Reaching

CARRY ON TUESDAY

The words in blue are the first words of Tim Rice's lyrics

 for 'The Circle of Life' from 'The Lion King.'

REACHING

From the day we arrive on the planet

We are reaching for something more;

To lift up our heads from our pillows;

To reach up and open a door;

To learn how to speak, how to argue;

To travel abroad on our own;

To meet the right 'someone' and marry;

To make sure that we're not alone.

We're never content with just 'being';

We never say 'Well, I've arrived'.

We still journey on to perfection

However it may be contrived.

The urge to improvement was with us

Before we came down from the trees.

And the urge that inspired and fulfilled us

May yet bring us down to our knees!

This reaching and searching and longing

Has made human kind what it is.

The danger is we can't help reaching

For frippery, foible and fizz!

'If I buy one more dress I'll be happy!.

'If I get that new car I'll be fine!'

'I haven't yet seen Argentina!'

'I must buy the very best wine!'

We're restless and seeking and searching

And sometimes we're not sure what for;

But we know that 'perfection' is somewhere;

And we're going to find it for sure.

'I must marry someone with money!'

'I'd be happy if I had a cat!'

'If I dye my hair red I'll look better!'

' I'd be right if I wasn't so fat!'

So the instincts that made us keep striving,

To rise up from the primeval slime,

Are turning against us for certain;

It's only a matter of time!

All this wanting and needing and reaching

Is sending us all round the bend!

We'll be buried beneath all the 'must-haves'

And be smothered with 'stuff' in the end!

*

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WHITE ISLAND
(Memories of a cruise round New Zealand.)

We sailed around White Island into approaching night

And the sunset wasn't fiery; in sympathy it was white.

And the puff of volcanic smoke was white like the breath of a mighty beast,

And the clouds were echoing sun and smoke as our backs were to the east.

But the island wasn't white at all, regardless of its name!

It was heavy, black and Gothic like the depths from which it came.

But deep inside White Island, as we were sailing by,

We knew that mighty forces were yearning for the sky.

For the centre is made of sun-stuff  and it's longing to return,

And, when it does, the sea and sky will burst into flame and burn!

*