beautiful song~ a song...reminds me of the Song of Solomon
Yo que tiritaba de frió
mojado por todas las lluvias
de todos los pobres
y de todos los mendigos
y tú, volcán de miel
Yo que estaba solo al fin
en medio de tanta gente
buscándote
y tú, como un bosque lleno de pájaros
Llévame oculto en tu pelo,
llévame en tu cabello,
llévame junto a tus senos,
llévame.
Repósame en tus colinas amorosas,
llámame a tu fuente
dónde el placer es húmedo
y corre gacela blanca.
Tu que conoces mi cuerpo
por todos los caminos dulces
que has trazado con tus dedos
y con tu boca.
Deja posar en ti mis ojos
cansados de luchar con tanta niebla,
heridos mis pies de tanto caer,
de tanto caer,
comeré sonrisas de tu árbol.
Friday, October 16, 2015
La memoria y el mar - Amancio Prada - Vida de artista
La marea, en el corazón,
me zarandea como un cisne.
Me muero en cada canción,
de una inocencia al aire libre.
Al fin un barco depende,
de cómo atraque en el puerto.
Mi firmamento se expande,
mil años luz, en lo incierto.
Soy el fantasma de luna,
que sale en noches de escarcha.
Para abrazarte en la bruma,
y recogerte en su marcha.
En la almadraba de julio,
lucía un atún solitario,
que parecía rezar,
con las perlas de un rosario.
Recuerda el perro de mar,
que libramos de condena.
Empeñado en enterrar
las algas sobre la arena.
Late allí también la vida,
con su pulmón de franela.
Llora el tiempo a la deriva,
frío gris que nos espera.
Me acuerdo de aquellas tardes,
corriendo sobre la espuma,
como caballos salvajes,
las caricias, una a una.
O ángel del placer perdido,
O rumor de aquella cumbre,
mi deseo y poderío
son ya nostalgia de la lumbre.
-
Diablo de las noches blancas,
en su lento amanecer.
Espada del paraíso,
en el musgo del placer.
Vuelve niña de los valles,
Vuelve violín de las parras.
al puerto donde las calles
cantan por los camaradas.
-
O raro perfume salino,
en el fuego de tu herida.
Yo iba ciego a mi destino,
como llama de amor viva.
En el lecho fronda fiera,
al final me sonreías.
El azul de una vidriera,
y tú, mi melancolía.
Las conchas de luz, espuelas,
bajo mis pies se rompían.
Parecían castañuelas,
sonando por bulerías.
Ten piedad, Dios, de la piedra,
de su signo ornamental.
Cuando el cuchillo florezca,
su pecado original.
-Yo notaba palpitante,
la vida que presentía.
Entre láminas de sangre,
de una antigua profecía.
Esa exactitud azul, sobre ese mar,
nunca en calma.
Que me devuelva la luz,
a la memoria del alma.
Ese rumor que allí brota,
ese sol que ahora me ciega.
Estas manos que están rotas,
rumiantes manos de avena.
Ese rumor me persigue,
como un mendigo anatema.
Como la sombra insiste,
en descifrar mi teorema.
Y como viento de enero,
viene a golpear a mi puerta
ese rumor callejero,
como una música muerta.
Se hundió la mar,
se acabó. La arena bala en la playa.
Como rebaño infinito, la mar pastora me llama,
como rebaño infinito, la mar pastora me llama.
Jiddu Krisnamurti, there is no knowledge of tomorrow, remarks
There is no knowledge of tomorrow
"Observation implies no accumulation of knowledge, even though knowledge is obviously necessary at a certain level: knowledge as a doctor, knowledge as a scientist, knowledge of history, of all the things that have been. After all, that is knowledge: information about the things that have been. There is no knowledge of tomorrow, only conjecture as to what might happen tomorrow, based on your knowledge of what has been. A mind that observes with knowledge is incapable of following swiftly the stream of thought. It is only by observing without the screen of knowledge that you begin to see the whole structure of your own thinking. And as you observe, which is not to condemn or accept, but simply to watch, you will find that thought comes to an end. Casually to observe an occasional thought leads nowhere, but if you observe the process of thinking and do not become an observer apart from the observed,if you see the whole movement of thought without accepting or condemning it,then that very observation puts an end immediately to thought, and therefore the mind is compassionate, it is in a state of constant mutation."
Jiddu Krishnamurti
Well..i don't mind this so very much at all.
Each intelligent human being knows that he or she knows nothing
about what really feels important to us.
in fact what happens tomorow is not at all important now.
we know that we will die, and that life is as secure as it it is insecure.
we can enjoy our journey in the full knowing
of all this much better and more truly and deeply than when we just consume
false happiness or drift around in estrangement.
this does not mean that we are not living in a story which is not only ours but the story of
mankind and of the whole universe, and within it we create our own story as much as we can:
the fascination is in the experience of the story going on, life going on and dying going on.
to create our own story "within" and not "apart" or "outside" alone and together
is the serious fun of a child playing and of children playing with each other.
all these games are very serious and from another point of view they can be quite funny.
and we need this humour and kind but enlightening self-observation as as a way of emotional intelligence :
else the fluctuation and exchange of energy may get boring, it is not a mechanical act,
and though there are rhythms, melodies and patterns they must be broken by laughter and tears.
then we are the music, then we can rise and dance and leave the ground,
the ground which we still must bless:
we walk on it.
i cannot say it more clearly or simply NOW.
~
"Observation implies no accumulation of knowledge, even though knowledge is obviously necessary at a certain level: knowledge as a doctor, knowledge as a scientist, knowledge of history, of all the things that have been. After all, that is knowledge: information about the things that have been. There is no knowledge of tomorrow, only conjecture as to what might happen tomorrow, based on your knowledge of what has been. A mind that observes with knowledge is incapable of following swiftly the stream of thought. It is only by observing without the screen of knowledge that you begin to see the whole structure of your own thinking. And as you observe, which is not to condemn or accept, but simply to watch, you will find that thought comes to an end. Casually to observe an occasional thought leads nowhere, but if you observe the process of thinking and do not become an observer apart from the observed,if you see the whole movement of thought without accepting or condemning it,then that very observation puts an end immediately to thought, and therefore the mind is compassionate, it is in a state of constant mutation."
Jiddu Krishnamurti
Well..i don't mind this so very much at all.
Each intelligent human being knows that he or she knows nothing
about what really feels important to us.
in fact what happens tomorow is not at all important now.
we know that we will die, and that life is as secure as it it is insecure.
we can enjoy our journey in the full knowing
of all this much better and more truly and deeply than when we just consume
false happiness or drift around in estrangement.
this does not mean that we are not living in a story which is not only ours but the story of
mankind and of the whole universe, and within it we create our own story as much as we can:
the fascination is in the experience of the story going on, life going on and dying going on.
to create our own story "within" and not "apart" or "outside" alone and together
is the serious fun of a child playing and of children playing with each other.
all these games are very serious and from another point of view they can be quite funny.
and we need this humour and kind but enlightening self-observation as as a way of emotional intelligence :
else the fluctuation and exchange of energy may get boring, it is not a mechanical act,
and though there are rhythms, melodies and patterns they must be broken by laughter and tears.
then we are the music, then we can rise and dance and leave the ground,
the ground which we still must bless:
we walk on it.
i cannot say it more clearly or simply NOW.
~
The Rose - Bette Midler
Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender reed
Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love, it is a hunger
An endless aching need
I say love, it is a flower
And you, its only seed
It's the heart afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking
That never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taking
Who cannot seem to give
And the soul, afraid of dyin'
That never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose
Antony Hegarty & The Johnsons - River of Sorrow (HQ) + lyrics
well, there is an obvious connection to the view and experience of soul and life,
one of many, one sad song.
all rivers flow, and they are not all dark.
not all is sorrow.
to let go into a river though is quite beautiful
in a metaphor and in life and love.
i want to build a house near a river or a lake
or maybe better rebuild one, not alone,
together, a home for the soul and
for temporary shelter:
all is temporary:
not a matter for sorrow,
all is a game however serious,
all is a story:
building together could be a story,
it will teach patience, flexibility,
fun, swearwords and good sleep.
it can lead into living well enough together
until we shall be dead.
but until then
i will be alive
and you will.
one of many, one sad song.
all rivers flow, and they are not all dark.
not all is sorrow.
to let go into a river though is quite beautiful
in a metaphor and in life and love.
i want to build a house near a river or a lake
or maybe better rebuild one, not alone,
together, a home for the soul and
for temporary shelter:
all is temporary:
not a matter for sorrow,
all is a game however serious,
all is a story:
building together could be a story,
it will teach patience, flexibility,
fun, swearwords and good sleep.
it can lead into living well enough together
until we shall be dead.
but until then
i will be alive
and you will.
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