Losing my Memory

Immersed in reading ‘Immortality’ by Kundera he refers to,’ the glasses incident’. I remember the broken glasses, but whose and why and refer back to chapter 12.

I forget why I said that. I’m like a drop of water babbling in the stream, there for a moment and then forgetting everything in a dark ocean current or a wave, a crystal moment in the clouds or a drop of water on a late rose. Piles of old letters, mine and others are spread on the floor, turning to dust, mingling. Memories,

“………..The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity.”

“………..But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.”

Quotes are from ‘Four Quartets’ by T S Eliot.

http://www.tristan.icom43.net/quartets/

The Silver Lily and A Garden in Shoreham

The nights have grown cool again, like the nights
Of early spring, and quiet again. Will
Speech disturb you? We're
Alone now; we have no reason for silence.
Can you see, over the garden-the full moon rises.
I won't see the next full moon.

In spring, when the moon rose, it meant
Time was endless. Snowdrops
Opened and closed, the clustered
Seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts.
White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree.
And in the crook, where the tree divides,
Leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight
Soft greenish-silver.

We have come too far together toward the end now
To fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain
I know what the end means. And you, who've been
With a man--

After the first cries,
Doesn't joy, like fear, make no sound?

Poem by Louise Gluck
Picture by Samuel Palmer

Samuel Palmer, "Early Morning" (1825), A Tree-Hugger Ahead of His Time

Palmer's sepias take us deep into the mysterious harmony of the natural world. Animals and humans are often present — note the hyperalert rabbit and half-hidden villagers in the resplendent "Early Morning" — and houses and barns crop up in the distance. But the main character is nature, in its wholeness and divineness, measured out in slightly stiff renderings of effulgently leafy bushes, glimmering birches, massive oaks and gnarly rocks, and in occasional moments of breathtaking ambiguity.


Posted by Jeff at March 19, 2006 11:45 AM

Kirsty MacColl "In These Shoes?"

Over all Hilltops is Peace... Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh...

Over all Hilltops is Peace... Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh...

‘The Seventh Seal’

‘The Seventh Seal’

The Song on Reaching the Mountain Peak

The Song on Reaching the Mountain Peak

The Song on Reaching the Mountain Peak

Hearken, my sons! If you want
To climb the mountain peak
You should hold the Self-mind's light,
Tie it with a great "Knot,"
And catch it with a firm "Hook."
If you practice thus
You can climb the mountain peak
To enjoy the view.

Come, you gifted men and women,
Drink the brew of Experience!
Come "inside" to enjoy the scene --
See it and enjoy it to the full!
The Incapable remain outside;
Those who cannot drink pure
Beer may quaff small beer.
He who cannot strive for Bodhi,
Should strive for superior birth.

- Milarepa

Translated by Garma C. C. Chang