this is true but it is not the truth,
the truth is inbetween
and between
and it is outside of words
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/105201341272126154/?fb_ref=481463153822046107%3Ae1d59e6a921a552e9c64
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
no help for that, Charles Bukowski
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/105201341272126154/?fb_ref=481463153822046107%3Ae1d59e6a921a552e9c64
I taught myself to live simply, Anna Akhmatova
I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life’s decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life’s decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.
Anna Akhmatova, 23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966
diary notes at night
There is a hailstorm outside, thunder, lightning, end of April
during the last months i lost the ability to fall asleep:
it wouldn't matter always so much: but i have to get up mornings and work.
it has grown like a bad habit.
and although i am retiring more into myself again now,
into silent places,
and i can taste peace and happiness returning,
i let so much happen to me, and it is hard to let go.
The simple act of reaching out turned into a fight against
windmills, and i met once more in life the core of my own instability.
Going out i had left my center, and though a joy to share presence and experience,
just to stay open would have been enough.
i cannot even talk now,tonight, about love, desire, longing.
I can talk about the wind, and i feel like a raindrop
about to fall from a leaf.
I have come to a point where i don't know what i want anymore,
and where i mistrust my feelings.
This can be a starting point to inner freedom, and it is a starting point for
another change and shedding of garments.
Whichever way i go now and whatever happens when i change,
i do not know where it will lead to.
I will accept this as there is no alternative.
I cannot sleep because i fear the consequences of this
change inside me.
I fear to gain and to lose my heart at the same time.
I must trust in life and in my part of it.
I do not pray , i find to meditation again more,
after tears and storms passed, i start to cry tears
for this world and for every suffering living being here.
There is no aim, it is a process. I come to see clearer
and to walk out of my heaviness.
But it will remain an act on a tightrope.
I step on it, below is nothing, above is nothing.
When i take a hand it may pull me down.
This is not a nice thought.
Life is disorderly, death is included,
and the risk is there anyway at all times.
Control is not an aim, just a means to stay
on the rope.
So, well, thanks to life, i will forget about this
rope again and just go ahead.
After all there are flowers, green meadows,
apple orchards and laughs.
I can hear me laughing.
during the last months i lost the ability to fall asleep:
it wouldn't matter always so much: but i have to get up mornings and work.
it has grown like a bad habit.
and although i am retiring more into myself again now,
into silent places,
and i can taste peace and happiness returning,
i let so much happen to me, and it is hard to let go.
The simple act of reaching out turned into a fight against
windmills, and i met once more in life the core of my own instability.
Going out i had left my center, and though a joy to share presence and experience,
just to stay open would have been enough.
i cannot even talk now,tonight, about love, desire, longing.
I can talk about the wind, and i feel like a raindrop
about to fall from a leaf.
I have come to a point where i don't know what i want anymore,
and where i mistrust my feelings.
This can be a starting point to inner freedom, and it is a starting point for
another change and shedding of garments.
Whichever way i go now and whatever happens when i change,
i do not know where it will lead to.
I will accept this as there is no alternative.
I cannot sleep because i fear the consequences of this
change inside me.
I fear to gain and to lose my heart at the same time.
I must trust in life and in my part of it.
I do not pray , i find to meditation again more,
after tears and storms passed, i start to cry tears
for this world and for every suffering living being here.
There is no aim, it is a process. I come to see clearer
and to walk out of my heaviness.
But it will remain an act on a tightrope.
I step on it, below is nothing, above is nothing.
When i take a hand it may pull me down.
This is not a nice thought.
Life is disorderly, death is included,
and the risk is there anyway at all times.
Control is not an aim, just a means to stay
on the rope.
So, well, thanks to life, i will forget about this
rope again and just go ahead.
After all there are flowers, green meadows,
apple orchards and laughs.
I can hear me laughing.
We mean to explore kindness...
Nous voulons explorer la bonté contrée énorme où tout se tait
We mean to explore kindness and its enormous silences― Guillaume Apollinaire
Ferdinand Bz, facebook page, Ferdinand von Bozen
first waking at night: i talked too much
at the end of the day
and at my first
waking at night:
i talked too much
and i have not done
enough.
I talked too much
out of a restless mind:
better to sleep,
to let syllables grow
in the world of dream
and deep in my heart
I talked too much
and the words
went up in a cloud
I talked too much
and in the smoke
of language
meaning was lost
I talked too much
in an armour of arrows
and i stumbled
across my longing
where i should breathe
and walk slowly
i spilled my pain
and in the place of kisses
there is an empty space:
i talked too much.
and at my first
waking at night:
i talked too much
and i have not done
enough.
I talked too much
out of a restless mind:
better to sleep,
to let syllables grow
in the world of dream
and deep in my heart
I talked too much
and the words
went up in a cloud
I talked too much
and in the smoke
of language
meaning was lost
I talked too much
in an armour of arrows
and i stumbled
across my longing
where i should breathe
and walk slowly
i spilled my pain
and in the place of kisses
there is an empty space:
i talked too much.
on spiritual equality, Ursula Le Guin
Excerpts from Language of the Night
Language of the Night: Essays on Fantasy and Science Fiction is a collection of essays by Ursula K. Le Guin.
American SF and The Other
"If you deny any affinity with another person or kind of person, if you declare it to be wholly different from yourself—as men have done to women, and class has done to class, and nation has done to nation—you may hate it, or deify it; but in either case you have denied its spiritual equality, and its human reality. You have made it into a thing, to which the only possible relationship is a power relationship. And thus you have fatally improverished your own reality. You have, in fact, alienated yourself."
http://www.killian.com/earl/LanguageOfTheNight.html
http://www.killian.com/earl/LanguageOfTheNight.html
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)