*

Okay. I HAD general work malaise today, but have shaken it off. Second half of the game, and I got my shirt on. Or something. :>

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Words.

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card
Which is blank, is something that he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself;

One must be so careful these days.
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