Tuesday, 26 August 2014

'we all arrive by different streets, by unequal languages, at silence.' (Neruda)


'there isn’t anything in this world but mad love. not in this world. no tame love, calm love, mild love, no so-so love. and of course, no reasonable love. also there are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. but, who wants easier? we dream of love, we moon about it, thinking of romeo and juliet, or tristan, or the lost queen rushing away over the irish sea, all doom and splendour. today, on the beach, an old man was sitting in the sun. i called out to him, and he turned. his face was like an empty pot. i remember his tall, pale wife; she died long ago. i remember his daughter-in-law. when she died, hard, and too young, he wept in the streets. he picked up pieces of wood, and stones, and anything else that was there, and threw them at the sea. oh, how he loved his wife. oh, how he loved young barbara. i stood in front of him, not expecting any answer yet not wanting to pass without some greeting. but his face had gone back to whatever he was dreaming. something touched, me lightly, like a knife-blade. i felt i was bleeding, though just a little, a hint. 

(mary oliver ~'march, in white pine')

Tuesday, 12 August 2014

only

because of how you express yourself and how I understand your persona, there is a lingering effect, as if your presence were tangible in essence, aesthetic emotional affinity. It is and must remain abstract and yet I also am glad to know that such an experience is indeed about someone, not only a ghost, cause of imagination. And I wish you well in all your days, a wondrous unfolding of magic and light, caress of the earth in gentle shadows of lush hidden embrace. There is nowhere to return from, the past must race ahead and disappear. There is nowhere to arrive, the future is breath in all moments now made real. Eternity, our shared state of emotional freedom, the animal is naked: our worlds begin and end in love. (Seven Nova)



photo - Edyta Pekala