All day and night, music,
a quiet, bright
reedsong. If it
fades, we fade.
(Rumi)
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Things I should know
- Cristina
- Starea ta naturala (perfecţiunea) nu este nici entuziasmul, nici descurajarea. Starea ta naturală este liniştea. * Iubirea musei nu e pasională, e totală. Musa cunoaşte ceva asemănător adoraţiei, dar mai adânc, mai liniştit. Vă scriu din altă lume... * (Gellu Naum: Calea Şearpelui)
how lovely and mysterious! what is it? :-) water, i assume?
ReplyDeleteDear Cris,
ReplyDeleteI always try to imagine what you are going to post next, but I never guess the texture, the colour... You Merlin me all the time!
Wonderful! Who would have thought that reeds go ablaze when singing! And the water so close to catch their glimmer, so limpid to absorb their rhythm. Reeds whirling around, dancing on water dances of fire, mystical, orgiastic, in a frenzy of color. Spires of passion, spanning the pond as if rows of churches bent and fell under water.
If Reeds sing, can God be far behind?
cat de luminos picura aceasta lumina calma in mine,draga mea,serpuirile aduc cu ele unduirea din visul nostru,nu,si asa se gaseste,in intuneric,calea aratata de o torta cu tot focul lumii in ea
ReplyDeleteyes, R. it is water.
ReplyDeleteBachelardian water.
:-)
Dear A.,
ReplyDeleteLet’s hope I won’t get lost in those mists of Avalon. :-)
God is never far behind, I reckon. Isn’t everything we do our quest for God? Doesn’t our need for beauty/love bring us a step closer to God?
You have guessed my passion for water and how I associate it with the myth of Tristan and Iseult. There is a line in Bedier's version of the myth that has been hunting me for some years now. It is from the last scene, in which Queen Iseult, Iseult the Fair, landing from her ship, dashes to find Tristan dying in the arms of the other Iseult, Iseult of the White Hands.
'She went up to the palace, following the way, and her cloak was random and wild...'
I think I thought of it when I made the post.
oh, draga mea cerasela,
ReplyDeletestim amandoua ca nici un intuneric nu este fara lumina in el, fara torta sau fara cale. iar tu stii asta mult mai bine ca mine.
Frumos. Au un calm emoționat care se pierde în alt calm care la rândul lui se pierde în altul, un infinit de calmuri
ReplyDelete