Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The Beast of Burden too often forgotten is favoured to carry the King

 G.K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet. 

When are we beasts of burden?
Which moments stand out as the hardest to endure?
When is it rewarding to be a beast of burden out of love?

Here are some questions on how we see our human burdens and if one of the questions is more important and relevant to your own view, please share it with us:

Shakespeare has graced us with this wisdom: "By any other name, a rose is still a rose" can we then say, a burden by any other name is still a burden?
What are the names of our burdens? Do I forget to name my burden?
Do I name my burden by another name so it won't appear to be a burden?
How can a heavy burden sanctify me?
Could a heavy burden crush my spirit?

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