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Feeling a lot of compassion for god lately. Because god promised not to interfere, so we were given free will and the power to love…
Every time a child hurts or tragedy strikes and people cry out ‘why did you let this happen god?’… I want to hug them ALL. I think of how very very difficult it must be, to be god. But that is why I have faith, because in this world of broken dreams and promises, god’s promise survives, in each one of us.
This place feels like a cozy blanket on a chilly night under the stars. Thank you Paulo, Thank You every one : )
One Indian student had been brutally assaulted in Australia, by some racists, recently. Such incidents show, still such practices exist among ‘some ‘ people who are capable of degrading the whole. They still bear the “burden of the past” leading the blind life of a ‘color sensitive’.
ANULAL
The Indian commentator
Hi again. What day is one without poem?
Stanzas For Music by Lord Byron
There be none of Beauty’s daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean’s pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seem dreaming;
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o’er the deep,
Whose breast is gently heaving
As an infant’s asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee,
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer’s ocean
An excerpt from an innterview with Zimbabwean writer Memory Chirere, to appear in Munyori Literary Journal on June 15:
Emmanuel Sigauke: The Standard Newspaper report stated that your presentation (at Oxford University) was on the influence of Marechera on University of Zimbabwe undergraduates. What influence has Marechera had on these literature students? Do they appreciate him more than previous generations? What books of Marechera, for instance, do they read these days at the UZ?
Memory Chirere: At UZ’s English department we read various Marechera texts at different levels. I talked specifically about how the first contact with Marechera literature, especially the novella House of Hunger is a moment of transformation for our undergraduate students. For the whole Marechera series, students rarely miss classes or come late and you are assured of a full house. Reading ‘House of Hunger’ is a rite of passage of sorts. However, at least a third of the students immediately begin to be overly outspoken. They begin to grow their own dreadlocks. They begin to smoke and drink. They begin to scribble their own poetry and prose and you are waylaid by young men and women who plead with you to look at what they are writing.
…Often we think of what we leave behind in terms of the work we do, our children, our accomplishments, etc. What is something that is so you, that you wouldn’t even consciously be aware of that you experience and express consistently? What is it that someone who is close to you would miss about you after you were gone? What is that intimate something that only those intimately known to you would describe about you? What is your footprint? If you are not sure, how would you find out?
To read more, please go to: http://evolutioninconsciousness.blogspot.com/2009/06/last-week-we-took-our-little-dog.html
Thanks,
Sherry
Maktub ! Ainsi en va-t-il de la fatalité qui tient dans sa main la flamme de la joie et de l’espérance et de l’autre notre temporalité. Je ne peux que prier alors voici quelques extraits du livre « Le Prophète » de Khalil Gibran.
… « Comment partirais-je en paix et sans chagrin ? Non, je ne quitterai pas la ville sans une plaie dans l’âme.
Que longues furent les journées de souffrance que j’ai passées à l’intérieur de ses remparts et que longues furent les nuits de solitude. Et qui donc se séparerait de sa souffrance et de sa solitude sans amertume ?
Nombreux sont les lambeaux de l’âme que j’ai dispersés par tous ces chemins, et nombreux les enfants de mon ardeur vaguant nus parmi ces collines : comment m’éloigner d’eux sans être accablé et meurtri ?
Ce n’est pas un vêtement que je retire, mais ma peau même que de mes mains j’arrache. »…
…« Ah ! Si je pouvais emporter avec moi tout ce qui est d’ici ! Mais comment le pourrais-je ?
La voix ne peut se charger de la langue et des lèvres qui l’ont ailée. Il convient qu’elle affronte seule l’éther.
Comme à l’aigle, il convient que, débarrassé de son nid, il plane en solitaire à la face du soleil. »…
…« Ne laisse pas les vagues de la mer nous séparer désormais ni les années que tu as passées parmi nous devenir souvenir.
Voici que tu passais parmi nous comme une âme, et ton ombre était lumière sur nos faces.
Nous t’avons beaucoup chéri, mais silencieux était notre amour et caché sous un voile.
Or maintenant il t’implore à voix haute et se tient dévoilé devant toi.
Et, depuis toujours, ainsi en est-il de l’amour qu’il ignore ses propres abîmes jusqu’à l’heure de la séparation. »…
…« Profonde est ta nostalgie pour la terre de ta remembrance, demeure de tes plus nobles désirs ; Et notre amour ne t’enchaînera pas, et notre besoin de toi ne te retiendra pas.
Mais nous t’invoquons, alors que tu t’apprêtes à nous quitter, de bien vouloir nous parler et de nous donner de ta vérité.
Car nous-mêmes, à notre tour, nous confierons à nos enfants, et eux-mêmes à leurs enfants, et ainsi elle ne disparaîtra point.
Dans ta solitude, tu as veillé avec nos jours, et dans ta veille, tu as écouté les pleurs de notre sommeil et son rire.
Mais, à présent, découvre-nous à nous-mêmes et enseigne-nous tout ce qui te fut révélé de ce qui va de la naissance à la mort. »
Paix aux âmes vivantes où qu’elles soient…
I am attempting the translation.
Maktub! so goes fatality that holds in its hands the flame of joy and hope and from the other our temporality.
I can then only pray, so here are some excerpts from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran.
“How can I be in peace without grief? No, I will not leave this city without a wound in my soul
How long were the days of suffering I spent outside these walls and how long were the lonely nights. And who will part from his suffering and loneliness without sorrow?
Numerous are the pieces of the soul that I have scattered along the paths and numerous are the children of my arduous roaming naked amongst the hills; how to depart from them without feeling overwhelmed and hurt?
It is not clothing I am taking off but my skin itself that I am tearing-upon with my hands.
Ah! If I could take with me all that I possess from here. But how could I?
The voice cannot be in charge of the tongue and the lips that gave it wings. It needs to face-up alone the ether.
Don’t let the sea waves separate us now neither the years that you have spent amongst us become a memory.
Here you passed amongst us as a soul and your shadow brought a light on our face.
We loved you a lot, however silent was our love and hidden under a veil and now we are crying out loud and stand revealed before you.
And for ever, so it is with love that ignores its proper boundaries until separation time.
Deep is the nostalgia for the land of your memory and the place of your biggest wishes and our love won’t bind you nor our needs for each other hold you.
We ask you, however, now, that you are ready to go to talk to us and tell us your truth.
For ourselves, when our turn comes, we can confide in our children, and them in their children so that it won’t disappear.
In your solitude, you watched with our days and your wakefulness you listened to the cries in our sleep and its laughter.
Right now, disclose us to ourselves and teach us everything that was revealed to you from birth till death.”
Peace to the living souls wherever they are.
Marie
Who is behind my camera? My friends. What do we mean by ‘friends’. Not people we have met during different stages of our lives and each respectively moving on and away. Not those whom we might term ‘aquaintances’, who see the mere surface of our being. Not so called ‘fair-weather’ friends who like to think they are ‘there’ for us but suddenly disappear when we face tough times in our world. Not those who commune with us in one instant but are happy to destroy us behind our backs at the next. Not those who like to put us down and gossip as a way of bolstering themselves.
I feel it’s only as we get older and experience more and become to know ourselves better that we can truly label the special people in our lives as friends.
I have friends in number that I can count on one hand BUT these lovely people are the very best people. Supportive when you need support, listeners when you need to open up and special silent companions when you just need to know they are there either near or far. And the best thing is…that all these qualities are reciprocal. A two-way flow of positivity can only be a good thing. These special ‘behind the camera’ people are what make going out into the world every day, the complete pleasure that it is.
Maria
I’ve been hearing so many stories about loved ones becoming demented lately–one of the cruelest diseases I know of, for which there still isn’t any really effective treatment. Memory is a fascinating subject and I wanted to offer a summation of the latest science on how to remember things better, how to prevent decline in memory as we age, and even how we may be able to decrease the risk of developing dementia. Feel free to check out the post at
http://happinessinthisworld.com/2009/06/07/how-to-remember-things/
Best to all,
Alex
Nice article Alex. The memory tree is new to me. The risk of developing dementia, may be reduced by engaging in art projects too, where one has to use both sides of the brain. A problem in our society is all the intellectual work, without engaging our whole potential as human beings, hand, heart and mind.
L’appel du 8 Juin …..HOME de Yann Artus-Bertrand http://bit.ly/Q6Qnv . Prendre conscience pour éviter l’inconscience collective
Awareness to prevent the collective unconscious
Tu as raison, Vu hier au cinéma, en version longue. Sans doute pour moi, la goutte d’eau qui fait déborder le vase. Mais la tristesse du bilan de nos erreurs a cédè à la joie et la conviction d’avoir bien voté juste avant d’aller voir l’oeuvre de Yann. Merci à tous les militants écologistes et aux “consomacteurs” que nous devenons.
“Il est trop tard pour être pessimiste” rappelez vous et levez vous pour agir!
The call from the 8th of June…HOME from YannArthursBertrand.
A must to watch.It is available on you tube
http;//www.youtube.com/homeprojectFR
until the 14th June You can watch it in English, Spanish, Deutsch and French.
Today I want to share a joke.
Editor:Did you write the poem yourself?
Young poet: Of course. Every line of it.
Editor: I am glad to meet you,Mr Keats. I thought you were dead a long time ago.
Alexandra, thank you!!!
LOVE,
Thelma.
Excellent point, Heart. Any kind of mental work that is really work (like the creation of art) likely exercises the mind in a meaningful way and reduces the likelihood of memory loss.
Annie, I thought it was to do with my hearing.I think it is a new trick from Paulo, remember he is a magician after all…..
there is a difference between too loud and … u know.
Love :)
You are right I saw it at the movies yesterday in full. without any doubt for me, it is the drop of water that overflows the vase. However the sadness of the consequences of our mistakes has shifted into happiness and the conviction to have voted rightly before I went to watch Yan’s masterpiece. Thank you to all the militant ecologists and the”consumers” that we are becoming. “It is too late to be pessimist”remember it and stand up to act.
Dear Marie-Christine, I was sure it was my ….hearing and was thinking of visiting an audiologist!! ;]
LOVE,
Thelma.
“Similar to the eagle, it is necessary, once cleared of its nest, he glides on its own in the face of the sun.”
Ah Ah ! They do call you at home from time to time – to give you a clip around the ears I guess – and I am not joking they talk that loud – they must be using one of those amplifier for concerts.
Love
Marie-Christine