We Will Remember

by James E. Miller

There are times in our lives when we remember.
Life was unfolding before us, unfolding within us.
There was an uncurling, an opening up.
We were seeking the light,
     and, just as much, the light was seeking us.
There was so much to see, to feel.
Rich textures, vivid colors, bold tapestries.
This was not a perfect time.
Long spells on this earth seldom are.
Were it in our power, we would make changes.
But there was so much that was good.
So many possibilities before us.
So many reasons to be thankful.
Tenderness we knew, and closeness.
And the comfort of knowing that where we were
     was where we wanted to be,
          where it felt right for us to be.
They were times of touch.
We touched one another,
     and we were in touch with ourselves.
We touched the world around us,
     and we were in touch with that which underlies our world
          and upholds it.
Life on this earth holds promises one moment,
     and then withholds promises others.
And we experience how fleeting happiness can be.
How quickly the present moment moves on,
     leaving behind it only the past, all of the past.
There are times in our lives when we remember,
     and in the remembering there is a longing.
A wishing for what we had.
A searching for who we were.
A grasping for what we lost.
Longing is the price we pay for having loved.
Had we not known closeness,
     we would not mourn its absence.
Had we not known joy, we would not miss its passing.
Had we not known contentment,
     we would not know the sorrow of being without it.
It is one thing to say this, to think it.
It is altogether another to feel this, and to live it,
     hour after hour, feeling after feeling.
We cannot recreate the past.
It is beyond bringing back.
But—the past was once.
And that can never be taken from us.
Something of what we had is with us still.
And it always shall be.
Growth we experienced.
Understanding we gained.
Love we shared.
Memories we formed.
And memories that will in time form us.
There are times in our lives when we remember,
     and this is one of them.
A time when our remembering is more than remembering.
It is also anticipating.
It is allowing our remembering to also be a hope
     and a pledge, carried on these words:
In the summer sun and fields of brightness,
     we will remember.
In the autumn haze and blazes of color,
     we will remember.
In the winter chill and blankets of whiteness,
     we will remember.
And in the warmth of spring and bursts of new life,
     we will remember.
In the breezes that caress the leaves, as well as our own hair,
     we will remember.
In the winds that fan the hillsides, as well as our own hearts,
     we will remember.
In the waves that wash upon quiet shores,
     as well as our own hushed souls, we will remember.
With everything that is permanent, and with all that is passing,
With everything that is majestic, and with all that is common,
With everything that causes us sorrow,
     and with everything that carries us in joy,
          we will remember again and again and again.
As long as we have life, we will remember.
And in the remembering,
     that which we have had will be with us still.
That which we have experienced will inform us again.
That which we have shared will help us share in new ways.
That which we have loved will encourage us to love again,
     and to love even more freely, and even more fully.
There are times in our lives when we remember.
And in the remembering there is a promise.
There is a hope.
There is a conviction.
The conviction that what we have known was real.
It is real.
And it shall be real,
     as long as the sun shall set,
          and as long as it shall rise again.
So: let us remember.
And in the remembering, let us look forward.
Copyright James E. Miller

     The above is a transcript of the Willowgreen videotape, We Will Remember: A Meditation for Those Who Live On, which was originally created for rituals of remembrance. This video incorporates photography from nature and original music with the narration. This transcript is not to be copied, distributed, or used for any public gatherings without the permission of the author.

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