Bikurgurl · The-Year-Of-Quality · Writing

“Rage, Rage against the dying of the light,”

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“Rage, Rage against the dying of the light.”

While we know that Dylan Thomas was talking about his blind father, great writers touch others in many ways. I don’t think about the literal, but the euphemism for fighting for your rights, your ideas, your creativity…for yourself.

Not allowing others denigrate your soul, your work, your beliefs…do not be so rigid as to not change. With any luck, you will learn from your experiences. You will evolve and change your opinions, your likes and dislikes, your expectations, and your mind. Thank goodness! If I hadn’t sharpened my focus and learned from my childhood – my young adulthood – would I be proud of the person I’ve become?

Could I really be authentic?

People who claim to have not changed their beliefs with more information, time, perspective – I have serious concerns about their sincerity. Can a person really remain the same with such a fast-paced, connected society? Connected world?

We can no longer hide behind our fear, our ignorance, our arrogance. We Must “Rage, Rage against the dying of the light.” We must flesh out those who are not authentic and flush them out of our lives {I love a little alliteration!}. We must be willing to be open to change — those who aren’t able to change, find themselves on the fringe of society. Unaccepted. Not understood.

We should extend grace to these people — these people are us. We are them. We need to be willing to be able to say we’re sorry, change our opinion, move on. Grow. Change. Understand. Do not compromise.

@Bikurgurl_watermark

“Do not go gentle into that good night”

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

by Dylan Thomas 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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