by The Sea
When I look at the sea,
James Dillet Freeman
there well Sometimes into my mind
Deep thoughts too dear to tell
In words too hard to find.
I stand on the shore and stare,
But the deeps that are the sea
Speak not of deeps out there,
But of the deeps in me.
Then the sea may break on my ear
And tumble and toss in my eyes,
But the deeps I see and hear
Did not on this shore rise.
From the glow of enthusiasm I let the melody escape. I pursue it.
Breathless I catch up with it. It flies again, it disappears, it
plunges into a chaos of diverse emotions. I catch it again, I seize
it, I embrace it with delight... I multiply it by modulations, and at
last I triumph in the first theme. There is the whole symphony.
Ludwig Van Beethoven
leonid Afremov Art
To Autumn
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stainèd
The spirits of the air live on the smells
by William Blake
(1757-1827)
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
`The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
I am praying again, Awesome One.
You hear me again, as words
Rainer Maria Rilke
from the depths of me
rush toward you in the wind.
I've been scattered in pieces,
torn by conflict,
mocked by laughter,
washed down by drink.
In alleyways I sweep myself up
out of garbage and broken glass.
With my half-mouth I stammer you,
who are eternal in your symmetry.
I lift to you my half-hands
in wordless beseeching, that I may find again
the eyes with which I once beheld you.
I am a house gutted by fire
where only the guilty sometimes sleep
before the punishment that devours them
hounds them out into the open.
I am a city by the sea
sinking into a toxic tide,
I am strange to myself, as though someone unknown
had poisoned my mother as she carried me.
here in all the pieces of my shame
that now I find myself again,
I yearn to belong to something, to be contained
in an all-embracing mind that sees me
as a single thing.
I yearn to be held
in the great hands of your heart -
oh let them take me now.
Into them I place these fragments, my life,
and you, God - spend them however you want.
Enlarge my heart, God,
Enlarge, my heart, God,
Let no one be thought
Let none be thought
Let me say to each with Thee,
George Appleton
to the dimensions of your heart,
O limitless Love.
Let nothing be thought
common or unclean
which thou hast cleansed.
too exalted, so that
I only respect
but do not love.
Let nobody be regarded
as too humble, so that
I patronise or despise.
as of little value
and written off,
for each is dear to Thee
with his own potential
and his own hope
and his own heartbreak.
"O man greatly beloved"
infinitely and eternally
dear to Thee.
O Lord Love,
enlarge my heart
to the dimension of Thine.
Accept me, my lord, accept me for this while.
I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew me
Do not turn away thy face from my heart's dark secrets,
but burn them till they are alight with thy fire.
Let those orphaned days that passed without thee
be forgotten.
Only spread this little moment wide across thy lap,
holding it under thy light.
yet led me nowhere.
Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words in
the soul of my silence.
Rabindranath Tagore
Wlliam henry Margetson Art
A Prayer For Courage
Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers,
Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved,
Rabindranath Tagore
But to be fearless in facing them.
Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain,
But for the heart to conquer it.
Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield,
But to my own strength.
But hope for the patience to win my freedom.
Grant me that I may not be a coward,
feeling your mercy in my success alone,
But let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure.
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For most of life, nothing wonderful happens. If you don't enjoy getting up and working and finishing your work and sitting down to a meal with family or friends, then the chances are that you're not going to be very happy. If someone bases his happiness or unhappiness on major events like a great new job, huge amounts of money, a flawlessly happy marriage or a trip to Paris, that person isn't going to be happy much of the time. If, on the other hand, happiness depends on a good breakfast, flowers in the yard, a drink or a nap, then we are more likely to live with quite a bit of happiness.
Andy Rooney
No one lives on the top of the mountain. It’s fine to go there occasionally —for inspiration, for new perspectives. But you have to come down. Life is lived in the valleys. That’s where the farms and gardens and orchards are, and where the plowing and the work is done. That’s where you apply the visions you may have glimpsed from the peaks.
Arthur Gordon
No one feels another's grief, no one understands another's joy.
People imagine that they can reach one another. In reality they
only pass each other by.
Wouldn't it be much worse if life really were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us happen because we really deserve them?
truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering the more you suffer because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you in proportion to your fear of being hurt.
Franz Schubert
J Michael Straczynski.
Thomas Merton
Tea is an act complete in its simplicity.
There are no worries about the future.
I inhale the scent, tiny delicate pieces of the tea floating above the cup.
this is the act of life, in one pure moment, and in this act the truth of the world suddenly becomes revealed: all the complexity, pain, drama of life is a pretense, invented in our minds for no good purpose.
there is only the tea, and me, converging.
When I drink tea, there is only me and the tea.
The rest of the world dissolves.
No dwelling on past mistakes.
Tea is simple: loose-leaf tea, hot pure water, a cup.
I drink the tea, the essence of the leaves becoming a part of me.
I am informed by the tea, changed.
Thich Nhat Hanh
The First Jasmines
Ah, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of a road in the
On grey mornings of rain I have crooned many an idle song.
Rabindranath Tagore
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands with
these jasmines, these white jasmines.
I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river thorough the
darkness of midnight;
lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
that I held in my hands when I was a child.
Many a glad day has come in my life, and I have laughed with
merrymakers on festival nights.
I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of bakulas
woven by the hand of love.
Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh
jasmines that filled my hands when I was a child.
V.xxiv. "I picked this flower for you on the hilltop…"
I picked this flower for you on the hilltop.
The original poem in French
J'ai cueilli cette fleur pour toi sur la colline.
Victor Hugo
From Les Contemplations (1856)
In the steep scarp that overhangs the tide,
Which only eagles know and only they can reach,
Calmly she grew on the rock's creviced side.
Darkness was bathing all the slopes of the bleak promontory.
In the place where the sun was going down,
I could see— as a roseate triumphal
Arch is raised up in some victorious town—
The somber night erecting a portico of clouds.
Some miniature and distant sails sped by;
A few roofs, lit up in the bottom of a hollow,
Looked half afraid to glint and catch the eye.
I picked this flower there for you, my love—
Pale-colored, and the petals have no scent;
Her root could take in nothing, on those mountains,
Except the green weed's acrid effluent.
"Poor flower," I said, "from the height of this summit
You would have passed into that gaping pit
With the massed clouds, the sailing-ships and seaweed.
Die in a gulf even more infinite;
Fade on a heart in which a world is fluttering.
You were to drop your blossoms in the spray:
For Ocean heaven made you; but to Love I send you."
The wind mingled the swell; nothing of day
Was left beyond a vague gleam, slowly vanishing.
Sad indeed were my reveries, sad and stark,
While I stood dreaming there; the whole black chasm
Entered my soul with every chill of dark.
V.xxiv. "J'ai cueilli cette fleur pour toi sur la colline…"
Victor Hugo
Dans l'âpre escarpement qui sur le flot s'incline,
Que l'aigle connaît seul et peut seul approcher,
Paisible, elle croissait aux fentes du rocher.
L'ombre baignait les flancs du morne promontoire:
Je voyais, comme on dresse au lieu d'une victoire
Un grand arc de triomphe éclatant et vermeil,
A l'endroit où s'était englouti le soleil,
La sombre nuit bâtir un porche de nuées.
Des voiles s'enfuyaient, au loin diminuées;
Quelques toits, s'éclairant au fond d'un entonnoir,
Semblaient craindre de luire et de se laisser voir.
J'ai cueilli cette fleur pour toi, ma bien-aimée.
Elle est pâle, et n'a pas de corolle embaumée,
Sa racine n'a pris sur la crête des monts
Que l'amère senteur des glauques goëmons;
Moi, j'ai dit: Pauvre fleur, du haut de cette cime,
Tu devrais t'en aller dans cet immense abîme
Où l'algue et le nuage et les voiles s'en vont.
Va mourir sur un cœur, abîme plus profond.
Fane-toi sur ce sein en qui palpite un monde.
Le ciel, qui te créa pour t'effeuiller dans l'onde,
Te fit pour l'océan, je te donne à l'amour.—
Le vent mêlait les flots; il ne restait du jour
Qu'une vague lueur, lentement effacée.
Oh! comme j'étais triste au fond de ma pensée
Tandis que je songeais, et que le gouffre noir
M'entrait dans l'âme avec tous les frissons de soir!
One cannot give what he does not possess.
One cannot teach what he does not understand.
One cannot know what he does not study.
One cannot appreciate what he does not
One cannot have doubt about that which he
One cannot admit what he does not yield to.
One cannot live what he does not dedicate himself to.
To dedicate yourself to love you must be forever growing in love.
To give love you must possess love.
To teach love, you must comprehend love.
To study love, you must live in love.
recognize. To recognize love you must
be receptive to love.
wishes to trust. To trust love you must be
convinced of love.
To yield to love you must be vulnerable to love.
Leo F. Buscaglia
Man has not yet learned to work for the joy of work, learn for the sake of growth, create for the expression and the exaltation in the act, or to love simply for the pleasure of loving: he still requires a reward. Until a man learns to do these things, hope will have to be his basic motivating force. In work, he'll require more wages and better titles; in knowledge, he'll require degrees and diplomas; in creativity, he'll require recognition; in love, he'll require assurance. Until he appreciates that each of these are their own reward, he'll need hope as his crutch. There is nothing wrong with hope; it is simply the second best thing. For love goes beyond hope. Hope is a beginning. Love is forever.
Leo F. Buscaglia
Vladimir Volegov painting
He must also know evil, hate and bigotry as real phenomena, but he must see love as the greater force. He must not doubt this even for a moment or he is lost. His only salvation is to dedicate himself to love, in the same fashion as Gandhi did to militant nonviolence, as Socrates to truth, as Jesus did to love and as More did to integrity. Only then will he have the strength to combat the forces of doubt, confusion and contradiction. He can depend upon no one or no thing for reinforcement and assurance but himself.
Loving yourself involves the discovery of the true wonder of you; not only the present you, but the many possibilities of you. It involves the continual realization that you are unique, like no other person in the world, that life is, or should be, the discovery, the development and the sharing of this uniqueness.
Leo F. Buscaglia
Leo F. Buscaglia
Love is trusting, accepting and believing, without guarantee. Love is patient and waits, but it's an active waiting, not a passive one. For it is continually offering itself in a mutual revealing, a mutual sharing, Love is spontaneous and craves expression through joy, through beauty, through truth, even through tears. Love lives in the moment; it's neither lost in yesterday nor does it crave for tomorrow. Love is Now!
leo Buscaglia
The majority of us lead quiet, unheralded lives as we pass through this world. There will most likely be no ticker-tape parades for us, no monuments created in our honor. But that does not lessen our possible impact, for there are scores of people waiting for someone just like us to come along; people who will appreciate our compassion, our unique talents. Someone who will live a happier life merely because we took the time to share what we had to give. Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have a potential to turn a life around. It's overwhelming to consider the continuous opportunities there are to make our love felt.
Leo F. Buscaglia
Show Me The Meaning Of Being Lonely Lyrics
So many words for the broken heart
Show me the meaning of being lonely
Life goes on as it never ends
Show me the meaning of being lonely
Theres nowhere to run
You are missing in my heart
Backstreet Boys
Its hard to see in a crimson love
So hard to breathe
Walk with me, and maybe
Nights of light so soon become
Wild and free I could feel the sun
Your every wish will be done
They tell me...
Is this the feeling I need to walk with
Tell me why I can't be there where you are
There's something missing in my heart
Eyes of stone observe the trends
They never say forever gaze
Guilty roads to an endless love
There's no control
Are you with me now
Your every wish will be done
They tell me
Is this the feeling I need to walk with
Tell me why I can't be there where you are
There's something missing in my heart
I have no place to go
Surrender my heart, body and soul
How can it be
you're asking me
to feel the things you never show?
Tell me why I can't be there where you are
Show me the meaning of being lonely
Is this the feeling I need to walk with
Tell me why I can't be there where you are
There's something missing in my heart
The people in the world, and the objects in it, and the world as a whole, are not absolute things, but on the contrary, are the phenomena of perception... If we were all alike: if we were millions of people saying do, re, mi, in unison, One poet would be enough... But we are not alone, and everything needs expounding all the time because, as people live and die, each one perceiving life and death for himself, and mostly by and in himself, there develops a curiosity about the perceptions of others. This is what makes it possible to go on saying new things about old things.
Wallace Stevens
Tea At The Palaz Of Hoon
Not less because in purple I descended
What was the ointment sprinkled on my beard?
Out of my mind the golden ointment rained,
I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw
Wallace Stevens
The western day through what you called
The loneliest air, not less was I myself.
What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears?
What was the sea whose tide swept through me there?
And my ears made the blowing hymns they heard.
I was myself the compass of that sea:
Or heard or felt came not but from myself;
And there I found myself more truly and more strange.
A Brave and Startling Truth
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
And when we come to it
we come to it
When the rapacious storming of the churches
we come to it
When we come to it
Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
When we come to it
We,this people, on this small and drifting planet
When we come to it
When we come to it
Maya Angelou
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
