Canephor with a basket
Your voice is a
Canephor with a basket for songs
Coming towards me like a blue dream.
Delicate but strong,
My silence beats your ears,
Leaving a trace of love
Like a fog carved in the air
Or unlike a name carved in an oak tree.
My silence and your voice
Weave new vibrations.
It’s like an embrace.
Whatever I’m touch’d from,
It clutches my mind.
Dedicated to the singer Bryan Adams.
Marieta Maglas (19-05-1964 / Radauti, Judet Suceava, Romania
All my words are gunning for extinction, all they can tell
The photos you retrieve are a scream -
heart-battering reams of fortune, shadow and sleep,
as if "the sun fell . . .
through shadows of deep sorrow
small light shines with hope
one by one stars appear
widening life’s scope
within space of moments
see boundless heavenly treasure
heart oppressed by lonely fear
opens to endless pleasure
extend inner eye beyond
selfish focus narrow
radiant force appreciate
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.”
― Søren Kierkegaard
“Every time you pray if your prayer is sincere, there will be new feeling and new meaning in it which will give you fresh courage, and you will understand that prayer is an education.”
Many a time have I merely closed my eyes at the end of yet another troublesome day and soaked my bruised psyche in wild water, rivers remembered and rivers imagined. Rivers course through my dreams, rivers cold and fast, rivers well-known and rivers nameless, rivers that seem like ribbons of blue water twisting through wide valleys, narrow rivers folded in layers of darkening shadows, rivers that have eroded down deep into the mountain’s belly, sculpted the land, peeled back the planet’s history exposing the texture of time itself. — (Harry Middleton, On the Spine of Time or Rivers of Memory)
Vos toig dir der chaner cholem, ven der frimorgen iz kalt ?
“When there’s a moon the shadows in the house grow larger;
invisible hands draw back the curtains,
a pallid finger writes forgotten words on dust
of the piano…”
― Yiannis Ritsos, The Fourth Dimension
― Gabor Maté, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction
I admire addicts. In a world where everybody is waiting for some blind, random disaster, or some sudden disease, the addict has the comfort of knowing what will most likely wait for him down the road. He’s taken some control over his ultimate fate, and his addiction keeps the cause of death from being a total surprise.
It is no use crying over a mishap.
the scylla sisters.
though sometimes it hurts
and sometimes it is joy
We love each other.
Because no one else will.”
― Kate Griffin, The Glass God
“At six years old, Sebastian was small, but the monsters were large. They hid in the shadows of the places where he felt most vulnerable, and like gods of fear, they invoked prayer in him at least three times day.”
― Mynah K., Problem Fountain
“Do not resent your place in the story. Do not imagine yourself elsewhere. Do not close your eyes and picture a world without thorns, without shadows, without hawks. Change this world. Use your body like a tool meant to be used up, discarded, and replaced. Better every life you touch. We will reach the final chapter. When we have eyes that can stare into the sun, eyes that only squint for the Shenikah, then we will see laughing children pulling cobras by their tails, and hawks and rabbits playing tag.”
― N.D. Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl: Wide-Eyed Wonder in God’s Spoken World
Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator 1830 – 1890
“Shut up, you fat water buffalo, rolling in the mud of other people’s lives, is what she wanted to say. But she bit her tongue and reminded herself of how Mrs. Mahmoud had held her hand through Abdul’s birth, which made her think that if she had found strength enough to push him out, she could hold her meanest comments in. At this moment, it seemed harder.”
― Amy Waldman, The Submission
― Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram
“I felt sad because I knew I couldn’t hold the ocean’s beauty for long enough, nor the sun and the salty wind; and yet, I was happy because I knew I took part of the ocean with me, and the remembrance of the ages with the salt impregnated onto my skin. This is how I felt as the sun was setting, dipping into the ocean, slowly moaning in silence, as the salt and wind eclipsed it, and silence broke free with the night’s veil of shadows.”
― Paul Andreas Wunderlich, Despondency: The Story of a Defeated Man
“you were both hunter and hunted; the shadow of your thoughts was the beast which killed you.”
― Robert Holdstock, Lavondyss
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
“All these perfect days, made of glass
Put on the shelf where they can cast
perfect shadows that stretch and grow
on the imperfect days down below.
… perfect shadows that shift and glow…
… perfect shadows that shift and grow…"
― Maggie Stiefvater, Linger
“Everyone of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self..We are not very good at recognizing illusions, least of all the ones we cherish about ourselves. Contemplation is not and cannot be a function of this external self. There is an irreducible opposition between the deep transcendent self that awakens only in contemplation, and the superficial, external self which we commonly identify with the first person singular. Our reality, our true self, is hidden in what appears to us to be nothingness….We can rise above this unreality and recover our hidden reality…. God Himself begins to live in me not only as my Creator but as my other and true self. “
― Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
― Virginia Woolf
“Each day befriend a single fear, and the miscellaneous terrors of being human will never join together to form such a morass of vague anxiety that it rules your life from the shadows of the unconscious. We learn to fly not by being fearless, but by the daily practice of courage.”
― Sam Keen