Restô do Chapitô, Lisbon, up...

my second or third time here..

Dark night of the soul, La noche oscura de alma,San Juan de la Cruz

Dark Night of the Soul
By St. John of the Cross
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Songs of the soul rejoicing at having achieved the high state of perfection, the Union with God, by way of spiritual negation.

Once in the dark of night,
Inflamed with love and wanting, I arose
(O coming of delight!)
And went, as no one knows, 
When all my house lay long in deep repose

All in the dark went right,
Down secret steps, disguised in other clothes, 
(O coming of delight!)
In dark when no one knows, 
When all my house lay long in deep repose.

And in the luck of night
In secret places where no other spied 
I went without my sight
Without a light to guide
Except the heart that lit me from inside.

It guided me and shone
Surer than noonday sunlight over me,
And lead me to the oneWhom only I could see
Deep in a place where only we could be.

O guiding dark of night!
O dark of night more darling than the dawn!
O night that can unite
A lover and loved one,
Lover and loved one moved in unison.

And on my flowering breast
Which I had kept for him and him alone 
He slept as I caressed
And loved him for my own,
Breathing an air from redolent cedars blown.

And from the castle wall 
The wind came down to winnow through his hair
Bidding his fingers fall,
Searing my throat with air
And all my senses were suspended there. 

I stayed there to forget.
There on my lover, face to face, I lay.
All ended, and I letMy cares all fall away
Forgotten in the lilies on that day.

The Original:

La Noche Oscura Del Alma
San Juan De La Cruz

Cançiones del alma que se goça d’auer llegado al alto estado de la perfecçion, que es la union con Dios, por el camino de la negaçion espiritual

En una noche obscura,
con ansias en amores imflamada,
¡oh dichosa uentura!
sali sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.

A escuras y segura,
por la secreta escala disfraçada,
¡oh dichosa uentura!
a escuras y ençelada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.

En la noche dichosa,
en secreto, que nadie me ueya,
ni yo miraua cosa,
sin otra luz ni guia
sino la que en el coraçon ardia.

Aquesta me guiaua
mas cierto que la luz del mediodia,
adonde me esperaua
quien yo bien me sabia,
en parte donde nadie parecia.

¡Oh noche que me guiaste!
¡oh noche amable mas que el aluorada!,
¡oh noche que juntaste
amado con amada,
amada en el amado transformada!

Y en mi pecho florido,
que entero para el solo se guardaua,
alli quedo dormido,
y yo le regalaua,
y el ventalle de cedros ayre daua.

El ayre de la almena,
cuando ya sus cabellos esparzia,
con su mano serena
en mi cuello heria,
y todos mis sentidos suspendia.

Quedeme y oluideme,
el rostro recline sobre el amado,
ceso todo, y dexeme,
dexando mi cuidado
entre las açucenas olvidado.

Fear,Thomas Aquinas

Fear is such a powerful emotion for humans that when we allow it to take us over,

it drives compassion right out of our hearts.

Thomas Von Aquin

melancholia

Here, in Faro. the heat is considerably less now, a cool breeze turns in from the sea.

the sky is a dull grey. it is a day for mercenaries to doze in their hammocks, a day to wait for Godot maybe or maybe not, who knows.it is a day for melancholia, now, maybe not later, a state of mind you reach when you cannot focus properly, and though you are centered you feel vaguely uneasy, shadows of memories and lost emotions , past joy and forgotten pain rise and go. the best thing is just to let it be, try to enjoy the floating modus and let it pass as all things pass, you are alive,aware,  it is all what counts. it is indeed a day for mercenaries to sleep and to dream and to forget the last day and the next day.

this me is not a mercenary.

an arrow of poison enters, and you are caught unaware in your dreamy motion. though you should pull it out immediately ,should look around for the foe who is hiding in your dark corners.:instead you try to feel it like a broken tooth, your tongue goes there again and again to taste it.

you know what it is about in your case. the simultaneous presence of love and desire. you don't know how to relate to it. well, don't . it is not a contradiction, and your foe is your true friend , part of you, trying to make you conscious for life.

now you are awake, maybe a little bit confused, boats enter the harbour, boats go out leaving a wake in their trail. this is all.

there may be nothing much more. now, there isn't.

melancholia, you travel far, but you always meet yourself. open the window.

travels of a unicorn

travels of a unicorn

he was the last of his kind,

one slow and long drawn

thought, a soft murmur

in the deep forest of night

he bathed in the light

of the moon and the stars,

the birds came to sing,

the elves came to dance

in the mirror of the lake

he saw himself naked and white,

he dipped his horn 

in the coolness of water

then filled with longing

for another of his kind

he walked between trees

to the edge of darkness

at first he lay down and cried

lost in the sun and the day,

nowhere and everywhere

to go in this new world

when he moved, the hunters

came, at the order

of nobles and kings

who wanted his life and his horn

fields and wood were

filled with arrows and traps,

virgins and dummies to bait him,

mazes to swallow his mind.

he remembered his wings

invisible secrets given to him

followed cranes and geese

and on the top of a mountain

he found her, the unicorn

he remembered without

knowing, as if she had been

there as forever, playing

with grass and with stones,

chasing clouds and

turning in the wind,

filled with curiosity

Their horns fell off

when they kissed,

then they walked

down into the valley.

Unrecognized, silent,

polite to strangers,

their wings hidden,

magic in lost songs.

their horns to be found

by nobody but a madman,

their story unforeseeable

and filled with the promiss

of life and death.

unicorns cannot die,

now they were allowed

into the grace of confusion,

not born to bear a horn,

but to wear the sign

of fragility and innocence

and to meet chaos with love.

(Franklin Dove, 1933, ..how to create a 'unicorn', well , there

is never enough popcorn to go for..)

Rumi, rightdoing, wrongdoing

Out  beyond ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing there is a field.

I'll meet you there.

Rumi