question

.

My heart is so small

it's almost invisible.

How can You place

such big sorrows in it?

"Look," He answered,

"your eyes are even smaller,

yet they behold the world."


–Rumi

.

remembering you

.

in time of daffodils (who know

the goal of living is to grow)

forgetting why, remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so (forgetting seem)

in time of roses (who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if, remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek (forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time

shall set us free)
forgetting me, remember me

–E. E. Cummings

.

not to worry

.

 

All your pain, worry, sorrow
Will someday apologize and confess
They were a great lie.

—Hafiz

.
thingsthatsing
.

that is happiness

 

.

I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. 

Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. 

At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. 

When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.


—Willa Cather 
from My Antonia

 .

I Am Learning to Abandon the World

 

.

I am learning to abandon the world
before it can abandon me.
Already I have given up the moon
and snow, closing my shades
against the claims of white.
And the world has taken
my father, my friends.
I have given up melodic lines of hills,
moving to a flat, tuneless landscape.
And every night I give my body up
limb by limb, working upwards
across bone, towards the heart.
But morning comes with small
reprieves of coffee and birdsong.
A tree outside the window
which was simply shadow moments ago
takes back its branches
twig by leafy twig.
And as I take my body back
the sun lays its warm muzzle on my lap
as if to make amends.


—Linda Pastan 

.

this will be all?

.

And this will be all?

And the gates will never open again?

And the dust and the wind will play around the rusty door

hinges and the songs of October moan, Why-oh, why-oh?

And you will look to the mountains

And the mountains will look to you

And you will wish you were a mountain

And the mountain will wish nothing at all?

  This will be all?

The gates will never-never open again?

The dust and the wind only

And the rusty door hinges and moaning October

And Why-oh, why-oh, in the moaning dry leaves,

  This will be all?

Nothing in the air but songs

And no singers, no mouths to know the songs?

You tell us a woman with a heartache tells you it is so?

  This will be all?

–Carl Sandburg

.

worth a look

 

.