I doubt all
save the survival
of some unquenchable fire within me;
I seek no immortality,
for it comes without search.
I live with the joy of my senses,
knowing that this part will surely perish,
leaving only that which came before.
To live here and now without that certainty,
without acceptance of Death as the unveiling
of the One,
is to forget,
the secret name that is whispered at birth
beyond the hidden gates.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
For our world, the circle turns again
Throughout the year we've seen the seasons change
It's meant a lot to me to start anew
Oh the winter's cold but I'm so warm with you
Out there there's not a sound to be heard
And the seasons seem to sleep upon their words
As the waters freeze up with the summer's end
Oh it's funny how young lovers start as friends
Friday, October 21, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sunday, October 09, 2011
The woman who brought him to the shelter had seen him as a stray for three years.
His two upper canine teeth were broken off, so the shelter had those removed when they got him neutered. His tattered ears show signs of having been frost-bitten at some point.
He loves to sleep between us, resting his paws against us, knowing he is safe and warm.
I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!
I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!