They used music and poetry and movement. They sat in silence.
.har citeretfor 2 år siden
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest
where no one sees you,
but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.
.har citeretfor 2 år siden
An ant hurries along a threshing floor
with its wheat grain, moving between huge stacks
of wheat, not knowing the abundance
all around. It thinks its one grain
is all there is to love.
So we choose a tiny seed to be devoted to.
.har citeretfor 2 år siden
Poems
are rough notations for the music we are.
.har citeretfor 2 år siden
Philosophers have said that we love music
because it resembles the sphere-sounds
of union. We’ve been part of a harmony
before, so these moments of treble and bass
keep our remembering fresh
.har citeretfor 2 år siden
Close the language-door (the mouth). Open the love-window (the eyes). The moon (the reflected light of the divine) won’t use the door, only the window.
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Heart has plundered mind of its eloquence.
Love writes a transparent calligraphy, so on
the empty page my soul can read and recollect.
or your own genuine solitude?
.har citeretfor 2 år siden
The deeper the grief, the more radiant the love.
.har citeretfor 2 år siden
My friend John Seawright used to say that the real tragedy is when you don’t feel much of anything when someone dies.
.har citeretfor 2 år siden
Your deepest presence is in every small
contracting and expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as birdwings.
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