bored blogger from Paris airport

I missed my flight, arrived too late from Aberdeen. Waiting to go to Stuttgart. Good to read T.S.Eliot in the net. Good to have a credit card.
Mildly good to enjoy the luxury of boredom for some rare hours. I can't complain.

When I close my eyes I see these other eyes. I see the falcon losing its tracks in the wide and high skies over the Kasakh steppes, far away hills rolling under distant clouds, smoke from fireplaces rising in fading spirals. I hear the cry of the falcon, the murmuring swell of the long grass, and I feel the clear water cool on my forehead as it flows towards me out of your eyes.

I close mine, and I let go.

I have never been to Kazakhstan.

T.S.Eliot, "East Coker"

Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.


My last post from Aberdeen, today from Fraserburgh, Scotland,UK.
To give you a push forward!

In our rhythm

In our rhythm of daily life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.
We are children quickly tired: children who are up in the night and fall asleep as the rocket is fired; and the day is long for work and play.
We tire of distraction or concentration, we sleep and are glad to sleep,
Controlled by the rhythm of blood and the day and the night and the seasons.
And we must extinguish the candle, put out the light and relight it;
forever must quench, forever relight the flame.

T.S. Eliot

(Choruses from "The Rock")

A family of ghosts