... because truly being here is so much: because everything here
apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way
keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.

Once for each thing. Just once; no more. And we too,
just once. And never again. But to have been
this once, completely, even if only once:
to have been at one with the earth, seems beyond undoing.

 

And so we keep pressing on, trying to achieve it,

trying to hold it firmly in our simple hands,

in our overcrowded gaze, in our speechless heart.

Trying to become it.--Whom can we give it to? We would
hold on to it all, forever... Ah but what can we take along
into that other realm? Not the art of looking,
which is learned so slowly, and nothing that happened here. Nothing.

Perhaps we are here in order to say: house
bridge, fountain, gate, pitcher, fruit-tree, window--

But to say them, you must understand,
oh to say them more intensely than the Things themselves
ever dreamed of existing.

Here is the time for the sayable, here is its homeland.
Speak and bear witness. More than ever ...

Look, I am living. On what? Neither childhood nor future
grows any smaller.... Superabundant being
wells up in my heart.

-Rilke, from "The Ninth Elegy" (Steven Mitchell trans.)
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Point and shoot--North Carolina, March, 2013.

On this day, I felt a surreal sense of timelessness--everything seemed "lit" even though it was all wet and grey. I should have been gloomy. Maybe it was the wonderful food we got in the city the night before, or maybe the color and rhythm danced me awake. Sometimes the mind, in a state of semi-exhaustion, finds something of Spirit and runs on ahead, loose and unafraid across the fields of our gaze. It feels like inner flight...

You understand.  I hope you are all well.
.
 Note to self: Anne Carson NYT

Peace to all who enter here.
.

Dylan Thomas: A Child's Christmas In Wales

*

Lucille Chabot, American, born 1908
Angel Gabriel Weather Vane Drawing, 1939
National Gallery of Art, Washington

* *

What shall I call you? Look, my lips are lame.
You are the beginning that gushes forth,
I am the slow and fearful Amen
that timidly concludes your beauty ...

Rilke,  from "The Guardian Angel"

* *


Ok. Sit by the fire, open the ice cold bubbly... or is it coffee and pie.



.
A Child's Christmas In Wales, read by Dylan Thomas.

& text version, Dylan's changes to the spoken version fascinate as a peek into the writer/editor mind. Its hard to find time to listen, if you love words this is worth it!
The visual, sensual delight of this opens doors to such scenery in my own Christmas memories. "Lets post a snowball in Mr so;so's letterbox. Lets write in the snow." It set me jotting in a journal, too. May it bring you on a journey within as well, where all the senses thrive awake and tingling to the wondrousness of "being."

Peace and Blessings, as always. Happy Holidays (i can't honestly understand how its December at all... :) but am looking forward to some delightful goodies.

Cheers.

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flour on my toes

.

 

 from Rainer Maria Rilke

For there is a boundary to looking.
And the world that is looked at so deeply
wants to flourish in love.
 
 
 
 

Work of the eyes is done, now

go and do heart-work
on all the images imprisoned within you; for you
overpowered them: but even now you don't know them.
.
Learn, inner man, to look on your inner woman,
the one attained from a thousand
natures, the merely attained but
not yet beloved form. 

.

It is our task to imprint this temporary, perishable earth into ourselves so deeply, so painfully and passionately, that its essence can rise again, "invisibly," inside us. We are the bees of the invisible. We wildly collect the honey of the visible, to store it in the great golden hive of the invisible.

The bird is a creature that has a very special feeling of trust in the external world, as if she knew that she

is one with its deepest mystery. That is why she sings in it as if she were singing within her own depths;

that is why we so easily receive a birdcall into our own depths; we seem to be translating it without

residue into our emotion; indeed, it can for a moment turn the whole world into inner space, because we

feel that the bird does not distinguish between her heart and the world's.

Rilke
Letter to Lou Andres-Salome February 20, 1914 

I have flour on my toes. Just looked down.

.

Made Pita Bread with oregano basil rosemary and olives, warm with butter.

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Last week I posted an empty blog.

Was trying cell phone posting the night Hurricane Earl came through. A bit inland, away from computer, everyone in Hurricane Party mood after two days of tying down the hatches, watching swirling mass warnings, beaches evacuating people. We expected six feet of water pushed by wind and rain up through the Sounds. Thankfully All softened as the evening came, except people who got giddy.

I wonder where my words and images blew off to?

 .

Am hoping those winds inch some new treasures in while beach combing this week.  

tobacco leaf almost ready for harvest

.

I met a deaf man the other day while photographing. He haunts me. Had no front teeth, needed a bath, and as i learned had never touched a camera in his life. I began to understand his vocalizations. 

Not ready to talk about him, only this: he etches something shadowy inside me as if with acid. I begin to think we so privileged to have technology and multi layered ways of communicating. Blessed beyond understanding to express and create.  I for one take so much of these gifts for granted.

.

Uschi's Wisteria Video: a fun

.

Song for wedding dance I'll be your lover too

Van Morrison: Sweet Thing (I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain). Beside You.  Astral Weeks . One of my favorite albums, from 1968. I was a wee one then. 

.

watching this stuff. Conjunction Junction: I loved this as a child. Interjections.  (links to more left side page.)

.

Echo & the Bunnymen: Flowers , Ocean Rain (live recording)

Lips like sugar  All my life   Porcupine

.

Peace to all who enter here. Contentment, sweet o'sweet, too.

Thank you. 

In the Carolinas

The lilacs wither in the Carolinas.
Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins.
Already the new-born children interpret love
In the voices of mothers.

Timeless mother,
How is it that your aspic nipples
For once vent honey?

The pine tree sweetens my body
The white iris beautifies me.

~ Wallace Stevens.
.
Bob Dylan: Froggie Went'a Courtin' ah ha
Bob Dylan: Just like a woman & Visions of Johanna
..
Kowabunga! (this means joy rises ... why? oh.. because its fun to say).
Tagged by Lynne H to show the 4th image in my 4th folder.



... to give photo some perspective, i added the photo beside it below. In return I would like to see the 4th photo in the 4th folder from these 4 photographers...

1. Omami
2. Andrea Tachezy
3. Jo (Spittler)
4. Lumetta (Ritva)


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In addition, I have been tagged by Mary Laure with these two awards.
& ... Thank you again, so much.

I add a little challenge to these stamps, if allowed.
First, it is impossible to really pass on awards, if i visit and comment i like what you're all about! I name ten wonderful people to these awards but in addition I ask for a phrase: a few lines from a poem, a song, or an overheard sentence that rings important inside you--

You can post it in my comments or if you choose to pass this award onward, post the phrase at "home" in your blog. If its naughty to change a tag, i am both naughty and nice. Nobody is required to do anything ... (not even dishes tonight). I wish everyone who visits (and the lots of you who never say a peep) will also share a tiny phrase.

1. Disa
2. Bibbi Forsman
3. Hilary
4. chatoyance
5. Bookbaby

1. The Floating bridge of Dreams
2. Radiacoes (i think he has already posted a phrase today)
3. Christine Clemmenson
4. Mystory (brush your hair before going here, she takes your picture)
5. River Garden Studios

and Mary Laure, yes, a phrase from you required too! (please) :)
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I think a phrase is like a meditation tool, and it can slow us down, focus our perspective. It can clear a path or add soul to an hour. Here is what hit me today while reading...

Do you recognize me, Air, still full of places once mine?

~Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus (versions).
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I really love these images, ideas at Sculptress, too.
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and as always, much Peace to all who enter here.
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