What Where You Thinking? – Love Remains Explained

My poem, “Love Remains” was written for a short film “Lake House 2” produced by Rugged Tribe Entertainment. Part of why I love to read is to be able to connect with the author and see what is inside their heart and mind. I thought it might be fun to decode the poem and let you know exactly what I was thinking and hoping to convey.

Since the 5th stanza is the conclusion and draws the poem together and to a close, I thought we would take a look at it.

Both life and death express the same
Sadness sings sweet refrain
But time and tide are never tame
I’m gone but love remains

Here’s what I was trying to say:

1.) Both life and death express the same
This line is peeling back the mystery of life and death. Life and death are the very same thing at their core. They are both movement and transition. They are both changing, forming and reforming. There is essentially no difference between the two.

2.) Sadness sings sweet refrain
Sadness does not seem to know or respect this reality. In poetry and music the term refrain means “a repeated line or number of lines typically at the end of each verse”. More than this, the term also means “to hold back or restrain or stop from doing something.” In this instance, the sadness fueled by grief does not see the truth of life and death.

3.) But time and tide are never tame
The “time” it takes to heal and the “tide” of emotion are two powerful forces of nature, and also completely out of human control. And ultimately, the revelation of truth is also out of our control. The griever cannot master time, tide, sadness, or revelation. It goes when it goes. We get it when we get it.

4.) I’m gone but love remains
This is the ultimate revelation that the physical form has left and is no longer visible, but the energy and power that is LOVE never goes away. Both energy and power are never created or destroy. They are both only revealed or transformed. The same is true for love.

Read It:

Love Remains… Love Remains…

Watch It:

Two Tramps in Mud Time by Robert Frost

Read it. Understood it. Lovedit. I hope you will too.

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Two Tramps in Mud Time
by Robert Frost

Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily “Hit them hard!”
I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
And let the other go on a way.
I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
He wanted to take my job for pay.

Good blocks of oak it was I split,
As large around as the chopping block;
And every piece I squarely hit
Fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
The blows that a life of self-control
Spares to strike for the common good,
That day, giving a loose my soul,
I spent on the unimportant wood.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You’re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you’re two months back in the middle of March.

A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume,
His song so pitched as not to excite
A single flower as yet to bloom.
It is snowing a flake; and he half knew
Winter was only playing possum.
Except in color he isn’t blue,
But he wouldn’t advise a thing to blossom.

The water for which we may have to look
In summertime with a witching wand,
In every wheelrut’s now a brook,
In every print of a hoof a pond.
Be glad of water, but don’t forget
The lurking frost in the earth beneath
That will steal forth after the sun is set
And show on the water its crystal teeth.

The time when most I loved my task
The two must make me love it more
By coming with what they came to ask.
You’d think I never had felt before
The weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
The grip of earth on outspread feet,
The life of muscles rocking soft
And smooth and moist in vernal heat.

Out of the wood two hulking tramps
(From sleeping God knows where last night,
But not long since in the lumber camps).
They thought all chopping was theirs of right.
Men of the woods and lumberjacks,
They judged me by their appropriate tool.
Except as a fellow handled an ax
They had no way of knowing a fool.

Nothing on either side was said.
They knew they had but to stay their stay

And all their logic would fill my head:
As that I had no right to play
With what was another man’s work for gain.
My right might be love but theirs was need.
And where the two exist in twain
Theirs was the better right–agreed.

But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future’s sakes.

Discipline

When did we warp the word “discipline”?

Somewhere along the way, we made it a mutation of punishment. We twisted it into martyrdom.

It use to mean a craft, a trade, a specialty. It use to mean the force that kept you pressing forward
after motivation and adrenaline lost their wings.

It championed through injuries to body, mind, ego, and heart. It turned hopelessness out every door. It kept steady focus on the goal.

It saw the best in you and pressed past excuses to reach it. It would not let you faint, fall down, fall out, or quit. It showed up with joy or tears or anger… whatever it took for “one more try”.

It was admired, encouraged, emulated, and promoted. It was comrades with perseverance, fortitude, strength, and honor. It was an esteemable act extended across the continuum of time.

It was a good thing.

So discipline is a virtue we aspire to attain not because we focus on our weakness but because we LOVE ourselves STRONG.

(Random Thought Transmission Complete)

Lake House Part 2 – TFTBN & Rugged Tribe Entertainment

Yesterday, just after dinner time, the locked screen on my iPhone flashed. It told me I missed a call from my Home Boy/Little Brother James Braxton of Rugged Tribe Entertainment. It also told me he left a voicemail.

“He’s up to something,” I thought to myself. He is by far one of the most creative people I have ever met. When inspiration hits him it hits him like a FLOOD! His voicemail said something like,

“Your mission, should you chose to accept it…”

Okay. Not really. It actually sounded more like this!

Then at the end of the email he said to me, “Now, STOP listening at me and GO WRITE SOMETHING!

Hahahahahahaha! So I shall, James. So I shall!

View the original: Lake House Part One

 

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We Try to Be Gone

We all try to run.
We try to be gone.
We try to get lost,
but we can’t stay long.

We lose all our stuff.
We lose sight of dawn.
We even lose us.
It all just goes wrong.

We try to love hope.
We try to pass on.
But whispers from God
keep signing our song.

– Denitra Letrice