Category Archives: MSSAGES

What are men to rocks and mountains ? ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 16 July 1932,

The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW - 1842 - 1954), Saturday 16 July 1932,

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written by the very alcoholic Australian Poet Henry Kendall

Bellbirds

    By channels of coolness the echoes are calling,

 

    And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling:

 

    It lives in the mountain where moss and the sedges

 

    Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges.

 

    Through breaks of the cedar and sycamore bowers

 

    Struggles the light that is love to the flowers;

 

    And, softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing,

 

    The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.

The silver-voiced bell birds, the darlings of daytime!
They sing in September their songs of the May-time;
When shadows wax strong, and the thunder bolts hurtle,
They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle;
When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together,
They start up like fairies that follow fair weather;
And straightway the hues of their feathers unfolden
Are the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.

October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses,
Loiters for love in these cool wildernesses;
Loiters, knee-deep, in the grasses, to listen,
Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten:
Then is the time when the water-moons splendid
Break with their gold, and are scattered or blended
Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning
Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the Morning.

Welcome as waters unkissed by the summers
Are the voices of bell-birds to the thirsty far-comers.
When fiery December sets foot in the forest,
And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest,
Pent in the ridges for ever and ever
The bell-birds direct him to spring and to river,
With ring and with ripple, like runnels who torrents
Are toned by the pebbles and the leaves in the currents.

Often I sit, looking back to a childhood,
Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,
Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion,
Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of Passion; –
Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters
Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest-rafters;
So I might keep in the city and alleys
The beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys:
Charming to slumber the pain of my losses
With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.

 

 

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Each time dawn appears, the mystery is there in its entirety.

Rene Daumal

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“We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another, and no sunrise finds us where left by sunset. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of that tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind to be scattered.”

― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

“Falling silent should be cultivated, the way the woods fall silent in the snow. Messages you can’t send any other way can be heard.

Phyllis Theroux, The Journal Keeper: A Memoir

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“It was probably my mother’s screaming that frightened the cat. It’s just a guess. No one knows for sure why a cat fell from a ten-storey building onto my head.”

― J.E. Fison, Tiger Terror