ShivAllahSita sutra 45

[Guest guest]

Here I love you. In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.The

moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.Days, all one kind,

go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.A silver gull slips down from the

west.Sometimes a sail. High, high stars. Oh the black cross of a

ship.Alone.

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.Far away the sea

sounds and resounds.This is a port.

Here I love you.Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.I

love you still among these cold things.Sometimes my kisses go on

those heavy vesselsthat cross the sea towards no arrival...

The night is shattered And blue stars shiver in the distance.

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

~Pablo Neruda

 

....I saw a moon halo, the first since I've been here. I had remarked

inwardly that the moon seemed almost unnaturally bright, but thought

no more about it until something - perhaps a subtle change in the

quality of moonlight - fetched my my attention back to the sky. When

I glanced up, a haze was spreading over the moon's face; and, as I

watched, a system of luminous circles formed themselves gracefully

around it. Almost instantly the moon was wholly surrounded by

concentric bands of color, and the effect was as if a rainbow had

been looped around a huge silver coin. Apple-green was the color of

the wide outer band, whose diameter, I estimated, was nineteen times

that of the moon itself. The effect lasted only five minutes or so.

Then the colors drained from the moon, as they do from a rainbow; and

almost simultaneously a dozen massive streamers of crimson-stained

aurora, laced together with blackish stripes, seemed to leap straight

out from the moon's brow. Then they, too, vanished.

~Richard E. Byrd, "Alone"

 

If your eyes were not the colour of the moon, Of a day full of clay,

and work, and fire,If even held-in you did not move in agile grace

like the air,If you were not an amber week,

Not the yellow momentWhen autumn climbs up through the vines;If you

were not that bread the fragrant moonKneads, sprinkling its flour

across the sky...

Oh, my dearest, I would not love you so!But when I hold you I hold

everything that is,Sand, time, the tree of the rain,

Everything is alive so that I can be alive:Without moving I can see it

all:In your life I see everything that lives.

No one recognizes you.No one sees your crystal crown, no one looksAt

the carpet of red goldThat you tread as you pass,The nonexistent

carpet.

And when you appearAll the rivers soundIn my body, bellsShake the sky,And a hymn fills the world.

~Pablo Neruda

 

I felt as though I had been plumped upon another planet or into

another geologic horizon of which man had no knowledge or memory. At

yet, I thought at the time it was very good for me; I was learning

what the philosophers have long been harping on - that a man can live

profoundly without masses of things. For all my realism and skepticism

there came over me, too powerfully to be denied, that exalted sense of

identification - of oneness - with the outer world which is partly

mystical but also certainty. I came to understand what Thoreau meant

when he said, "My body is all sentient." There were moments when I

felt more alive than at any other time in my life. Freed from

materialistic distractions, my senses sharpened in new directions,

and the random or commonplace affairs of the sky and the earth and

the spirit, which ordinarily I would have ignored if I had noticed

them at all, became exciting and portentous.

~Richard E. Byrd

 

The light wraps you in its mortal flame. Abstracted pale mourner,

standing that wayAgainst the old propellers of the twilightThat

revolves around you.

Speechless, my friend,Alone in the loneliness of this hour of the

deadAnd filled with the lives of fire,Pure heir of the ruined day.

A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.The great

roots of night grow suddenly from your soul,And the things that hide

in you come out againSo that a blue and pallid people,Your newly

born, takes nourishment.

Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slaveOf the circle that moves

in turn through black and gold:Rise, lead and possess a creationSo

rich in life that its flowers perishAnd it is full of sadness.

~Pablo Neruda

 

As the harmony of the star in its course is expressed by rhythm and

grace, so the harmony of a man's life-course is expressed by

happiness; this, I believe, is the prime desire of mankind.

The universe is an almost untouched reservoir of significance and

value, and a man need not be discouraged because he cannot fathom it.

His view of life is no more than a flash in time. The details and

distractions are infinite...but the universal goal - the attainment

of harmony - is apparent. The very act of perceiving this goal and

striving constantly toward it does much in itself to bring us closer

and, therefore, becomes an end in itself.

~Richard E. Byrd

 

LoveEternal.

 

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[Guest guest]

"On What Planet"

 

"Uniformly over the whole countryside

The warm air flows imperceptibly seaward;

The autumn haze drifts in deep bands

Over the pale water;

White egrets stand in the blue marshes;

Tamalpais, Diablo, St. Helena

Float in the air.

Climbing on the cliffs of Hunter's Hill

We look out over fifty miles of sinuous

Interpenetration of mountains and sea.

 

Leading up a twisted chimney,

Just as my eyes rise to the level

Of a small cave, two white owls

Fly out, silent, close to my face.

They hover, confused in the sunlight,

And disappear into the recesses of the cliff.

 

All day I have been watching a new climber,

A young girl with ash blond hair

And gentle confident eyes.

She climbs slowly, precisely,

With unwasted grace.

While I am coiling the ropes,

Watching the spectacular sunset,

She turns to me and says, quietly,

"It must be very beautiful, the sunset,

On Saturn, with the rings and all the moons."

 

~ Kenneth Rexroth - 1937/1940? ~

 

 

 

"From The Silver Swan"

 

An hour before sunrise,

The moon low in the East,

Soon it will pass the sun.

The Morning Star hangs like a

Lamp, beside the crescent,

Above the greying horizon.

The air warm, perfumed,

An unseasonably warm,

Rainy Autumn, nevertheless

The leaves turn color, contour

By contour down the mountains.

I watch the wavering,

Coiling of the smoke of a

Stick of temple incense in

The rays of my reading lamp.

Moonlight appears on my wall

As though I raised it by

Incantation. I go out

Into the wooded garden

And walk, nude, except for my

Sandals, through light and dark banded

Like a field of sleeping tigers.

Our raccoons watch me from the

Walnut tree, the opossums

Glide out of sight under the

Woodpile. My dog Ch'ing is asleep.

So is the cat. I am alone

In the stillness before the

First birds wake. The night creatures

Have all gone to sleep. Blackness

Looms at the end of the garden,

An impenetrable cube.

A ray of the Morning Star

Pierces a shaft of moon-filled mist.

A naked girl takes form

And comes toward me — translucent,

Her body made of infinite

Whirling points of light, each one

A galaxy, like clouds of

Fireflies beyond numbering.

Through them, star and moon

Still glisten faintly. She comes

To me on imperceptibly

Drifting air, and touches me

On the shoulder with a hand

Softer than silk. She says

"Lover, do you know what Heart

You have possessed?"

Before I can answer, her

Body flows into mine, each

Corpuscle of light merges

With a corpuscle of blood or flesh.

As we become one the world

Vanishes. My self vanishes.

I am dispossessed, only

An abyss without limits.

Only dark oblivion

Of sense and mind in an

Illimitable Void.

Infinitely away burns

A minute red point to which

I move or which moves to me.

Time fades away. Motion is

Not motion. Space becomes Void.

A ruby fire fills all being.

It opens, not like a gate,

Like hands in prayer that unclasp

And close around me.

Then nothing. All senses ceased.

No awareness, nothing,

Only another kind of knowing

Of an all encompassing

Love that has consumed all being.

Time has had a stop.

Space is gone.

Grasping and consequence

Never existed. The aeons have fallen away.

 

Suddenly I am standing

In my garden, nude, bathed in

The hot brilliance of the new

Risen sun — star and crescent gone into light."

 

~ Kenneth Rexroth 1976 ~

 

 

 

, "Mazie Lane" <sraddha54@h...> wrote:

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