With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead.But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start. Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of nonfeeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out. To learn and think: to think and live; to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
One day a father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the country with the firm purpose of showing his son how poor people can be. They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family. On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, "How was the trip?"
It was great, Dad."
"Did you see how poor people can be?" the father asked.
"Oh Yeah" said the son.
"So what did you learn from the trip?" asked the father.
The son answered, "I saw that we have one dog and they had four. We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and theyhave a creek that has no end. We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night. Our patio reachesto the front yard and they have the whole horizon. We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyondour sight. We have servants who serve us, but they serve others. We buy our food, but they grow theirs. We have walls around our property to protect us, they have friends to protect them." With this, the boy's father was speechless. Then his son added, "Thanks dad for showing me how poor we are."
Too many times we forget what we have and concentrate on what we don't have. What is one's persons worthless object is another's prize possession. It is all based on one's perspective. Makes you wonder what would happen if we all gave thanks for all the bounty we have instead of worrying about wanting more. Take joy in all we have, especially our friends and family.
I am! The ages on the ages roll: And what I am, I was, and I shall be: by slow growth filling higher Destiny, And Widening, ever, to the widening Goal. I am the Stone that slept; down deep in me That old, old sleep has left its centurine trace; I am the plant that dreamed; and lo! still see That dream-life dwelling on the Human Face.
I slept, I dreamed, I wakened: I am Man! The hut grows Palaces; the depths breed light; Still on! Forms pass; but Form yields kinglier Might! The singer, dying where his song began, In Me yet lives; and yet again shall he Unseal the lips of greater songs To Be; For mine the thousand tongues of Immortality.
To pull the metal splinter from my palm my father recited a story in a low voice. I watched his lovely face and not the blade. Before the story ended, he'd removed the iron sliver I thought I'd die from.
I can't remember the tale, but hear his voice still, a well of dark water, a prayer. And I recall his hands, two measures of tenderness he laid against my face, the flames of discipline he raised above my head.
Had you entered that afternoon you would have thought you saw a man planting something in a boy's palm, a silver tear, a tiny flame. Had you followed that boy you would have arrived here, where I bend over my wife's right hand.
Look how I shave her thumbnail down so carefully she feels no pain. Watch as I lift the splinter out. I was seven when my father took my hand like this, and I did not hold that shard between my fingers and think, Metal that will bury me, christen it Little Assassin, Ore Going Deep for My Heart. And I did not lift up my wound and cry, Death visited here! I did what a child does when he's given something to keep. I kissed my father.
If winter is slumber and spring is birth, and summer is life, then autumn rounds out to be reflection. It's a time of year when the leaves are down and the harvest is in and the perennials are gone. Mother Earth just closed up the drapes on another year and it's time to reflect on what's come before. Mitchell Burgess
"You can either dwell and stay stuck, or let go and feel free. Give yourself space to fill with good feelings about the beautiful day in front of you and the beautiful tomorrow you are now creating."
Drei Worte nenn ich euch, inhaltschwer, Sie gehen von Munde zu Munde, Doch stammen sie nicht von außen her, Das Herz nur gibt davon Kunde, Dem Menschen ist aller Wert geraubt, Wenn er nicht mehr an die drei Worte glaubt.
Der Mensch ist frei geschaffen, ist frei, Und würd er in Ketten geboren, Laßt euch nicht irren des Pöbels Geschrei, Nicht den Mißbrauch rasender Toren, Vor dem Sklaven, wenn er die Kette bricht, Vor dem freien Menschen erzittert nicht.
Und die Tugend, sie ist kein leerer Schall, Der Mensch kann sie üben im Leben, Und sollt er auch straucheln überall, Er kann nach der göttlichen streben, Und was kein Verstand der Verständigen sieht, Das übet in Einfalt ein kindlich Gemüt.
Und ein Gott ist, ein heiliger Wille lebt, Wie auch der menschliche wanke, Hoch über der Zeit und dem Raume webt Lebendig der höchste Gedanke, Und ob alles in ewigem Wechsel kreist, Es beharret im Wechsel ein ruhiger Geist.
Die drei Worte bewahret euch, inhaltschwer, Sie pflanzet von Munde zu Munde, Und stammen sie gleich nicht von außen her, Euer Innres gibt davon Kunde, Dem Menschen ist nimmer sein Wert geraubt, So lang er noch an die drei Worte glaubt.
"Wer möchte sich an Schattenbildern weiden, Die mit erborgtem Schein das Wesen überkleiden, Mit trügrischem Besitz die Hoffnung hintergehn? Entblößt will ich die Wahrheit sehn. Soll gleich mit meinem Wahn mein ganzer Himmel schwinden, Soll gleich den freien Geist, den der erhabne Flug Ins grenzenlose Reich der Möglichkeiten trug, Die Gegenwart mit strengen Fesseln binden, Er lernt sich selber überwinden, Ihn wird das heilige Gebot Der Pflicht, das furchtbare der Not Nur desto unterwürf'ger finden, Wer schon der Wahrheit milde Herrschaft scheut, Wie trägt er die Notwendigkeit?" -
So rufst du aus und blickst, mein strenger Freund, Aus der Erfahrung sichrem Porte, Verwerfend hin auf alles, was nur scheint. Erschreckt von deinem ernsten Worte Entflieht der Liebesgötter Schar, Der Musen Spiel verstummt, er ruhn der Horen Tänze, Still trauernd nehmen ihre Kränze Die Schwestergöttinnen vom schön gelockten Haar, Apoll zerbricht die goldne Leier, Und Hermes seinen Wanderstab, Des Traumes rosenfarbner Schleier Fällt von des Lebens bleichem Antlitz ab, Die Welt scheint was sie ist, ein Grab.
Von seinen Augen nimmt die zauberische Binde Cytherens Sohn, die Liebe sieht, Sie sieht in ihrem Götterkinde Den Sterblichen, erschrickt und flieht, Der Schönheit Jugendbild veraltet, Auf deinen Lippen selbst erkaltet Der Liebe Kuß und in der Freude Schwung Ergreift dich die Versteinerung.
The Poetry Of Life by Friedrich von Schiller (1759-1805) The original version in German (Die Poesie des lebens) Music:
Romantic Guitar: Concierto De Aranjuez Joaquín Rodrigo
"Who would himself with shadows entertain, Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain, Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true?-- Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned-- Though the free-pinioned soul that once could dwell In the large empire of the possible, This workday life with iron chains may bind, Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find, And solemn duty to our acts decreed, Meets us thus tutored in the hour of need, With a more sober and submissive mind! How front necessity--yet bid thy youth Shun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, truth." So speakest thou, friend, how stronger far than I; As from experience--that sure port serene-- Thou lookest;--and straight, a coldness wraps the sky, The summer glory withers from the scene, Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly, The godlike images that seemed so fair! Silent the playful Muse--the rosy hours Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers Fall from the sister-graces' waving hair. Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his golden lyre, Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;-- The veil, rose-woven, by the young desire With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of life. The world seems what it is--a grave! and love Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above, And sees!--He sees but images of clay Where he dreamed gods; and sighs--and glides away. The youngness of the beautiful grows old, And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold; And in the crowd of joys--upon thy throne Thou sittest in state, and hardenest into stone.
The Words Of Belief Friedrich von Schiller The original version in German (Die Worte des Glaubens)
Three words will I name thee--around and about, From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; But they had not their birth in the being without, And the heart, not the lip, must their oracle be! And all worth in the man shall forever be o'er When in those three words he believes no more.
Man is made free!--Man by birthright is free, Though the tyrant may deem him but born for his tool. Whatever the shout of the rabble may be-- Whatever the ranting misuse of the fool-- Still fear not the slave, when he breaks from his chain, For the man made a freeman grows safe in his gain.
And virtue is more than a shade or a sound, And man may her voice, in this being, obey; And though ever he slip on the stony ground, Yet ever again to the godlike way, To the science of good though the wise may be blind, Yet the practice is plain to the childlike mind.
And a God there is!--over space, over time, While the human will rocks, like a reed, to and fro, Lives the will of the holy--a purpose sublime, A thought woven over creation below; Changing and shifting the all we inherit, But changeless through all one immutable spirit
Hold fast the three words of belief--though about From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; Yet they take not their birth from the being without-- But a voice from within must their oracle be; And never all worth in the man can be o'er, Till in those three words he believes no more.
Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, in years that bring the philosophic mind. William Wordsworth
Lift ev'ry voice and sing, Till earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of Liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the list'ning skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won.
Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chast'ning rod, Felt in the days when hope unborn had died; Yet with a steady beat, Have not our weary feet Come to the place for which our fathers sighed? We have come over a way that with tears has been watered. We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered, Out from the gloomy past, Till now we stand at last Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way; Thou who hast by Thy might, Led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray. Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee, Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee; Shadowed beneath Thy hand, May we forever stand, True to our God, True to our native land.
Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamer, Bring me all your Heart melodies That I may wrap them In a blue cloud-cloth Away from the too-rough fingers Of the world.
Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, in years that bring the philosophic mind. William Wordsworth
>The winds of the globe have two great orchestras to conduct: the waters and the trees. The winds know their instruments, know their possibilities. Man has created his own music, built upon mathematically regulated intervals between air vibrations of different frequencies within the narrow spectrum of sound that man's auditory nerves are able to apprehend. ... But his music is only a reflection of nature's. One who has preserved the ability to listen will be filled with a sense of the timelessness in the symphonies of the winds, the waters, and the woods. Even mightier than now, they rushed over the earth long before man entered upon the scene. They will resound, more subdued, in diminuendo, long after humankind has made its exit. Rolf Edberg, "At the Foot of the Tree"
If I supply you with a thought, you may remember it and you may not. But if I can make you think a thought for yourself, I have indeed added to your stature. Elbert Hubbard
There is an exquisite melody in every heart. If we listen closely,we can hear each other’s song. Friends know the song in your heartand respond with beautiful harmony. They learn your heart-song so well they can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words.
There is something feeble and a little contemptible about a man who cannot face the perils of life without the help of comfortable myths. Almost inevitably some part of him is aware that they are myths and that he believes them only because they are comforting. But he dare not face this thought! Moreover, since he is aware, however dimly, that his opinions are not rational, he becomes furious when they are disputed.” Bertrand Russell, Human Society in Ethics and Politics
Words are deeds. The words we hear May revolutionize or rear A mighty state. The words we read May be a spiritual deed Excelling any fleshly one, As much as the celestial sun Transcends a bonfire, made to throw A light upon some raree-show.
A simple proverb tagged with rhyme May colour half the course of time; The pregnant saying of a sage May influence every coming age; A song in its effects may be More glorious than Thermopylae, And many a lay that schoolboys scan A nobler feat than Inkerman.
The Gratitude of Friendship Oliver O. Mbamara Art by Steve Hanks
Many moments pass in life, Some we joyfully remember Others we choose to leave behind. Grateful are we when our memories Are blessed with blissful moments Of love, peace, and affection. Loved are we when in affection Our hearts are gladly kindled, Stirred by loving friendship From those we come to meet, Whose presence spark in us That Light and Sound Divine Reminding us once again The true essence of who we are; Beings of love and affection Existing because of God’s love Here on earth to learn and share To renew and regain our identity; Sparks of God! Grateful Souls! Loving beings! The Eye of Soul By Oliver O. Mbamara Art by daniel F.Gerhartz
I judge you not by what you wear, Whether your garment is of rag or riches, Or your skin is of a color white or black, Whether you wear some gold or trinkets, Or decorate yourself with stones and diamonds, I see you with the eye of Soul. I know you, for who you are inside of you, Not for your smiles, for smiles could be false, Not for your looks, for looks could deceive, Not for your appearance, for that won’t last, And not for your clothes, for that only covers. I see you with the eye of Soul. I am a friend to that you inside of you, Indifferent to your dose of limitations, Forgiving to your human flaws of character Unyielding to rumors and gossips about you For the eye within sees even more, I see you with the eye of Soul. To a Friend Amy Lowell I ask but one thing of you, only one, That always you will be my dream of you; That never shall I wake to find untrue All this I have believed and rested on, Forever vanished, like a vision gone Out into the night. Alas, how few There are who strike in us a chord we knew Existed, but so seldom heard its tone We tremble at the half-forgotten sound. The world is full of rude awakenings And heaven-born castles shattered to the ground, Yet still our human longing vainly clings To a belief in beauty through all wrongs. O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs!
Saturate your thoughts with peaceful experiences, peaceful words and ideas,and ultimately you will have a storehouse of peace-producing experiences to which you may turn for refreshment and renewal of your spirit. Norman Vincent Peale
Surely there is grandeur in knowing that in the realm of thought, at least, you are without a chain; that you have the right to explore all heights and depth; that there are no walls nor fences, nor prohibited places, nor sacred corners in all the vast expanse of thought...” Robert Green Ingersoll
Is anybody happier because you passed his way? Anonymous
Is anybody happier because you passed his way? Does anyone remember that you spoke to him today? The day is almost over, and its toiling time is through; Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you?
Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that's slipping fast, That you helped a single brother of the many that passed?
Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said; Does the man whose hopes were fading, now with courage look ahead?
Did you waste the day, or lose it? Was it well or sorely spent? Did you leave a trail of kindness, or a scar of discontent?
As you close your eyes in slumber, do you think that God will say, "You have earned one more tomorrow by the work you did today".
For once on the face of the earth let’s not speak in any language Let’s stop for one second and not move our arms so much. It would be an exotic moment without rush, without engines. We would all be together in a sudden strangeness. Fisherman in the cold sea would not harm whales And the man gathering salt would look at his hurt hands. Those who prepare green wars, wars with gas, wars with fire, Victory with no survivors Would put on clean clothes and walk about with their brothers in the shade doing nothing. What I want should not be confused with total inactivity, Life is what it is about. I want no truck with death. If we were not so single minded about keeping our lives moving, And for once could do nothing, Perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves And of threatening ourselves with death. Perhaps the earth can teach us when everything seems dead and later proves to be alive.
