If writing verses of a song can help
Memorize prime numbers and build
Memory, all my failings will fade
Away, I will be grateful for the new
Developments like learning how to elope
And reverse expenses. I, myself,
Will be smiling, stand at the center of the stage
Start a play though will not make me richer, will make
Me less poorer. Is it an improvement to end
The year? Or is it a certain type of beauty,
A beauty of a moment that suddenly disappear?
Enduring moment is enduring the present bringing
Enough strength to move the wheels of hope.
It’s awful to feel lonely.
Don’t weep if delight goes away
possessions are not treasures
also will fade away
all is not helplessness
your life is rich by living
you are not alone
Someone loves you.
“One of the unexpectedly important things that art can do for us is teach us how to suffer more successfully.
,,,We need help in finding honour in some of our worst experiences, and art is there to lend them a social expression.”
-Alain de Botton & John Armstrong, Art as Therapy
Birds do not cry.
Though sometimes they look helpless.
Like when they are sunning on the beach
And high tide is coming
Why should sadness be inevitable?
You can look out to the sea
Imagine the sailboats racing
Or simply sailing leisurely.
Have patience with the past
In the midst of absurdities
There is time to differentiate
Optimism from hope.
Do not cry.
“The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre—
To be redeemed from fire by fire.
Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove.
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire.”
-T.S.Eliot, Four Quartets
a step in light or darkness
or a blue eye in the sky
like the earth,
a landscape of radiance and catastrophe,
and few delicacies:
a good story, afternoon stroll,
stream of consciousness,
raindrops, smile and hug.
If I can sustain prayer,
fire of faith, hope,
I may reach
orbit of the celestial.
Monday afternoon was fading
you told me the nowhereness of your life
a horrifying thought of an artist
ideas like pins doodling your mind
with no gusty emotions fanning the sails.
“Is there any hope?”
You told me of a man in a mountain
who lived in an ancestral cabin
who “showered in a waterfall”,
solar panels heat his stove.
Life is coherence and details.
Come down from the idyllic, the abundance
while your senses can still get involved
don’t wait for the sun
to swallow the moon
hold with your hands and mind
a “sense of eternity”
before the last consciousness of the earth
everywhere, you hear cries
of “wars and other wickedness”
~”remembering happiness is painful.”
“There was something about living on the land that made people forever hopeful. Good years were always ahead. These old people knew well enough that the most promising colt might bring the bitterest disappointment, that the rainy season might start out well and end in drought, that the prettiest heifer might not give enough milk to pay for her feed. Yet they kept on breeding their animals and planting their fields.”
-from: November Grass by Judy Van Der Veer