by Raymond Alexander Kukkee

Created on: January 16, 2010   Last Updated: January 17, 2010

Friendship:   Lend me your Fears

“ ‘Tis within the realm of both our blessings and our incompetence to hurt another  life,  or love, cherish, and befriend a fool to happily lend a hand with time,  ‘ere he is gone, vanished  forever into the mist”.

Friends. We choose them,  and sometimes they choose us, but what is to come of the future if no action is taken to perpetuate friendship? 

Let us be honest.    We sometimes face the unnerving possibility that we shall have no idea what to say to old  friends when we find  we are about to see them again,   which incidents will be plucked from the past,  or for that matter,  what we may  reasonably say long after  they have disappeared.   Sadly, with time and neglect, friendship,  if allowed, can become  a fleeting, distant memory.   Why are some friendships so  proudly cherished and others forgotten entirely?
 
Perhaps there is only one certainty.  To know good friends well is to understand yourself better, for they are generous souls entwined in your life,  approved by the sub-conscious to  explore the similarities  and complexity of your persona and physical journey.

Where else may one seek the past, but within the journals of the mind of a friend?   Where do happiness, wonderful memories and just answers truly dwell?  Where  can fear, tragedy and sadness  exist,  be safely treasured and  acknowledged  with clarity and understanding,  but  within the wisdom often found in long-time  friends?  Do we see ourselves reflected in old photographs of our friends?

Portraits of unnamed friends,  faces of many souls from the past, do exist in old photograph albums so blessed.  I know each  of their faces  when I see them.  Perhaps offering comments upon their souls and their past is paramount to raising the spectre of my own, but each photograph initiates an unequaled, unique, and treasured  moment of reflection.

There were  boys I grew up with, working and fishing and chasing about in  summer hay fields for amusement. We went to school, played baseball and dangerously carved  our initials into the trunks of swaying   trees -not at the bottom,  but precariously close to the  top only because we were brave and foolish enough to

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