Category Archives: DESPAIR

“The error of one moment becomes the sorrow of a whole life” – Chinese

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“Have you ever felt despair? Absolute hopelessness? Have you ever stood in the darkness and known, deep in your heart, in your spirit, that it was never, ever going to get better? That something had been lost, forever, and that it wasn’t coming back?”

― Jim Butcher, Storm Front

Don’t be afraid to take the first leap – especially if it’s a leap in FAITH!

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“It is a curious thing, but as one travels the world getting older and older, it appears that happiness is easier to get used to than despair. The second time you have a root beer float, for instance, your happiness at sipping the delicious concoction may not be quite as enormous as when you first had a root beer float, and the twelfth time your happiness may be still less enormous, until root beer floats begin to offer you very little happiness at all, because you have become used to the taste of vanilla ice cream and root beer mixed together. However, the second time you find a thumbtack in your root beer float, your despair is much greater than the first time, when you dismissed the thumbtack as a freak accident rather than part of the scheme of a soda jerk, a phrase which here means “ice cream shop employee who is trying to injure your tongue,” and by the twelfth time you find a thumbtack, your despair is even greater still, until you can hardly utter the phrase “root beer float” without bursting into tears. It is almost as if happiness is an acquired taste, like coconut cordial or ceviche, to which you can eventually become accustomed, but despair is something surprising each time you encounter it.”

― Lemony Snicket, The End

If we cannot sing of faith and triumph, we will sing our despair. We will be that kind of bird. There are day owls, and there are night owls, and each is beautiful and even musical while about its business. [Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. philosopher

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“The road that is built in hope is more pleasant to the traveler than the road built in despair, even though they both lead to the same destination.”

― Marion Zimmer Bradley, The Fall of Atlantis

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The heron blames the water because he cannot swim.

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“THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS”
by Wendell Berry

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

http://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/berry/berry.html

My weary soul cries out for peace, Peace and the quietness of death.

Weariness BY EVA GORE-BOOTH

___________________________________

“I am old, Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed! Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change, or something.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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“Moll-buzzer! You sneezed a parrot from me jernt on Broome!

http://www.herbertasbury.com/Kelly_Eastman111 realnewyork00hugh_04032She was beautiful in a neutral way, emitting no light, defining herself in terms of attrition, a skinny thing, near blond, far beyond recall from the hard-edged rhythms of her life, Southwestern woman, hard to remember and forget…There was never a moment between us that did not measure the extent of our true connection. To go harder, take more, die first.”

― Don DeLillo, Great Jones Street

Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End? Mary Oliver

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 Gakiibatha ni koi ni karithoitha

He who spends his time adorning himself knows he is going to a dance

There is a reason for everything

 

http://www.misterseed.com/link%20pages/PROVERBS2.htm

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Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End?

by Mary Oliver

Don’t call this world adorable, or useful, that’s not it.
It’s frisky, and a theater for more than fair winds.
The eyelash of lightning is neither good nor evil.
The struck tree burns like a pillar of gold.

But the blue rain sinks, straight to the white
feet of the trees
whose mouths open.
Doesn’t the wind, turning in circles, invent the dance?
Haven’t the flowers moved, slowly, across Asia, then Europe,
until at last, now, they shine
in your own yard?

Don’t call this world an explanation, or even an education.

When the Sufi poet whirled, was he looking
outward, to the mountains so solidly there
in a white-capped ring, or was he looking

to the centre of everything: the seed, the egg, the idea
that was also there,
beautiful as a thumb
curved and touching the finger, tenderly,
little love-ring,

as he whirled,
oh jug of breath,
in the garden of dust?

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Eltham and Whittlesea Shires Advertiser and Diamond Creek Valley Advocate (Vic. : 1917 – 1922), Friday 5 October 1917,

1 1 1 1 Eltham and Whittlesea Shires Advertiser and Diamond Creek Valley Advocate (Vic. - 1917 - 1922), Friday 5 October 1917,

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Deep-red the bracken, its shape all gone,
The wild goose has raised his wonted cry.

 Irish Poem, Translated by Caitlin Matthews  

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Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

From:

Dream Work

Copyright ©:

Atlantic Monthly Press & Mary Oliver

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See – chaos spark, struck from flint and the plunging distemper, flare in the dawn’s dull seep of milkcart horse, morning horse chaos horse

 

 

Mithridatum of Despair

We know no mithridatum of despair
as drunks, the angry penguins of the night,
straddling the cobbles of the square,
tying a shoelace by fogged lamplight.
We know no astringent pain,
no flecking of thought’s dull eternal sea
in garret image, of Spain
and love…now love’s parody.

See – chaos spark, struck from flint
and the plunging distemper, flare in the dawn’s dull seep
of milkcart horse, morning horse
chaos horse, walking at three to the doors of sleep
with the creamy poison.
convulsions endure
from nine to five,
all life immure.
and still alive.

we know no mithridatum, nor the remembered dregs of fear,
the glass stands dry and silted; no end is near.

MAX HARRIS

http://www.ernmalley.com/harris_poetry.html
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The World's News (Sydney, NSW - 1901 - 1955), Saturday 23 April 1927

 

The World’s News (Sydney, NSW : 1901 – 1955), Saturday 23 April 1927

Bad people drink bad beer. You almost never see an empty bottle of Rochefort tossed onto the side of the road. — Dave Cooks

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I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.” 

Edgar  Allan Poe

I have never heard a more eloquent silence.” Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak

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Mithridatum of Despair

We know no mithridatum of despair
as drunks, the angry penguins of the night,
straddling the cobbles of the square,
tying a shoelace by fogged lamplight.
We know no astringent pain,
no flecking of thought’s dull eternal sea
in garret image, of Spain
and love…now love’s parody.

See – chaos spark, struck from flint
and the plunging distemper, flare in the dawn’s dull seep
of milkcart horse, morning horse
chaos horse, walking at three to the doors of sleep
with the creamy poison.
convulsions endure
from nine to five,
all life immure.
and still alive.

we know no mithridatum, nor the remembered dregs of fear,
the glass stands dry and silted; no end is near.

ERN MALLEY

http://www.ernmalley.com/harris_poetry.html

We know no mithridatum of despair as drunks

ERN MALLEY

http://www.ernmalley.com/harris_poetry.html

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As we became subjects of King Alcohol, shivering denizens of his mad realm, the chilling vapour that is loneliness settled down. It thickened, ever becoming blacker. Some of us sought out sordid places, hoping to find understanding companionship and approval. Momentarily we did — then would come oblivion and the awful awakening to face the hideous Four Horsemen — Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration, Despair.

ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS, The Big Book

Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Give him a fishing lesson and he’ll sit in a boat drinking beer every weekend. Alex Blackwell

1 BUCKLANDS BOAT HIRE

 

foto – bucklands boat hire in mallacoota in victoria aust

Stephen Nguyen 

In 1982, one of MG99 group leader Stephen Nguyen’s sisters, a Catholic nun, was lost at sea while fleeing Vietnam. He wrote this haunting poem in her honour.

Painful are the memories of those who perished out at sea,

Desperate for a better fate,

In search of freedom where the sea await,

As darkness hides the tiny boat

full of people filled with hope.

It seems to be such an endless night,

With freedom nowhere in sight.

“If love is blind, then maybe a blind person that loves has a greater understanding of it.”

 

 

― Criss Jami, Salomé: In Every Inch In Every Mile

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This poem by Grant Hervey was published in Australians Yet and Other Verses, 1913.]

Going Blind

Is this the end of every hope,
Of all the plans I made,
To shut mine eyes and sadly grope
Through life in gloom arrayed ?
No more to see the shining stars,
No more to see the sun ;
My cry goes up to Heaven’s bars :
“What have I done ?”

http://www.instituteofaustralianculture.com/going-blind-grant-hervey/

my beerdrunk soul is sadder than all the dead christmas trees of the world.”

― Charles Bukowski

1 DESPAIR

 

foto garden centre coffs harbour nsw 2013

Mithridatum of Despair

We know no mithridatum of despair
as drunks, the angry penguins of the night,
straddling the cobbles of the square,
tying a shoelace by fogged lamplight.
We know no astringent pain,
no flecking of thought’s dull eternal sea
in garret image, of Spain
and love…now love’s parody.

See – chaos spark, struck from flint
and the plunging distemper, flare in the dawn’s dull seep
of milkcart horse, morning horse
chaos horse, walking at three to the doors of sleep
with the creamy poison.
convulsions endure
from nine to five,
all life immure.
and still alive.

we know no mithridatum, nor the remembered dregs of fear,
the glass stands dry and silted; no end is near.

http://www.ernmalley.com/harris_poetry.html

The only veil that stands between perception of what is underneath the desolate surface is your courage. Dare to breach the surface and sink.”

 

Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

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DESOLATION

BY DAVIS

We are tired of the benches, our beds in the park,
We welcome the sundown that heralds the dark.
White Lady Methylate!
Keep us warm and from crying.
Hold back the hate
And hasten the dying.

The tribes are all gone,
The spears are all broken:
Once we had bread here,
You gave us stone

http://epress.anu.edu.au/bwwp/mobile_devices/ch08.html

Double – minded men cannot handle affairs.

http://mmdelrosario.hubpages.com/hub/sayings-and-proverbs-from-tibet

americanannualof1921newy_0263

 

“You see, we cannot draw lines and compartments and refuse to budge beyond them. Sometimes you have to use your failures as stepping-stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair.’ He paused, considering what he had just said. ‘Yes’, he repeated. ‘In the end, it’s all a question of balance.” 

― Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance

WIDOW: The word consumes itself.

Sylvia Plath.

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I and a woman whose colour and cheeks shall have become black from toiling in the sun shall be near to one another in the next world as my two fingers; and that is a handsome widow, whose colour and cheeks shall have become black in bringing up her family.

http://www.twf.org/Sayings/Sayings5.html

 

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush’d the sweet poison of misused wine.

John Milton 1608 – 1674
Comus [1634], l. 46

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As we became subjects of King Alcohol, shivering denizens of his mad realm, the chilling vapor that is loneliness settled down. It thickened, ever becoming blacker. Some of us sought out sordid places, hoping to find understanding companionship and approval. Momentarily we did — then would come oblivion and the awful awakening to face the hideous Four Horsemen — Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration, Despair.

ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS, The Big Book

Those colourful denizens of male despair, the Bowery bum and the rail-riding hobo, have been replaced by the bag lady and the welfare mother. Women have even taken over Skid Row.

— Florence King
1936-, American Author, Critic

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Every house should have a Christ’s room. The coat which hangs in your closet belongs to the poor. If your brother comes to you hungry and you say, Go be thou filled, what kind of hospitality is that? It is no use turning people away to an agency, to the city or the state or the Catholic Charities. It is you yourself who must perform the works of mercy. Often you can only give the price of a meal, or a bed on the Bowery. Often you can only hope that it will be spent for that. Often you can literally take off a garment if it only be a scarf and warm some shivering brother. But personally, at a personal sacrifice, these were the ways Peter used to insist, to combat the growing tendency on the part of the State to take over. The great danger was the State taking over the job which our Lord Himself gave us to do, “Inasmuch as you did it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.

http://www.catholicworker.org/dorothyday/daytext.cfm?TextID=155

Poverty is in want of much, avarice of everything.

http://masterrussian.com/proverbs/russian_proverbs.htm

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As we became subjects of King Alcohol, shivering denizens of his mad realm, the chilling vapour that is loneliness settled down. It thickened, ever becoming blacker. Some of us sought out sordid places, hoping to find understanding companionship and approval. Momentarily we did — then would come oblivion and the awful awakening to face the hideous Four Horsemen — Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration, Despair.

ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS, The Big Book