“Purpose is not that far my child—
it’s just a journey’s walk.
It is the One at the end of the journey,
it is the end of the journey, and it is the journey
And when you thirst, do you not drink?
And when you are cool, do you not warm yourself?
and when you are weary, do you not rest?
And if you need meaning, should you not reach out?
I said out! My child, out!
In all simplicity those in need reach out and receive beyond
He’s at the end of the quench,
and the relief of the warmth,
the satisfaction of a rest, and the
salvage of a soul.”
― Quinesia Johnson, Growth In Expression: Modern Christian Poems
A Hausa proverb sent by Rev. Martin Dama, Nigeria
“I believe it was the great ogre philosopher Gary who observed that complexity is, generally speaking, an illusion of conscious desire. All things exist in as simple a form as necessity dictates. When a thing is labeled ‘complex,’ that’s just a roundabout way of saying you’re not observant enough to understand it.”
― A. Lee Martinez, In the Company of Ogres
The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach:
The Ogre cannot master speech.
About a subjugated plain,
Among it’s desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.
Maka’ala ke kanaka kahea manu.
A man who calls birds should always be alert.
The Hawaiian alii (chiefs) wore beautiful capes and headdresses crafted by weaving in thousands of tiny feathers. The Kanaka kahea manu, the bird-catcher, would imitate bird-calls to attract the birds to catch them, pluck out a small number of tiny feathers and let them go. Once he had called the birds, he had to stay alert and be prepared to catch them quickly when they came near. The saying advises one who wishes to succeed to be alert to any opportunity that should arise.
A D Hope, “The Death of a Bird”
For every bird there is this last migration;
Once more the cooling year kindles her heart;
With a warm passage to the summer station
Love pricks the course in lights across the chart.
Year after year a speck on the map divided
By a whole hemisphere, summons her to come;
Season after season, sure and safely guided,
Going away she is also coming home;
And being home, memory becomes a passion
With which she feeds her brood and straws her nest;
Aware of ghosts that haunt the heart’s possession
And exiled love mourning within the breast.
The sands are green with a mirage of valleys;
The palm-tree casts a shadow not its own;
Down the long architrave of temple or palace
Blows a cool air from moorland scraps of stone.
And day by day the whisper of love grows stronger,
That delicate voice, more urgent with despair,
Custom and fear constraining her no longer,
Drives her at last on the waste leagues of air.
A vanishing speck in those inane dominions,
Single and frail, uncertain of her place.
Alone in the bright host of her companions,
Lost in the blue unfriendliness of space.
She feels it close now, the appointed season:
The invisible thread is broken as she flies;
Suddenly, without warning, without reason,
The guiding spark of instinct winks and dies.
Try as she will the trackless world delivers
No way, the wilderness of light no sign,
The immense and complex map of hills and rivers
Mocks her small wisdom with its vast design.
And darkness rises from the eastern valleys,
And the winds buffet her with their hungry breath,
And the great earth, with neither grief nor malice,
Receives the tiny burden of her death.
– A. D. Hope (1907-2000)
The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 8 January 1949,
My grandfather gave me my first guitar, an old acoustic with palm trees and dancing girls painted on it.
The second fiddle. I can get plenty of first violinists, but to find someone who can play the second fiddle with enthusiasm
Those little nimble musicians of the air, that warble forth their curious ditties, with which nature hath furnished them to the shame of art.
Izaak Walton (1593 – 1683)
CAMERON HINDRUM, TAS
One man gets nothing but discord out of a piano; another gets harmony. No one claims the piano is at fault. Life is about the same. The discord is there, and the harmony is there. Study to play it correctly, and it will give forth the beauty; play it falsely, and it will give forth the ugliness. Life is not at fault.
The Kookaburras by John O’Brien
FOTO of kookaburra at raleigh nsw
Could I Hear the Kookaburras Once Again
May a fading fancy hover round a gladness that is over?
May a dreamer in the silence rake the ashes of the past?
So a spirit might awaken in the best the years have taken,
And the Jove that left him lonely might be with him at the last.
While he searches in the by-ways, shall his heart forget the highways
Where the sunburnt arms are toiling in the sun-shine and the rain,
Where the simple things and lowly make their lives sublime and holy,
And the kookaburras chorus once again?
“If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women: they do not read them in a true light: they misapprehend them, both for good and evil: their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Shirley
—Bunraku instruction manual, quoted in A. C. Scott’s The Puppet Theatre of Japan
“Because to take away a man’s freedom of choice, even his freedom to make the wrong choice, is to manipulate him as though he were a puppet and not a person.”
― Madeleine L’Engle
Love it the way it is. The way you see the world depends entirely on your own vibration level. When your vibration changes, the whole world will look different. It’s like those days when everyone seems to be smiling at you because you feel happy. The way to raise your vibration level is to feel more love. Start by loving your negative feelings, your own boredom, dullness and despair. It’s hard to believe, but changing the content of your mind does nothing to change your vibration level.
For the purpose of raising your awareness, it is useless to change your ideas, your faith, your behaviour, your place of residence, or your companions. It is not arbitrary or an accident that you are where you are, so you might as well get your attitude straight before you make a change. Otherwise you might find yourself chasing all over creation looking for the right place, and not even the Sea of Infinite Bliss will feel right to you. You take yourself with you wherever you go. As they say in Zen: If you can’t find it where you are standing, where do you expect to wander in search of it?
– Thaddeus Golas in “The Lazy Man’s Guide to Enlightenment”
You are lifted. Out of whatever pit, unbound from whatever tie, released from whatever fear. You are lifted and you see it all from above.”
~ Fransesca Marciano, “Rules of the Wild”
Bury me on my feet, I have spent my entire life on my knees.
“He’d noticed that sex bore some resemblance to cookery: it fascinated people, they sometimes bought books full of complicated recipes and interesting pictures, and sometimes when they were really hungry they created vast banquets in their imagination – but at the end of the day they’d settle quite happily for egg and chips. If it was well done and maybe had a slice of tomato.”
― Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant
― David Allen
“The sea was cruel and selfish as human beings, and in its monstrous simplicity had no notion of complexities like pity, wounding, or remorse… You could see yourself in it… while the wind, the light, the swaying, the sound of the water on the hull worked the miracle of distancing, calming you until you didn’t hurt anymore, erasing any pity, any wound, and any remorse.”
― Arturo Pérez-Reverte, Queen Of The South