There isn't a single moment that the flower fails to bloom.

Otis Reding's White Christmas

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBUEriRD1ek

Me: Rainbow, you look blue.
Rainbow: I look blue because I am blue.
Me: Yes, I see that you are sad. I don’t like seeing you so.
Rainbow: No, I meant that I am blue. Can’t you see that I have no other hues, but blue. My blueness leaves me blue. It approaches the ridiculous, I know. It’s embarrassing. A rainbow is by definition imbued with many wonderful colors.
Me: Oh, I think I see now. Well, I would not fret. Blue is truly a beautiful color on you. Still, I can see why you would like to manifest all of your colors. Be that as it may, blue Rainbow. Why are you blue, Rainbow?
Rainbow: She is not so charming as you paint her.
Me: She? Where did that come from? Who Is She? Well, anyway…Pray tell, blue Rainbow. Why do you appear to be blue?
Rainbow: Appear Blue? I am blue. It is because She smiles and the Sun pauses to reflect.
Me: Reflects? The Sun stops to think?
Rainbow: Hardly. It stops to reflect its rays upon her just-so She can hold her close to Her…and be warmed by her and warm her back. Then, I’ve witnessed that those near enough to her too are graced by her unique light and warm music.
Me: That doesn’t sound too awful? But, I’m sure it gets worse.
Rainbow: It does. When she dances Oranges of many and varied hues – some I’d never even known to occur, celebrate wildly and join in too. When she gets moved by passions, then even ecstatic reds become her. I can accept the other colors becoming her. But, in fact, even red becomes her. It’s just not fair.
Me: Is that bad? You know, I think I see a hint of green in you all of a sudden. I don’t know if that is good or bad. You aren’t green with envy, are you?
Rainbow: I’m not done! That may not be that bad viewed in isolation. But, one has to look at the whole picture. Listen to this. Suns set with regularity, in order that she may glimmer in other-worldly pinks and resplendent violets.
Me: Oh, I see. Forgive me, but don’t suns tend to set? It doesn’t sound like something she has done to you. Hey, I think I see a little red in your cheeks. Please don’t be angry over something beyond your control.
Rainbow: Well, when she feels down and wishes for something else, I know grasses and leaves who would happily sacrifice themselves for her - to see that she may live in their suns and daughters’ greener pastures.
Me: This doesn’t sound so bad - I daresay it’s almost charming, actually.
Rainbow: Uchhh. Charming? I’m just ecstatic for her. Can you see that it leaves me nothing but blue? Does she have to horde more than the whole visible spectrum? I’ve seen colors flow to and from her even beyond those in me! Thus, am I a blue Rainbow. Who has even heard of a blue rainbow. Have you? It’s a contradiction. It’s ludicrous!
Me: Are you sure that it is she that deprives you of your rainbow, Rainbow? After all, your essence consists of many beautiful colors. How could another deprive you of that? I saw them within her - maybe, not even all of them. More of the same hues, but also ever more vibrant ones, manifesting all the time - especially when she shows resolve. She has done marvelous and brave things before; will she not do more and braver things still? She has more hues, I think, than you or I have been allowed to see. Perhaps, more even, than she yet conceives. And, whenever she lets her will and self flow, her infinite colors truly always will become her. Even when she is unbecoming do they become her - as they are her, and she, they. May that she be(come) what she is. Rainbow…I think I see some more colors in you even now.

Is there Free Will?

Flowers bloom in the proper soil, under the right conditions...with sunlight, warmth, water, and love.... Is anything any different? And, first, you have to be a flower if you are to have a chance of blooming.

Facts are Facts, Buster

Someone just has nice hair...and, it would look nice no matter what - even if it ALL fell off!

Pardon My Language, but Some People f**ing P_ss me Off

No one couldn't give a flying fuck about Anyone. No one doesn't give a shit about Anyone. No one doesn't want to take care of Anyone. No one cares for Someone.

If

If I was allowed on Some-one's blog, I would tell her that what she wrote was pretty cute and funny.  And, more enjoyable than reading Adalgisa Nery or Alfonso Romano de Sant'Anna...in English translation at least.

But, No-one isn't supposed to comment on Somone's blog.  So, No-one isn't telling Someone anything.  

No-one gives a fuck...I must call mummy and daddy tomorrow; how mad I now am at them.  They told me all this time my name was R___.  My name must really be No-one.  No-one gives a flying fuck.

And, God may or may not give a shit…I can’t get inside his mind. 

But, I can get inside of mine. And, I give a shit.  Actually, 2 shits.

Exchange

God, give to me her pain - even for a while.

But, in return, you must return to her her smile.

For a single smile on your face

I'd see millions perish in your place

since the twinkle in your eye
is a reason to be alive.

This I heard

Today, I heard an interview with the founder of the modern "This I believe" series. I searched, but could not find the audio from it.... They played an introduction from the original series* with Edward R. Murrow, which I found inspirational... and reminded me of a brave woman I know....
It reminded me of her courage...I recalled an essay I hope she submits... I hope that she writes for herself and that others may be allowed to be inspired by her musings. She is unique...If anyone ever hurt her...I would kill them, if she wanted.

*http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4566554

Anti-climax has its moment (draft)

If I am not happy at this very moment, how much less happy will I be after I get that which will make me happy?
Since, a moment after I got 'it' or 'that' which made me happy, that which made me happy is (done being) gotten - since I just got it.
Is that happiness I got by getting 'it' now gone, since (after getting it) I already (had) got(ten) 'it'? Or, does it remain? What is 'it' , or 'that' anyway that made me happy?
Not only that. After I get it, I no longer can (derive the happiness of) look(ing) forward to getting that which is going to make me (un)happy once I get it. I can no longer look forward to getting that - having already gotten it.
Surely, then, this getting that which is going to make me happy, diminishes the happiness I had before I got that which is going to make me happy.
Well, having gotten it I naturally determine to figure out...
How can I get 'it' again (If only getting 'it') is what is going to make me happy (again)? But, I'd have to keep getting 'it' (again), if getting 'it' is what makes me happy.
It may become a problem trying to keep get(ting) 'it' again, If I think only by getting it (i.e., the same exact 'it') will I be happy. Get it? Get it? Get it? Get it?
How many times will I keep trying to get it before I get that my happiness does not depend upon getting it, and that I may even not be happier by getting it?

Darling, When It's Night

Darling, when it’s night,
there isn’t any light
sensed by means of sight.
Yet, as we delight
in each other’s sight…
you, my gleaming light
suddenly ignite.
So, with all my might
I will keep you be bright

in your darkest nights.

Requested picture...these are from the last 2 weeks...Can you guess which one is me? Btw, I'm back in Fl

A Poem I heard this weekend

Tis a Fearful Thing

It is a fearful thing
to love what death can touch.

A fearful thing
to love, hope, dream:

to be--

to be,
And! to lose.

A thing for fools, this,

and
a holy thing,

a holy thing
to love.

For your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was gift to me.

To remember this brings painful joy.

'Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing,
to love
what death has touched. 

--Anonymous

California...

2 days...and then it's off to San Francisco.

Do you want to know a secret?

Knowing Eyes

which know Everything

I don’t always know

What? Do you not know?

Everything? Something

you may (not) know -

Maybe soon

I’ll say it too.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHhRC7K0RHA

Quotation from the Zhuang Tzu, 3:13

Sight to the Formerly Blind

My eyes were opened...and I was horrified by what I saw, or rather, did not see. Sometimes our desires blind us. Sometimes, things can only be realized in retrospect...one piece here, another piece that was mis-recognized because it was (meant to be?) seen out of context. . . its signifigance not, at that time, grasped.... To not needing to be sure and having new eyes.

Tonight I asked of Time A Question...Part 4

Each little more taken
takes a little more you.
Taking a little more a lot
leaves you, with a lot more, alone.
And a lot less - of you.

When you must have too much
There’s too much you in things-not-you.
What must be had has you.
You’ll have more. You’ll be less.

Things of value lack value.
Value losing things of value.
Overvaluing things of value…
has you gaining the things...
…but losing your soul…
What value is there in that?
Value truth - not the things of value.

Feel the emptiness
of each more, and more
till you’ll need less, more.
Then, less is less no more.

Empty, but offered the gift
of needing a soul to lift.
All dance, love, feel, and shit.
He loves Her, Two get filled.

Sensed by word or gesture...
love transcends mere pleasures...
This gift is Hers to treasure
until time's end, forever.

Image: The Lovers, Marc Chagall

Tonight I asked of Time A Question...Part 3 of 4

“Time, Stop!” I decried. "This must be a crime.
There are happier ways to pass time, Time."

"Stop crying. You're crying on a date, with me?
Who fibbed? saying life's gifts came free of fees.

Every gift that you gathered when things went your way -
You’ll rue their receipt once they’re wrested away.

Let's have a date...
when I'll take away

each bliss you have known -
every pleasure bestowed.

Of those former gifts, some bring a tear today.
Some bring much more tears - mourning, night and day.

Some smart at your heart like a stinging, sharp knife.
Some inhabit your dreams for the rest of this life.

After you sum up these somes, sorrows, and strife,
you’ve summed more tears than seconds of life.

You’ll cease summing when you’ve passed away,
dumbstruck by the unreason of endless dismay.

You might wish you'd killed Me before you’d been born;
before Time determined the time you'd be born."

Now, a bit shaken by this...
I asked if ever she gives
better gifts. Since the gifts
up to this, would not much be missed.

Time paused a bit and mentioned this:
"Reconsider the notion gift.

The answer turns upon this."

All is Vanity. Image by Charles Allan Gilbert, American, 1873 - 1929.

Yes, But will we be in love more deeply at 95, or The Possibility of Enduring Love

...and when the bloom of youth fades the Friendship [love] sometimes ceases also, because then the lover derives no pleasure from seeing, and the object of his affection ceases to receive the attentions which were paid before.... (Nichomechan Ethics, Aristotle, Bk. IV)
Friendship [love] comes to be broken up because the motives to it cease to exist: the parties loved not one another but [only certain] qualities in one another which are not permanent, and so neither are the Friendships [permanent]: whereas the Friendship [love] based upon the moral character ofthe parties...is permanent.... (Nichomechean Ethics, Aristotle, Bk. IX, pt. 1, italics, mine)
http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext05/8ethc10.txt

Love

you and i have so much love,

that it burns like a fire,

in which we bake a lump of clay

molded into a figure of you and a figure of me.

then we take both of them,

and break them into pieces,

and mix the pieces with water,

and mold again a figure of you, and a figure of me.

i am in your clay. you are in my clay.

in life we share a single quilt.

in death we will share one coffin

verses by Kuan Tao-Sheng 1262-1319

"I Will", by The Beatles

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-EPmQwkeNCs&feature=related

Image by Constantin Brâncuşi

Tonight I asked of Time A Question...Part 2 of around 4

When? I said. You’ve got nothing but time

Is Time a niggard? Grant me more time, Time.
But, She spoke and said, She’d do it swiftly.
"That might be best – Quick! 1, 2, 3.
Or, if you’d rather, it could be done slowly."
She said that all I had, had just been lent to me.
“Those gifts you had thought I had given to thee
weren’t yours, nor mine, nor, were those gifts gifts.
But, tentacles, and vines filled with shit.”

http://iws.ccccd.edu/Andrade/WorldLitI2332/Dante/BottInf.18.jpg

Image by Sandro Boticelli

1 Whole Me, give or take 1 Whole We; or, 1 + 1 > 2

1
Becaming ½ of us > 1.
Became < 1.
Becom(ing) 1, me.
Or, ½ of more than 1, with you?

Tonight I asked of Time A Question...Part 1

Tonight I said, ‘Oh, Time’ -
What men and gods have sought that shines
Were that it all were to be mine.

This time, did Time grant to me
My wish just as it was asked of She.

I wished first just to have both this and that.
And once I had both, I wished, for both, again.

But, not just both. But, that and that, too.
Ah, bliss brought this, this; that, that, that, and that too.

Shit, happier, fatter, me, than the fattest fat cat
became. Thus, I wished for all six again, twice.

The pleasure of all twelve was oh so nice.
Nicer, than just those six ones, twice
since I reveled in pleasures, thinking oh so merrily
how this and that treasure, uniquely, each completed me.

‘Time, stop! I cannot take so much pleasure any more!"
"Wait, I take that back. Give me much, much more!"

But, then Time tapped me, and asked me when
I’d like to let Her take it back again.
Just when and how and where...
She’d graciously leave that up to me.

Dream of the Taj Mahal and Exotic Birds

I was at a new Taj Mahal restaurant which opened. Even that yucky Indian kid could appreciate that this one [i.e restaurant] in Aplus sucked. ________. He leaves us [a friend and I] to be alone.
I went to another room [now not a restaurant, but a house].
All those birds were coming into the house…windows open, getting cold and they wanna stay. One is sitting on on my shoulder, but squawking. I try to speak to her; but she does not copy the sounds.

I used to tutor an Indian boy of about 17. I used to go to an Indian restaurant in Cambridge, MA called Taj Mahal. I did once stand in a line with him, but at a coffee shop. He is a somewhat spoiled Indian boy of 17 that I had tutored several times. I really got paid quite a bit to do some of his work for him, which he would have been content to do not at all.
I tutored him at his parents’ home. The art and statues there were mostly imitations of fine Indian art. It was new and expensive…clearly his parents were wealthy. I love Indian art, but felt they could have shown more original tastes in what they had bought.
In a similar vein, then, there is this ‘new’ Taj Mahal Indian restaurant. It is an imitation [of the Cambridge restaurant] of an imitation of the real, breathtaking Taj Mahal. It’s name is misleading, and gains its status only by parroting the name of the great and original Taj Mahal. Similarly, this restaurant is (somehow) in an Aplus – a chain of stores that they have on the East coast at gas stations. They don’t sell anything that would deserve such a high grade – and neither did this kid ever deserve the high grades (A+) that he received for work he had little role in completing. Perhaps, I felt myself something of a fake too for doing his work for him…Neither did I deserve much credit for getting A’s for someone else.
But, why was this restaurant called the Taj Mahal in the dream? What I recall about it is that it was built in memoriam to the wife the Emperor so dearly loved.
He remembered her by gifting it to his passed (past) lover so that his love would not die - as she had. I was able to identify with him, because I wished too to remember a past (not passed) love, as I had wished to be remembered on that day. I once went to an Indian restaurant with her, which, at the time I went, reminded me of that more original, Taj Mahal restaurant in Cambridge. I identify with the Emperor, through our mutual yearning. And, she does not leave (as she really did); rather our love affair ended for another reason - because she passed, like the Emporor’s wife*. I have built this memorial to this past love.

I went to another room [now not a restaurant, but a house].
All those birds were coming into the house…windows open, getting cold and they wanna stay. One is sitting on on my shoulder, but unpleasantly squawking. I try to speak to her, but she does not copy the sounds.
There was a Hitchock movie called ‘The Birds’. I recall that Tippie Hedrin was in the movie. She was in another Hitchcock movie called Marnie– my eldest sister’s name is Marney (she was named in part because of my father’s fondness for this film). She hadn’t called me for my birthday. Maybe, I wished she (so, who is ‘she’…my sister?, Tippi, …) had called (she later did a day late). One expects to be remembered by those that you love, and that love you, on that day. There may be some resonances too to my first pet, - not Tippi but Tiffany – Tiffi for short, a little lhasa apsa dog, who died, I remembered, on my 6th birthday. She was loved, she always affectionately remembered you, and is now remembered by me.
...windows open, getting cold and they wanna stay....
It was truly getting cold in my bedroom as I slept, as I have a habit of keeping the a.c. up high.
I had passed by a sign the night b/f the dream while driving. It said ‘Exotic Birds’. I wished to stop and see them, but I didn’t as I needed to drive a friend home and it would become late. Again, there is the notion of time and not having enough of it…both short term (needing to my friend home), and long term (yet another year of life has gone by, marked by a birthday).
While in college near Boston (where the ‘original’ Indian restaurant Taj Mahal was) - a girl I did not know, at the time, came up to me in our cafeteria and told me her friend wanted to meet me. After a brief introduction and exchanging names, She said to me ‘There are always so many exotic women around you, you lucky bird!’. This witty remark depended on my real name also being the name of a bird. So, in the dream I got to be with those exotic, intelligent birds - which I’d been deprived of the night before. That is, I wished to have those University educated birds around me.
I had recently met a girl from Iran. But, she had said she was from Persia, which I thought was odd of her to say instead of Iran. This must have struck me as exotic, and not only because she was Persian. I have been spending a lot of time trying to find a Persain cat, which are also referred to as Exotics.
The next part of the dream refers to two birds – one, a parakeet I’d had when I was a child, and the other, a Parrot from a Poem by the Persian poet, Rumi. The apparently annoying squawking of the dream is pleasurable when I recall that in the poem by Rumi, the Parrot would enjoy even the squawking of its fellow, beloved birds (parrots, but perhaps also Robins?) to the sweetest music.
I recall that when I was little we had a parakeet, which I tried, but never could get to 'parrot' my words. My Exotic friend, like my parakeet, would not copy the sounds, or thoughts, of others. Again, there this admiration and yearning for originality. I must have liked the fact that this Exotic parrot [my Persian friend] had many original things to say.
I recall now another friend of mine, not from Persia, who had once read to me a poem by the Persian poet, Rumi. It was called I think the ‘Indian Parrot’. And, I recall this foreign friend telling me that he was the Parrot in the Poem the 'Indian Parrot'. What the Parrot says she yearns for most is for her freedom…and, she gets it..... I recall, though, that in the poem, that while the parrot yearned for freedom – it also yearned for even the squawking voices of its friends, more than the sweetest music. They enjoy even each others squawking voices, and by extension each other’s company. We were able to appreciate the other's voice, even when the opinion was not agreeable...even more so, for that reason.

*Thank God, she is fine in real life, so far as I know.
**I looked for the poem and found a similar line – “the sound of their quarreling high in the trees would be sweeter to hear than any music." It may have been that in the translation I had originally heard, it read squawking. In either case, the meaning is similar.
http://www.mythfolklore.net/3043mythfolklore/reading/rumi/pages/12.htm

Some of the content and interpretation had to be left out...some things can't be said even on a private blog, which is after all, public.

I cry for sorrows not my own, and a past I did not know.

Her Oracle

I asked of you a question. You told me to be silent in order that I would receive your answer. When I listened in that stillness, you gently granted me an answer. I’ll see if you are faithful
to the words that you have spoken.
________________________________. ________________________________. __________________________________.

There is a wall between us now which I never wanted - erected with the materials of our destinies. I do not even seek to make it fall anymore, for its latter bricks (as opposed to former ones I acknowledged) were not placed by me. Yet, I'm grateful to know a little bit more about, and understand a little bit bettter, my favorite person in the world...and I notice even her small, but glimmering references.

Where do we draw the line? And, Who draws/drew it?

Why do I endeavor to move towards and cross that line. What if it would be far wiser and I will become far more content, to seek to cross this one instead? That is, if and when I choose to draw a line at all.
So, Who drew the line? I, or an other? It can get confusing and confused, at times. Sometimes I realized another drew that one; and, that that line which lay in front of me as a yearned for goal I thought I sought, was a chain around my neck with an endpoint that was not actually yearned for by my soul - but by something else.
When others would have me will this or that, (far too often) their wishes 'for me' (or, should it read for them?) are neither their best wishes concerned with my highest good (but rather for theirs), nor willed by a wise or good will. Would a good will desire that I will their will? A good will, I think, would not be so demanding of another’s will.
The first thing that I had better be sure of, in order not to waste this too short and precious life, is that I am going in the direction of these lines and that I am the artist.
Too often is a meaningless finish line devised not by us, but 'for us' (And, who else but us should be, and better be, most earnestly concerned with its meaning) by society, parents, others, etc. with our own best interests not even taken into account. (ie., How/Who elects to die in meaningless wars, becomes what a parent wanted them to become, or wishes most of all to be a professional athlete, lawyer...?) How could what others like or would like me to like be designed to address my deepest desires or my own best interests, rather than theirs for me? While it is far easier in a million ways, both for oneself and everyone else, to adopt the tastes of another...my taste is, in every case, the best taste, to me.

Why they bother actually running the race

When I was a child, I played various sports. As a young child, one competes with others. One competes with oneself. One tries, and tries to get better, to better oneself, and, to be better than others too. One enjoys improving and the joy of being while doing something extremely well.

At a certain point when one competes, one might seek the glory which comes from being recognized as being very good at something. At that point, perhaps the pure enjoyment of the sport can still remain. But, at the very least, something is added to the ‘pure enjoyment’ which, it might be said, makes it a bit less pure….and, something somewhat different.
I watched an Olympic race in the women’s hurdles. The heavy favorite in the race (named Lolo Jones) was leading by a great deal with only 2 hurdles to go. Although she almost never hits hurdles - the announcer added, she graced the 2nd to last one, going from 1st place to 7th in less than 20 meters. What an unhappy coincidence? for her that, of all the times to hit a hurdle, it should be at just this moment.
20 meters separated her from an Olympic gold medal… 20 years of training, down the drain. She looked absolutely devastated afterwards. How long and how often did she imagine winning this race? How important it must have been to her. Did she fantasize having attained that medal with such a big lead (with only 2 hurdles to go) before she actually had attained it? Was this prize so seductive that once it was virtually within her grasp she could not even concentrate long enough to finish the race? Did it mean too much to her? That was my thought and of course only an interpretation of what I saw.

http://www.nbcolympics.com/trackandfield/photos/galleryid=236307.html

I don't want to remember. I don't want to forget.

Her smile, her sweet arms, her lips, her petite head. Her underappreciated (if only by herself) wit. Her straight, cute-curled, blond-ed hair. Her voice which always pronounced everything imperfectly, or rather, divinely. (How can she not but win?) Her eyes, especially when they glimmer(ed)...(may they always glimmer). Her eyes. Her eyes, ad infinitum. Her eyes. Her smile. Her smiling eyes.
The problem isn't that I can't forget her. The problem is that I don't want to. I'm starting to forget (I think, I hope?), thanks to....

Recess

Silently, I pondered a gap
not least nor most from my acts
born. Certaintly, not last.

http://www.phrases.org.uk/bulletin_board/26/messages/1075.html

Just to know
was to know
it just so.

To say any more
is to say too much.
"I [just] know
that I know nothing."*
I'm not going to talk a(ny)more.

*"Scio me nihil, scio nescio." Plato, The Apology.

Maria Callas -- Habanera (1962)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKnR9VIK3MA

lyrics:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Habanera_%28aria%29

When she smiles, will you assure me of her joy?

(from chapter 12) of The Zuangzi

庄子与惠子游于濠梁之上。庄子曰：“儵鱼出游从容，是鱼之乐也。”惠子曰：“子非鱼，安知鱼之乐？”庄子曰：“子非我，安知我不知鱼之乐？”惠子曰：“我非子，固不知子矣；子固非鱼也，子之不知鱼之乐，全矣！”庄子曰：“请循其本。子曰‘汝安知鱼乐’云者，既已知吾知之而问我。我知之濠上也。

Zhuangzi and Huizi were strolling along the dam of the Hao Waterfall when...Zhuangzi said, "See how the minnows come out and dart around, leisurely and contentedly, wherever they please! That's what fish really enjoy!"

Huizi said, "You're not a fish — how do you know what fish enjoy?"

Zhuangzi said, "You're not I, so how do you know I don't know what fish enjoy?"

Huizi said, "I'm not you, so I certainly don't know what you know. On the other hand, you're certainly not a fish — so that still proves you don't know what fish enjoy!"

Zhuangzi said, "Let's go back to your original question, please. You asked me how I know what fish enjoy — so you already knew I knew it when you asked the question. I know it by standing here beside the Hao waterfall."

(Zuangzi = Chuang Tzu = 莊子, name of Chinese Taoist Philosopher, 370 to 301 BCE; The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu/Zuangzi, trans. by Burton Watson, trans. altered. http://www.terebess.hu/english/chuangtzu.html)

Image: Chuang Tzu and the Butterfly

http://www.chinapage.com/story/butterfly.html

Haiku

Thoughtless waves, "Why tell
time - Pass!" No. Thoughtless, waves don't
think or say. Swoosh, swish.

'Night and Day', Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YjrWAMhxGOs&feature=related

A Haiku

One stayed. One left. Both
froze in Autumn. Stay, Love. I’ll
warm Winter - for you.

Proof of the Existence of Bliss

Bliss
is found,
not alone,
in dreams.

Bliss consists
with this.
Kiss!
and
a kiss
from you.

Bliss is
born as
my arms
encounter
your charms.

While
We embrace.
Bliss persists.

Bliss is
loving you
loving me
loving you.

In this Bliss
consists and exists.

Bliss is
because you
exist.

Moved on to a Sunny Island.

Elvis - Don't be Cruel (to a Heart that's true) and Love me Tender

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4jzLG_YLxY

Upon waking when the dream is pleasant, I seek to recall Her. The more I tried to remember, the more the dream seemed to flee - much like my favorite creatures...the cat and, now, the butterfly. This dream re-appeared - not when I tried to recall it. She came when She wished to come. The free spirit of the dream, I am learning, is to be respected. A dream can grant wishes, but it does not speak the language of our demands of Her..for the dream is spontaneous creation. And, a dream that isn't would be just our pale reconstruction. And, there was never anything pale about this intense and wondrous dream. Take me into you, Dream. I'm ready to meet you just as I am, just as you are...just two presences seeking each other.

Confucius said:

朝聞道、夕死可矣。

Translation: If I hear the Way [of truth] in the morning, I am content even to die in that evening.


My variation:

See her smile and rest contented. And, see to it that she smiles again...because I live to see her smile, and smiling.

Remembrance of What is to Come

Preface to The Gay Science, Friedrich Nietzsche

Gratitude pours forth continually, as if the unexpected had just happened, the gratitude of a convalescent—for convalescence was unexpected. "Gay Science": that signifies the saturnalia of a spirit who has patiently resisted a terrible, long pressure—patiently, severely, coldly, without submitting, but also without hope—and who is now all at once attacked by hope, the hope for health, and the intoxication of convalescence. Is it any wonder that in the process much that is unreasonable and foolish comes to light, much playful tenderness that is lavished even on problems that have a prickly hide and are not made to be caressed and enticed? This whole book is nothing but a bit of merry-making after long privation and powerlessness, the rejoicing of strength that is returning, of a reawakened faith in a tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, of a sudden sense and anticipation of a future, of impending adventures, of seas that are open again, of goals that are permitted again, believed again. And what did not lie behind me then! This stretch of desert, exhaustion, disbelief, icing up in the midst of youth, this interlude of old age at the wrong time, this tyranny of pain even excelled by the tyranny of pride that refused the conclusions of pain—and conclusions are consolations—this radical retreat into solitude as a self-defense against a contempt for men that had become pathologically clairvoyant—this determined self-limitation to what was bitter, harsh, and hurtful to know, prescribed by the nausea that had gradually developed out of an incautious and pampering spiritual diet, called romanticism—oh, who could reexperience all of this?

Signs

A: If only I'd known then what I know now.

B: If you'd known then what you know now, would it have been then or now?

Um, not the best day.
A song by Elvis

in search of f__a

Today, I see(k) stillness.
Still, (at times the past) has ways of dwelling in the present and is sometimes present in the present - more than is healthy.
I was silent too often about revealing the variety of my appreciations. And, sometimes one speaks too late.
Still, there are reasons to try to mend things of the past that I wish I could have done. Differently. Still.
Still, there are reasons that trying to mend the things of the past becomes quite trying.
Trying, (since) to do so forever, I'd never be able just to be - still - in the present.
And, as I said, I seek this still-ness - in the present.
Still, I'd forego this stillness in the present...to mend the past...with and for, Her.