December Daisies and December Days

Image credit: nbelokonskaya from Pixabay 

Ah, how the sight of fair untimely flowers

Awakes a subtle sentiment, and fills

The soul with quiet pleasure. Something thrills

Our being to the core and softly showers

Strange yearning thought upon us. When the close

Of a December day is stirless, mild

As is this twilight hour, we are beguiled

By its seductive softness: and there grows

(As one by one from out the placid sky

The tranquil stars appear), the half-formed doubt

Whether the scene be real. For without

A question kindly Auster cannot try

To bring a greater boon. Joys that arise

All unexpected we most keenly prize.

~ H. T. Mackenzie Bell

Total Darkness

Photo by Sam Moqadam on Unsplash

The light dwindles down

to nothing as

the candle sputters out.

And the darkness begins

to shine its own fury.

Darkness as deep as

the earth is that lays

itself upon the dead

so that they sleep well

and all is quiet for them.

Darkness as deep as

the sky is that takes our

prayers out where

nothing has ever been

found that answers back.

That darkness is what will

happen when the light

of the stars dwindles

out before dawn and all

starlight at last blinks out.

And that light in your

eyes when it dwindles

away, at the end of time,

will join all those

same darknesses that

belong together, that

total darkness of the earth,

the sky, and the soul.

~ Sue Owen

Quote on elegance

Source: Cosplay and Conventions

I have a different idea of elegance. I don't dress like a fop, it's true, but my moral grooming is impeccable. I never appear in public with a soiled conscience, a tarnished honor, threadbare scruples, or an insult that I haven't washed away. I'm always immaculately clean, adorned with independence and frankness. I may not cut a stylish figure, but I hold my soul erect. I wear my deeds as ribbons, my wit is sharper then the finest mustache, and when I walk among men I make truths ring like spurs.

~ Edmond Rostand

Quote on elegance

Source: Cosplay and Conventions

I have a different idea of elegance. I don't dress like a fop, it's true, but my moral grooming is impeccable. I never appear in public with a soiled conscience, a tarnished honor, threadbare scruples, or an insult that I haven't washed away. I'm always immaculately clean, adorned with independence and frankness. I may not cut a stylish figure, but I hold my soul erect. I wear my deeds as ribbons, my wit is sharper then the finest mustache, and when I walk among men I make truths ring like spurs.

~ Edmond Rostand

The Giver of Stars

Source: amfwords.tumblr.com/Favim.com

Hold your soul open for my welcoming.
Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me
With its clear and rippled coolness,
That, loose-limbed and weary, I find rest,
Outstretched upon your peace, as on a bed of ivory.

Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me,
That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire,
The life and joy of tongues of flame,
And, going out from you, tightly strung and in tune,
I may rouse the blear-eyed world,
And pour into it the beauty which you have begotten.

~ Amy Lowell

The Giver of Stars

Source: amfwords.tumblr.com/Favim.com

Hold your soul open for my welcoming.
Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me
With its clear and rippled coolness,
That, loose-limbed and weary, I find rest,
Outstretched upon your peace, as on a bed of ivory.

Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me,
That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire,
The life and joy of tongues of flame,
And, going out from you, tightly strung and in tune,
I may rouse the blear-eyed world,
And pour into it the beauty which you have begotten.

~ Amy Lowell

Query

Credit: Beni Hassan

I asked the birds
who sing at night
where they learned their songs,
and what they sang about.

They said, "We learn from
birds who sing by day,
but what we sing about
is hard for us to say."

"Only those with beak
and wing can fathom joy
in dark and doubt.
The sky may turn to evening
and the sun to moon,
but we sing
of what you do not speak -
how night is sometimes noon,
how any season of the soul
can, with time, be coaxed to spring."

~ Jean Burden

Query

Credit: Beni Hassan

I asked the birds
who sing at night
where they learned their songs,
and what they sang about.

They said, "We learn from
birds who sing by day,
but what we sing about
is hard for us to say."

"Only those with beak
and wing can fathom joy
in dark and doubt.
The sky may turn to evening
and the sun to moon,
but we sing
of what you do not speak -
how night is sometimes noon,
how any season of the soul
can, with time, be coaxed to spring."

~ Jean Burden

Quote on old age

Photo credit: chilombiano from morguefile.com

Wretched was he who, having acquired the supreme science of old age, sold his soul to unwrinkle his brow and recapture the unconscious youth of his flesh! Let the labyrinth of wrinkles be furrowed in my brow with the red-hot iron of my own life, let my hair whiten and my step become vacillating, on condition that I can save the intelligence of my soul - let my unformed childhood soul, as it ages, assume the rational and esthetic forms of an architecture, let me just learn everything that others cannot teach me, what only life would be capable of marking deeply in my skin! 

~ Salvador Dalí

Quote on old age

Photo credit: chilombiano from morguefile.com

Wretched was he who, having acquired the supreme science of old age, sold his soul to unwrinkle his brow and recapture the unconscious youth of his flesh! Let the labyrinth of wrinkles be furrowed in my brow with the red-hot iron of my own life, let my hair whiten and my step become vacillating, on condition that I can save the intelligence of my soul - let my unformed childhood soul, as it ages, assume the rational and esthetic forms of an architecture, let me just learn everything that others cannot teach me, what only life would be capable of marking deeply in my skin! 

~ Salvador Dalí

Quote on fighting

Pic Credit: Department of Pathology, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center 

What is the matter with these people, these people who won't stop fighting, won't stop hurting each other long enough to see that a body is a thing of beauty, is a miracle of rivers and oceans and islands and continents contained within itself? That the brain is divided into two hemispheres, each symmetrical, each perfect, each with its own system of waterways. These people of war should be shown an x-ray of an intraparenchymal hemorrhage, of a hemorrhage in an eighteen-year-old girl's brain, a girl named Ivy.
Take a look at that, people of war. See, you should not hurt each other, and this is why. Without you ever even trying, this is what can happen to your body, your beautiful body, and your brain, your beautiful symmetrical brain, and your heart, and your soul.

~ Alison McGhee

Quote on fighting

Pic Credit: Department of Pathology, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center 

What is the matter with these people, these people who won't stop fighting, won't stop hurting each other long enough to see that a body is a thing of beauty, is a miracle of rivers and oceans and islands and continents contained within itself? That the brain is divided into two hemispheres, each symmetrical, each perfect, each with its own system of waterways. These people of war should be shown an x-ray of an intraparenchymal hemorrhage, of a hemorrhage in an eighteen-year-old girl's brain, a girl named Ivy.
Take a look at that, people of war. See, you should not hurt each other, and this is why. Without you ever even trying, this is what can happen to your body, your beautiful body, and your brain, your beautiful symmetrical brain, and your heart, and your soul.

~ Alison McGhee

Despising the soul

Image: Salvatore Vuono/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Seven times I have despised my soul:

The first time when I saw her being meek that she might attain height.
The second time when I saw her limping before the crippled.
The third time when she was given to choose between the hard and the easy, and she chose the easy.
The fourth time when she committed a wrong, and comforted herself that others also commit wrong.
The fifth time when she forbode for weakness, and attributed her patience to strength.
The sixth time when she despised the ugliness of a face, and knew not that it was one of her own masks.
And the seventh time when she sang a song of praise, and deemed it a virtue.

~ Khalil Gibran

Despising the soul

Image: Salvatore Vuono/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Seven times I have despised my soul:

The first time when I saw her being meek that she might attain height.
The second time when I saw her limping before the crippled.
The third time when she was given to choose between the hard and the easy, and she chose the easy.
The fourth time when she committed a wrong, and comforted herself that others also commit wrong.
The fifth time when she forbode for weakness, and attributed her patience to strength.
The sixth time when she despised the ugliness of a face, and knew not that it was one of her own masks.
And the seventh time when she sang a song of praise, and deemed it a virtue.

~ Khalil Gibran

Quote on the human face

Photo credit: chilombiano from morguefile.com

The human face is the subtle yet visual autobiography of each person. Regardless of how concealed or hidden the inner story of your life is, you can never successfully hide from the world while you have a face. If we knew how to read the faces of others, we would be able to decipher the mysteries of their life stories. The face always reveals the soul; it is where the divinity of the inner life finds an echo and image. When you behold someone’s face, you are gazing deeply into that person’s life …
Your face is the icon of your life. In the human face, a life looks out at the world and also looks in on itself. It is frightening to behold a face in which bitterness and resentment have lodged. When a person’s life has been bleak, much of its negativity can remain unhealed. Since the negativity is left untransfigured, the bleakness lodges in the face. The face, instead of being a warm presence, has hardened to become a mask. One of the oldest words for person is the Greek word prosopon; and prosopon originally meant the mask that actors wore in a Greek chorus. When bitterness, anger, or resentment are left untransfigured, the face becomes a mask. Yet one also encounters the opposite, namely, the beautiful presence of an old face deeply lined and inscribed by time and experience that has retained a lovely innocence. Even though life may have moved wearily and painfully through such a person, they have still managed not to let it corrode their soul. In such a face a lovely luminosity shines out into the world. It casts a tender light that radiates a sense of holiness and wholesomeness.
The face always reveals who you are, and what life has done to you. Yet it is difficult for you to see the shape of your own life; your life is too near you. Others can decipher much of your mystery from your face. Portrait artists admit that it is exceptionally difficult to render the human face. Traditionally, the eyes are said to be the windows of the soul. The mouth is also difficult to render in the individual portrait. In some strange way the line of the mouth seems to betray the contour of the life; a tight mouth often suggests meanness of spirit. There is a strange symmetry in the way the soul writes the story of its life in the contours of the face.

~ John O’Donohue

Quote on the human face

Photo credit: chilombiano from morguefile.com

The human face is the subtle yet visual autobiography of each person. Regardless of how concealed or hidden the inner story of your life is, you can never successfully hide from the world while you have a face. If we knew how to read the faces of others, we would be able to decipher the mysteries of their life stories. The face always reveals the soul; it is where the divinity of the inner life finds an echo and image. When you behold someone’s face, you are gazing deeply into that person’s life …
Your face is the icon of your life. In the human face, a life looks out at the world and also looks in on itself. It is frightening to behold a face in which bitterness and resentment have lodged. When a person’s life has been bleak, much of its negativity can remain unhealed. Since the negativity is left untransfigured, the bleakness lodges in the face. The face, instead of being a warm presence, has hardened to become a mask. One of the oldest words for person is the Greek word prosopon; and prosopon originally meant the mask that actors wore in a Greek chorus. When bitterness, anger, or resentment are left untransfigured, the face becomes a mask. Yet one also encounters the opposite, namely, the beautiful presence of an old face deeply lined and inscribed by time and experience that has retained a lovely innocence. Even though life may have moved wearily and painfully through such a person, they have still managed not to let it corrode their soul. In such a face a lovely luminosity shines out into the world. It casts a tender light that radiates a sense of holiness and wholesomeness.
The face always reveals who you are, and what life has done to you. Yet it is difficult for you to see the shape of your own life; your life is too near you. Others can decipher much of your mystery from your face. Portrait artists admit that it is exceptionally difficult to render the human face. Traditionally, the eyes are said to be the windows of the soul. The mouth is also difficult to render in the individual portrait. In some strange way the line of the mouth seems to betray the contour of the life; a tight mouth often suggests meanness of spirit. There is a strange symmetry in the way the soul writes the story of its life in the contours of the face.

~ John O’Donohue

Galleries

Photo credit: taylorschlades from morguefile.com

Yo he visto mi alma en sueños…

En el etéreo espacio

donde los mundos giran,

un astro loco, un raudo,

cometa con los rojos

cabellos incendiados…

Yo he visto mi alma en sueños,

cual río plateado,

de rizas ondas lentas

que fluyen dormitando…

Yo he visto mi alma en sueños,

como un estrecho y largo

corredor tenebroso,

de fondo iluminado…

Acaso mi alma tenga

risueña luz de campo,

y sus aromas lleguen

de allá, del fondo claro…

Yo he visto mi alma en sueños…

Era un desierto llano

y un árbol seco y roto

hacia el camino blanco.

Translation

I have seen my soul in dreams…

In the ethereal space

where worlds spin,

a demented star, an impetuous

comet with its red

tail of fire…

I have seen my soul in dreams

like a silvery river

with rippling waves

that flow sleepily…

I have seen my soul in dreams

like a long and narrow

dimly lit corridor

with an illuminated foundation…

Perhaps my soul has

the cheerful light of the countryside,

and its aromas come

from there, from the glowing foundation…

I have seen my soul in dreams…

It was a deserted plain

and a dry and broken tree

along the white path

~ Antonio Machado

Galleries

Photo credit: taylorschlades from morguefile.com

Yo he visto mi alma en sueños…

En el etéreo espacio

donde los mundos giran,

un astro loco, un raudo,

cometa con los rojos

cabellos incendiados…

Yo he visto mi alma en sueños,

cual río plateado,

de rizas ondas lentas

que fluyen dormitando…

Yo he visto mi alma en sueños,

como un estrecho y largo

corredor tenebroso,

de fondo iluminado…

Acaso mi alma tenga

risueña luz de campo,

y sus aromas lleguen

de allá, del fondo claro…

Yo he visto mi alma en sueños…

Era un desierto llano

y un árbol seco y roto

hacia el camino blanco.

Translation

I have seen my soul in dreams…

In the ethereal space

where worlds spin,

a demented star, an impetuous

comet with its red

tail of fire…

I have seen my soul in dreams

like a silvery river

with rippling waves

that flow sleepily…

I have seen my soul in dreams

like a long and narrow

dimly lit corridor

with an illuminated foundation…

Perhaps my soul has

the cheerful light of the countryside,

and its aromas come

from there, from the glowing foundation…

I have seen my soul in dreams…

It was a deserted plain

and a dry and broken tree

along the white path

~ Antonio Machado

Quest For God

Source: Google/Favim

Over hill and dale and mountain range,

In temple, church, and mosque,

In Vedas, Bible, Al Koran

I had searched for Thee in vain.

Like a child in the wildest forest lost

I have cried and cried alone,

"Where art Thou gone, my God, my love?

The echo answered, "gone."

And days and nights and years then passed

A fire was in the brain,

I knew not when day changed in night

The heart seemed rent in twain.

I laid me down on Ganges's shore,

Exposed to sun and rain;

With burning tears I laid the dust

And wailed with waters' roar.

I called on all the holy names

Of every clime and creed.

"Show me the way, in mercy, ye

Great ones who have reached the goal."

Years then passed in bitter cry,

Each moment seemed an age,

Till one day midst my cries and groans

Some one seemed calling me.

A gentle soft and soothing voice

That said 'my son' 'my son',

That seemed to thrill in unison

With all the chords of my soul.

I stood on my feet and tried to find

The place the voice came from;

I searched and searched and turned to see

Round me, before, behind,

Again, again it seemed to speak

The voice divine to me.

In rapture all my soul was hushed,

Entranced, enthralled in bliss.

A flash illumined all my soul;

The heart of my heart opened wide.

O joy, O bliss, what do I find!

My love, my love you are here

And you are here, my love, my all!

And I was searching thee -

From all eternity you were there

Enthroned in majesty!

From that day forth, wherever I roam,

I feel Him standing by

Over hill and dale, high mount and vale,

Far far away and high.

The moon's soft light, the stars so bright,

The glorious orb of day,

He shines in them; His beauty - might -

Reflected lights are they.

The majestic morn, the melting eve,

The boundless billowing sea,

In nature's beauty, songs of birds,

I see through them - it is He.

When dire calamity seizes me,

The heart seems weak and faint,

All nature seems to crush me down,

With laws that never bend.

Meseems I hear Thee whispering sweet

My love, "I am near", "I am near".

My heart gets strong. With thee, my love,

A thousand deaths no fear.

Thou speakest in the mother's lay

Thou shuts the babies eye,

When innocent children laugh and play,

I see Thee standing by.

When holy friendship shakes the hand,

He stands between them too;

He pours the nectar in mother's kiss

And the baby's sweet "mama".

Thou wert my God with prophets old,

All creeds do come from Thee,

The Vedas, Bible, and Koran bold

Sing Thee in Harmony.

"Thou art," Thou art" the Soul of souls

In the rushing stream of life.

"Om tat sat om." Thou art my God,

My love, I am thine, I am thine.

~ Swami Vivekananda

_________________________________________

How idle it is to call certain things God-sends! as if there was anything else in the world.

~ Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare

Quest For God

Source: Google/Favim

Over hill and dale and mountain range,

In temple, church, and mosque,

In Vedas, Bible, Al Koran

I had searched for Thee in vain.

Like a child in the wildest forest lost

I have cried and cried alone,

"Where art Thou gone, my God, my love?

The echo answered, "gone."

And days and nights and years then passed

A fire was in the brain,

I knew not when day changed in night

The heart seemed rent in twain.

I laid me down on Ganges's shore,

Exposed to sun and rain;

With burning tears I laid the dust

And wailed with waters' roar.

I called on all the holy names

Of every clime and creed.

"Show me the way, in mercy, ye

Great ones who have reached the goal."

Years then passed in bitter cry,

Each moment seemed an age,

Till one day midst my cries and groans

Some one seemed calling me.

A gentle soft and soothing voice

That said 'my son' 'my son',

That seemed to thrill in unison

With all the chords of my soul.

I stood on my feet and tried to find

The place the voice came from;

I searched and searched and turned to see

Round me, before, behind,

Again, again it seemed to speak

The voice divine to me.

In rapture all my soul was hushed,

Entranced, enthralled in bliss.

A flash illumined all my soul;

The heart of my heart opened wide.

O joy, O bliss, what do I find!

My love, my love you are here

And you are here, my love, my all!

And I was searching thee -

From all eternity you were there

Enthroned in majesty!

From that day forth, wherever I roam,

I feel Him standing by

Over hill and dale, high mount and vale,

Far far away and high.

The moon's soft light, the stars so bright,

The glorious orb of day,

He shines in them; His beauty - might -

Reflected lights are they.

The majestic morn, the melting eve,

The boundless billowing sea,

In nature's beauty, songs of birds,

I see through them - it is He.

When dire calamity seizes me,

The heart seems weak and faint,

All nature seems to crush me down,

With laws that never bend.

Meseems I hear Thee whispering sweet

My love, "I am near", "I am near".

My heart gets strong. With thee, my love,

A thousand deaths no fear.

Thou speakest in the mother's lay

Thou shuts the babies eye,

When innocent children laugh and play,

I see Thee standing by.

When holy friendship shakes the hand,

He stands between them too;

He pours the nectar in mother's kiss

And the baby's sweet "mama".

Thou wert my God with prophets old,

All creeds do come from Thee,

The Vedas, Bible, and Koran bold

Sing Thee in Harmony.

"Thou art," Thou art" the Soul of souls

In the rushing stream of life.

"Om tat sat om." Thou art my God,

My love, I am thine, I am thine.

~ Swami Vivekananda

_________________________________________

How idle it is to call certain things God-sends! as if there was anything else in the world.

~ Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare