The most sacred place dwells within our heart, where dreams are born and secrets sleep, a mystical refuge of darkness and light, fear and conquest, adventure and discovery, challenge and transformation. Our heart speaks for our soul every moment while we are alive. Listen...as the whispering beat repeats: be...gin, be...gin, be...gin. It's really that simple. Just begin... again. Royce Addington
Let me but live my life from year to year, With forward face and unreluctant soul; Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal; Not mourning for the things that disappear In the dim past, nor holding back in fear From what the future veils; but with a whole And happy heart, that pays its toll To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.
So let the way wind up the hill or down, O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy: Still seeking what I sought when but a boy, New friendship, high adventure, and a crown, My heart will keep the courage of the quest, And hope the road's last turn will be the best.
Look at the earth crowded with growth, new and old bursting from their strong roots hidden in the silent, live ground, each seed according to its own kind¦each one knowing what to do, each one demanding its own rights on the earth. So artist, you too from the depths of your soul... let your roots creep forth, gaining strength. Emily Carr
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing: And now from having ridden out desire They lie closed over in the wind and cling Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire. Robert Frost, "Blue-Butterfly Day"
The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another,until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt. Frederick Buechner
When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high - piled books, in charact'ry, Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And feel that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love;then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think, Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink
Do not keep the alabaster box of your friendship sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness. Speak approving, cheering words while their ears can hear them, and while their hearts can be thrilled and made happier. The kind of things you mean to say when they are gone, say before they go. George W. Childs
In the sheltered simplicity of the first days after a baby is born, one sees again the magical closed circle, the miraculous sense of two people existing only for each other. Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Tender words we spoke to one another are sealed in the secret vaults of heaven.
One day like rain,they will fall to earth and grow green all over the world.
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Into his nest again, I shall not live in vain. Emily Dickinson
You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life. J.Krishnamurti
Hoe de mensen, hoe deze mensen, hoe een man en een vrouw na jaren elkaar – hoe na jaren deze mensen elkaar zullen zien, harnas van vroeger over het sleets lichaam, hoe in hun botten moeheid en deceptie jaar na jaar kerven.
Hoe mensen, door afscheid op afscheid gestriemd en geslagen, het kijken verdragen in de laatste smalle kier die de tijd hen laat, in laat licht ontluisterd. Dat ligt aan de ogen; genadig wrikt tovenaar geheugen aan de deur van de tijd; ontzien in het zien (weggeblazen heupen, dood haar). Die daar staan ont- staan voor elkaar bedrieglijkerwijs in vijvers van vroeger. Zij bieden elkaar een diep water, hier.
Zo zien een man en een vrouw na jaren elkaar of niet of anders. Vuur
ENTRE sombra y espacio, entre guarniciones y doncellas, dotado de corazón singular y sueños funestos, precipitadamente pálido, marchito en la frente y con luto de viudo furioso por cada día de vida, ay, para cada agua invisible que bebo soñolientamente y de todo sonido que acojo temblando, tengo la misma sed ausente y la misma fiebre fría un oído que nace, una angustia indirecta, como si llegaran ladrones o fantasmas, y en una cáscara de extensión fija y profunda, como un camarero humillado, como una campana un poco ronca
como un espejo viejo, como un olor de casa sola en la que los huéspedes entran de noche perdidamente ebrios, y hay un olor de ropa tirada al suelo, y una ausencia de flores -posiblemente de otro modo aún menos melancólico-, pero, la verdad, de pronto, el viento que azota mi pecho, las noches de substancia infinita caídas en mi dormitorio, el ruido de un día que arde con sacrificio me piden lo profético que hay en mí, con melancolía y un golpe de objetos que llaman sin ser respondidos hay, y un movimiento sin tregua, y un nombre confuso.
We walk through half our life as if it were a fever dream barely touching the ground our eyes half open our heart half closed.
Not half knowing who we are we watch the ghost of us drift from room to room through friends and lovers never quite as real as advertised. Not saying half we mean or meaning half we say we dream ourselves from birth to birth seeking some true self.
Until the fever breaks and the heart can not abide a moment longer as the rest of us awakens, summoned from the dream, not half caring for anything but love.
Pain cannot be erased with a single waving of a hand. Rotting, settling deep within the core of the heart until it bores holes to your soul, pain imprisons your mind ruthlessly leaving you defenseless against yourself.
Obscured in darkness, festering blindly, reaching outward for signs of living in a world filled with decayed rot; soft whispers enter your head and hands lay upon you. As ache peels away you recognize, at long last, there is hope.
You are me and I am you. It is obvious that we are inter-are. You cultivate the flower in yourself so that I will be beautiful.
I transform the garbage in myself so that you do not have to suffer. I support you you support me. I am here to bring you peace you are here to bring me joy.
With stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right That music of my nature, day and night With dream and thought and feeling interwound
And inly answering all the senses round With octaves of a mystic depth and height Which step out grandly to the infinite From the dark edges of the sensual ground.
This song of soul I struggle to outbear Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole, And utter all myself into the air: But if I did it,--as the thunder-roll Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there, Before that dread apocalypse of soul.
To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best day and night to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight and never stop fighting. E.E. Cummings
House by the Side of the Road Sam Walter Foss Music: Secret Garden:Sometimes When it Rains
There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content; There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths Where highways never ran- But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by- The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner's seat Nor hurl the cynic's ban- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road By the side of the highway of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the strife, But I turn not away from their smiles and tears, Both parts of an infinite plan- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead, And mountains of wearisome height; That the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice And weep with the strangers that moan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by- They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish - so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
A Portrait With A Soul Bertrand Russel
Three passions have governed my life: The longings for love, the search for knowledge, And unbearable pity for the suffering of humankind.
Love brings ecstasy and relieves loneliness. In the union of love I have seen In a mystic miniature the prefiguring vision Of the heavens that saints and poets have imagined.
With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of people. I have wished to know why the stars shine.
Love and knowledge led upwards to the heavens, But always pity brought me back to earth; Cries of pain reverberated in my heart Of children in famine, of victims tortured And of old people left helpless.
I long to alleviate the evil, but I cannot, And I too suffer. This has been my life; I found it worth living.
Children's Eyes By Tom Krause
What kind of world is it my friend the little children see? I wonder if they see God first because they just believe?
Do they see strength in caring eyes who watch them as they play-- or maybe love through gentle hands that guide them on their way?
Do you think they dream of future times when they would be king-- or just enjoy their present life while with their friends they sing?
Do they see the acts of kindness done for people who are poor? Is the very best in everyone what they are looking for?
And when the day is over, as they close their eyes to sleep, do they look forward to tomorrow with its promises to keep?
If this is what the children see, then it should be no surprise, the world would be a better place if we all had children's eyes.
Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing Ever made by the Hand above? A woman's heart, and a woman's life--- And a woman's wonderful love. Do you know you have asked for this priceless thing As a child might ask for a toy? Demanding what others have died to win, With a reckless dash of boy.
You have written my lesson of duty out, Manlike, you have questioned me. Now stand at the bars of my woman's soul Until I shall question thee. You require your mutton shall always be hot, Your socks and your shirt be whole; I require your heart be true as God's stars And as pure as His heaven your soul.
You require a cook for your mutton and beef, I require a far greater thing; A seamstress you're wanting for socks and shirts--- I look for a man and a king. A king for the beautiful realm called Home, And a man that his Maker, God, Shall look upon as He did on the first And say: "It is very good."
I am fair and young, but the rose may fade From this soft young cheek one day; Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves, As you did 'mong the blossoms of May? Is your heart an ocean so strong and true, I may launch my all on its tide? A loving woman finds heaven or hell On the day she is made a bride.
I require all things that are grand and true, All things that a man should be; If you give this all, I would stake my life To be all you demand of me. If you cannot be this, a laundress and cook You can hire and little to pay; But a woman's heart and a woman's life Are not to be won that way.
Borders are scratched across the hearts of men By strangers with a calm, judicial pen, And when the borders bleed we watch with dread The lines of ink across the map turn red. Marya Mannes, Subverse: Rhymes for Our Times
I think that one's art is a growth inside one. I do not think one can explain growth. It is silent and subtle. One does not keep digging up a plant to see how it grows. Emily Carr