Having said that I aim to live without regrets, to fill each new day with wonder and beauty, to be aware of the passing of time and never to waste it, I often fall short of my own standards and sometimes miss the mark altogether.
I admit it; I have regrets.
Some of my regrets go back years, even decades. Sometimes, I find myself sleepless in the night, turning again towards “if only”, wishing that I could somehow go back and change that one, little thing that I regret so much…
Abracadabra. Gone. Smoke on the breeze…
I used to live in regret, until it dawned upon me that it is my past –exactly as it is, mistakes and failings, warts and all – that has made me the person I am now, the present as it is. The beauty, the wonder, the love I have in the Now are only possible, in their existing form,
because of what led up to them.
If Abracadabra were true – were possible – I might lose my Self completely. Gone. Smoke on the breeze…
This poem is in recognition of this and is a slightly sheepish, humble submission to the realisation that living in the past will only ever steal from the present and future.
Abracadabra
If there was any truth in abracadabra,
I would hold a retrospective wand.
Every mistake,
every clumsy word,
would vanish like an illusionist’s silk.
All those dark and secret moments
that worry away the peace of the past
would lift and fly
like smoke on the breeze,
drift
and disperse
until they were gone.
If Abracadabra were true,
So much of me
Would forever be fiction.
by Ruth Calder Murphy, shared with permission from her book, Spirit Song.
I admit it; I have regrets.
Some of my regrets go back years, even decades. Sometimes, I find myself sleepless in the night, turning again towards “if only”, wishing that I could somehow go back and change that one, little thing that I regret so much…
Abracadabra. Gone. Smoke on the breeze…
I used to live in regret, until it dawned upon me that it is my past –exactly as it is, mistakes and failings, warts and all – that has made me the person I am now, the present as it is. The beauty, the wonder, the love I have in the Now are only possible, in their existing form,
because of what led up to them.
If Abracadabra were true – were possible – I might lose my Self completely. Gone. Smoke on the breeze…
This poem is in recognition of this and is a slightly sheepish, humble submission to the realisation that living in the past will only ever steal from the present and future.
Abracadabra
If there was any truth in abracadabra,
I would hold a retrospective wand.
Every mistake,
every clumsy word,
would vanish like an illusionist’s silk.
All those dark and secret moments
that worry away the peace of the past
would lift and fly
like smoke on the breeze,
drift
and disperse
until they were gone.
If Abracadabra were true,
So much of me
Would forever be fiction.
by Ruth Calder Murphy, shared with permission from her book, Spirit Song.
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