A brief moment...

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

*

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care

Teach us to sit still.

*

This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply.

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

T.S. Eliot: Ash Wednesday (fragments)

'The still, sad music of humanity'

The title of this post is a verse from William Wordsworth's poem: Music of Nature and Mind.

***

Spring rain (III)

Come and quench my thirst

Come, just come in this white balcony 

I have saved you the best place

It is everywhere, all around, just come

Wounded or happy, force me to accept the light of this day.

  
May is the month of tulips.

There is music, unheard by others, in my white space

And no dawn but a never-ending white day.

Your waters are deep.

I will show you the way to the ocean.

There is no use for language.

Come and quench my thirst for you.

They say

They say

Love grows

When the fear of death

Looms.

They say

Courage looms

When the fear

Of never loving again

Disappears

In the smell of the enemy

Who crushes us so much

We can only fight.

Love and courage grow together

When the flesh is rawest

And the spirit charged

And distorted within the nightmare

We see the possibility

Of a future.

(Ben Okri: They Say)

My red spring butterflies

Clipa cea lentă

Ceraselei, cu drag, unul din locurile în care ne odihnim împreună.

Night-blooming flowers