There is a danger in believing the ever discontented claim that “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence”, however, I’ve recently discovered that there is also a danger in the (perhaps over contented) inverse that “today’s green grass is the only good.”
There are always those sheep who wander away even while the Shepherd guides, but what of the one who sits there unwilling to budge? I feel as though I am the type who would exhaust all of my resources until I would find myself sitting on a patch of dirt.
“Grazing” brings about a painful feeling of perpetual loss, yet I am grateful that “He makes me lie down in green pastures.” His rod and staff are a great comfort to an extremely unmotivated little lamb.
Even thou canst give me neither thought nor thing,
Were it the priceless pearl hid in the land,
Which, if I fix thereon a greedy gaze,
Becomes not poison that doth burn and cling;
Their own bad look my foolish eyes doth daze,
They see the gift, see not the giving hand-
From the living root the apple dead I wring.
-George MacDonald
Shakespeare has made me think all the more on the idea that perhaps a beautiful thing must die in order to live on.
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
-Shakespeare(Sonnet I)
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