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Showing posts with label path. Show all posts
Showing posts with label path. Show all posts

2018-08-18

"You wander hither and yon" . . .

1. Do you suppose that you alone have had this experience? Are you surprised, as if it were a novelty, that after such long travel and so many changes of scene you have not been able to shake off the gloom and heaviness of your mind? You need a change of soul rather than a change of climate. . . .

         Lands and cities are left astern,

your faults will follow you whithersoever you travel. 2. Socrates made the same remark to one who complained; he said: "Why do you wonder that globe-trotting does not help you, seeing that you always take yourself with you? The reason which set you wandering is ever at your heels." What pleasure is there in seeing new lands? Or in surveying cities and spots of interest? All your bustle is useless. Do you ask why such flight does not help you? It is because you flee along with yourself. You must lay aside the burdens of the mind; until you do this, no place will satisfy you.

3. . . . You wander hither and yon, to rid yourself of the burden that rests upon you, though it becomes more troublesome by reason of your very restlessness, just as in a ship the cargo when stationary makes no trouble, but when it shifts to this side or that, it causes the vessel to heel more quickly in the direction where it has settled. Anything you do tells against you, and you hurt yourself by your very unrest; for you are shaking up a sick man.

4. That trouble once removed, all change of scene will become pleasant; though you may be driven to the uttermost ends of the earth, in whatever corner of a savage land you may find yourself, that place, however forbidding, will be to you a hospitable abode. . . .

5. If you saw this fact clearly, you would not be surprised at getting no benefit from the fresh scenes to which you roam each time through weariness of the old scenes. For the first would have pleased you in each case, had you believed it wholly yours. As it is, however, you are not journeying; you are drifting and being driven, only exchanging one place for another, although that which you seek, – to live well, – is found everywhere. . . .

“The knowledge of sin is the beginning of salvation.” This saying of Epicurus seems to me to be a noble one. For he who does not know that he has sinned does not desire correction; you must discover yourself in the wrong before you can reform yourself. Some boast of their faults. Do you think that the man has any thought of mending his ways who counts over his vices as if they were virtues?

― Seneca, from "Moral letters to Lucilius/Letter 28"



2018-01-30

Befriend the Wind

If you ever loose your path
(as if in the midst of the wretched wild)

Consider greeting a bird, befriending a tree;
listen to the ancient callings of the steadfast wind
that spell out the four cardinal directions ―

Then a rose would be your confidant and aide
(for you'd know to read and understand her face)
towards this place of infinite solace

_ _ _

                                                          "Howling Winds" (2014)

2016-10-02

eternity bound




innate blind 
eyes wide shut

an un-fathomable love pass-
age footsteps fresh in the dust

a room with no exit
I enter, and stay

2015-09-20

At the old table

At the root
I acquire Grandmother's eye-
glasses wrapped in a handkerchief
place them on the old
kitchen table, watch them gaze 
at what she might have seen last
(with) her heart weakening
a wavering light abruptly quenched
some thirty years ago ―
through an open-wide window
a black bird in flight
a bare upside-down tree
planted in heaven by winter
dreaming of spring
to invert /



2015-07-15

Bubbly blooms



sunlight
condensed in clumps
of yellow bubbly blooms
skirt the longsome
dusty legs of summer

2015-07-06

Tis the open Road



Tis the open Road ―
astounding the mere proposition
of distance and destiny merging
in the grace of light

2015-06-28

Wildalone



Wildalone*, I'm-
age harbouring a restless soul, uprooted
and haunted by this
intrinsic longing to be on the move
in chase of an archaic self-
reinventing ever illusionary horizon
somewhere else, obscure
like an emerald frosted century-
old heart-shaped sea-glass
relentlessly pounded by time and elements
glinting now at my weary feet
at the water's edge of Cabo Fisterra
believed once to be the End of the World
astounding, evermore unsettled
the mere proposition of a dream
distance destiny merging
someday, someplace

*Wildalone, самодива [samodiva]

_ _ _

“Now more than ever do I realize that I will never be content with a sedentary life, 
that I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere.” 

― Isabelle Eberhardt, The Nomad: The Diaries of Isabelle Eberhardt

2014-05-11

Counting time

This road ends at the old sea-
wall wedged beyond the possibility
of going any further. The options left
are to fly, swim/drown, or turn back
seek the mountain. There is an uneasy
sense of sinking when surrounded by water.
Perhaps all endings feel that way.

The hourglass broken open(

Tumultuous winds and high seas
have smashed it against the age-
old battered shores. Time languishes
present, and equally absent here.
Its vague pulse counted by the dying waves
counter-intuitive to one's heart,
lost to a sense of direction.

There are roughly ten-thousand grains
of sand in a handful, sometimes enough
to measure an entire minute of life.
Trickling now between my fingers.

In seconds.


_ _ _


2013-04-21

spread of wings - tanka






                                                 foam, spread of silk wings
                                                  tracing the invisible
                                                  path over the sea -
                                                  a firm push off gravity
                                                  in crystal resonant air

                                                                                                                  (it is all there is)

2013-01-23

among the puddles



                                                              at the water's edge
                                                              white pebbles among puddles
                                                               eyes longing for home ~ 


                                                              (horizon fading)
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