The sun comes up
And the sun goes down,
Then it hurries back
To begin a brand new day;
The wild wind blows
Round and round;
The sea cries out,
And the rivers and streams obey.
We are born; we grow;
We toil; we play.
Through it all, somehow,
The world remains the same.
Is there anything of which it may be said,
“This is something new, this has never been done”?
What has been is much like that which lies ahead:
There is nothing new under the sun.
Is everything
Meaningless?
What about us,
Are we fading memories?
We chase the wind;
We seek success.
But it’s dust to dust;
It’s all vanity of vanities.
There is no remembrance
Of those who’ve come and gone;
We will be forgotten
By those who've yet to come.
Is there anything of which it may be said,
“This is something new, this has never been done”?
What has been is much like that which lies ahead:
There is nothing new under the sun.
There is nothing new under the sun.
There is nothing new under the sun.
© 2009 David Acosta
The world is spinning, just as it always has--though at times I get the impression that it is actually gradually accelerating. The clock ticks; the hours go by; the sun rises, then sets; vast, powerful oceans continually shift, their waves roaring and crashing upon earth's many thirsty shores; and human beings move to and fro. I look around, and I see the hurried pace, the plans we make, hopes for better days in the not too distant future, and dreams often untapped, often regrettably unrevealed.
But what of our deepest yearnings? Where are they hidden? What exactly IS the core of our beings? And how do we go to that sacred place which eludes us, but which beckons and almost becomes palpable when we are broken by sorrow, pain, or a sudden wave of incomprehensible joy? Is that secret Holy of Holies really that unreachable? Can I stop chasing after the wind for an eternal moment and tap into it, enough so that I would encounter the beginnings of an unmistakable transformation? Are we not made in the image of One who is unshakeable, unaltered by time and space, ever at peace, ever complete?
Perhaps on a day much like today--one in which the sun rose and set just as it did today--The Preacher in Ecclesiastes tried to gaze into the depths of his heart, looked at his surroundings, and considered the ways of man, just as I am doing at this very moment. Has the world really changed that much? In some ways, it most certainly has; in others, it remains the same.
And I am here, a weary pilgrim in the midst of it all...yearning...seeking...meditating...wondering what in the world I am doing with my life...
Here is my take on those ancient words, my version of Ecclesiastes 1
