- 1 month ago
"Para mi corazón basta tu pecho. Para tu libertad bastan mis alas. Desde mi boca llegara hasta el cielo lo que estaba dormido sobre tu alma."
"Every time you hear the voice and say it, you gain power. Every time you don’t say it you abandon yourself. And after abandoning yourself over and over again, you have no idea who you are and you have no power."
"Our plans miscarry because they have no aim. When you don’t know what harbor you’re aiming for, no wind is the right wind."
"The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them"
"Power is just power. It’s coming through you but it’s not yours. Power organically burns out identity. The thing you think is you will actually destroy you."
Another favorite poem. Enjoy.
Love after Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
- 2 months ago
While sitting on my windy balcony the first line went through my mind so it felt like time to re-read and share this poem.
Song of a Man Who Has Come Through
Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.
If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!
If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!
If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed
By the fine, fine wind that takes its course through the chaos of the world.
Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted;
If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge
Driven by invisible blows,
The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.
Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,
I would be a good fountain, a good well-head,
Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.
What is the knocking?
What is the knocking at the door in the night?
It is somebody wants to do us harm.
No, no, it is the three strange angels.
Admit them, admit them.
- 2 months ago