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Little Stones
at My Window
at My Window
Once in a while
joy throws little stones at my
window
it wants to let me know that it's waiting for me
but today I'm
calm
I'd almost say even-tempered
I'm going to keep anxiety locked
up
and then lie flat on my back
which is an elegant and comfortable
position
for receiving and believing news
joy throws little stones at my
window
it wants to let me know that it's waiting for me
but today I'm
calm
I'd almost say even-tempered
I'm going to keep anxiety locked
up
and then lie flat on my back
which is an elegant and comfortable
position
for receiving and believing news
who knows where I'll be next
or when my story
will be taken into account
who knows what advice I still might come up
with and what easy way out I'll take not to follow it
or when my story
will be taken into account
who knows what advice I still might come up
with and what easy way out I'll take not to follow it
don't worry, I won't gamble with an eviction
I
won't tattoo remembering with forgetting
there are many things left to say
and suppressand many grapes left to fill our mouths don't worry, I'm convinced
joy doesn't need to
throw any more little stones
I'm coming
I'm coming.
I
won't tattoo remembering with forgetting
there are many things left to say
and suppressand many grapes left to fill our mouths don't worry, I'm convinced
joy doesn't need to
throw any more little stones
I'm coming
I'm coming.
~ Mario
Benedetti ~
Benedetti ~
(translated by
Charles Hatfield)
Charles Hatfield)
Let your life be the poem
you write.
you write.
Let your heart be the
portrait you paint.
portrait you paint.
~ Bonkonon ~
For the Artist at the Start
of Day
of Day
May morning be astir with
the harvest of night;
Your mind quickening to the eros of a new
question,
Your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse
That cut right
through the surface to a source.
the harvest of night;
Your mind quickening to the eros of a new
question,
Your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse
That cut right
through the surface to a source.
May this be a morning of
innocent beginning,
When the gift within you slips clear
Of the sticky web
of the personal
With its hurt and its hauntings,
And fixed fortress
corners,
innocent beginning,
When the gift within you slips clear
Of the sticky web
of the personal
With its hurt and its hauntings,
And fixed fortress
corners,
A Morning when you become a
pure vessel
For what wants to ascend from silence,
pure vessel
For what wants to ascend from silence,
May your imagination
know
The grace of perfect danger,
know
The grace of perfect danger,
To reach beyond
imitation,
And the wheel of repetition,
imitation,
And the wheel of repetition,
Deep into the call of
all
The unfinished and unsolved
all
The unfinished and unsolved
Until the veil of the
unknown yields
And something original begins
To stir toward your
senses
And grow stronger in your heart
unknown yields
And something original begins
To stir toward your
senses
And grow stronger in your heart
In order to come to
birth
In a clean line of form,
That claims from time
A rhythm not yet
heard,
That calls space to
A different shape.
birth
In a clean line of form,
That claims from time
A rhythm not yet
heard,
That calls space to
A different shape.
May it be its own force
field
And dwell uniquely
Between the heart and the light
field
And dwell uniquely
Between the heart and the light
To surprise the hungry
eye
By how deftly it fits
About its secret loss.
eye
By how deftly it fits
About its secret loss.
~ John O'Donohue
~
~
(To Bless the Space Between
Us)
Us)