moya pringle Reflection on William Stafford’s poem,“The Way It Is.”
This tread that I’m trying to follow at a given moment isn’t just any thread. We can all weave ugly fabric using immoral threads. Stafford’s thread is pure, holy, good, soul-filled, something we’re all given, but how we follow it depends of myriad factors.
Whatever our circumstance, we can never let go of the thread; but how we hold on, and how we weave, is up to us. People watch us and wonder what kind of a person we are by the way we weave our life; they look for our explanation. We want them to see love.
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
This tread that I’m trying to follow at a given moment isn’t just any thread. We can all weave ugly fabric using immoral threads. Stafford’s thread is pure, holy, good, soul-filled, something we’re all given, but how we follow it depends of myriad factors.
Whatever our circumstance, we can never let go of the thread; but how we hold on, and how we weave, is up to us. People watch us and wonder what kind of a person we are by the way we weave our life; they look for our explanation. We want them to see love.
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.