yes, the smiling and the crying, the being alive, and as ruth and lisel mueller tell us, the burning.xoeirn
This speaks to me, deeply.The absence I feel in pain, and its isolation, reflected here.And this:THERE ARE MORNINGS Even now, when the plot calls for me to turn to stone, the sun intervenes. Some mornings in summer I step outside and the sky opens and pours itself into me as if I were a saintabout to die. But the plotcalls for me to live,be ordinary, say nothing to anyone. Inside the housethe mirrors burn when I pass.Lisel Mueller. Alive Together: New and Selected PoemsExtraordinary reflections coinciding, don't you think?love
so perfect in response i can't do a thing but be turned toward the sky))xoerin
I'm just hoping I'm not the only the hole... Brilliant pictures as always
impossible! you have a voice.xoerin
and may be this is the fate of the white space,if i can say so without sounding ruthless or cruel;i know just that i love their movements, beside mine,beside yours-and sometimes shapes are only just impressions of our regard on a too shinny sky.wonderful images in the last day of summer...
flux. momentum. momentary fantastical miasmic being. cruel? no. all opportunity resides here. but most importantly, yes, together.xoerin
stilig, det liker jeg godt !
thank you, dirk.xoerin
Beautiful! Forms may not be real, but our pain is.
real or not, these incredible things so - perfect - and - acute - how might reality matter one way or the other?but i wonder on the nature of our pain, for surely it drives us to despondency at times. is our sadness essential or do we manufacture it in the factory of misunderstanding? could it be that our misunderstanding is essential too?oh, a few lines from a Rumi poem, "This being human is a guest house.Every morning a new arrival.A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and attend them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Sorrows are the rags of old clothes and jackets that serve to cover, and then are taken off. That undressing, and the beautiful naked body underneath, is the sweetness that comes after grief. You haven’t dared yet lose faith – so how can faith grow in you?" xoerin
That hole... it can be filled, but only for moments at a time...This fills it.
"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))