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Showing posts from May, 2019

A Poet's Journal: February 13th, 2015

  February 13th, 2015 Aiako Harria yesterday, first time this year; overtaken by the beauty.  It is at about this time along the hillsides and in the thickets that the brown of the end of winter starts mixing with the green of the beginning of spring. But an outing like this, though refreshing, can do nothing for the interior state of mind when one is tired and helpless; it only offers a slight reprieve, but we are back again, missing it: the sights, the sounds, the smell of the forest--somehow it only adds to the misfortune.  It is difficult to wander along the thin trails because we have built up a reason and an inspiration for our coming; there is a goal, a new plant to find; something to be attained, a new path to take.  All the expectation dies with each step, and yet it is still beautiful, still appealing, still the key to some secret meaning we have created for ourselves; and when we stop and look at it all, we realize we are merely the sum of our attainments, the sum that keeps

A Poet's Journal: March 24th, 2014

March 24th, 2014 We find that when we strive after something the true aim is always masked from us, so that even if we set out to attain it very quickly and it is as quickly attained, there is a part which is ulterior and unexpected.  What we are after then, is only another name for what we shall get, and what we take will always be other than what we were given.  But that our lives must run once over and have to watch in others what we have already experienced, gives to age a discerning eye, while those in youth seem to overstep us, or failing this, are content with being blind.  Age does not want youth to experience what we have, it wants it to learn, and puts down its triumphs and defeats as a means for something to strive upon--and how simple and uniform life would be, but how base and groveling each of us!  We do not believe that pain or emptiness can be a liberation, but when we separate and turn inward, it is so.  A motivation arises that was not in us before, that leads to

A Poet's Journal: March ?, 2014

March ?, 2014 I have never been one to believe dreams hold such a power over an individual that they could change his perception of reality or even the memory of past events.  They are nonetheless fascinating symbols of the mind, but rarely give us enough matter for thought in our waking hours.  However, it was only this morning that I confused a very deep and vivid dream for the real-life memory of one held in common with another. I found myself one pleasant day at a small tower that had been a part of a now ruined castle not far from the city where I was living.  Inside this tower, which had been completely renovated and was now situated in a finely kept park, was the public library of the district.  All of the books were neatly set-up and easily accessible considering the small circular space of the tower; but there was one part which had to be accessed by a ladder put there for that purpose; and once in this crawl space, which was only of a height for someone to lean on hi

A Poet's Journal: February 28th, 2014

February 28th, 2014 There is no greater feeling than the sense of going somewhere, and though the body may scarcely move, it seems as if we penetrate with bold action into an unexplored land--for it is just this newness and unfamiliarity that we search for in the everyday.  But what is it that has changed from the moment before: our humour, our mindset, the way the light of day inclines through the window?  There is much to be learned when the mind is vigorous and all our pursuits as a forthcoming wave to overtake at each break the land it has only newly breached.  For as soon as the waters recede we expect flowers and grass and other signs of imparting life to appear because that which endures and persists in unfulfilled eternity will be renewed and wasted in the overflowing wake of thought.  The whole subsuming principle of life is at our hands the necessary impetus of the incomplete, blinking slowly in a world that has become too fast for calming our arrival on the distant sho