Tuesday, December 11, 2007

from spiralling ecstatically this

from spiralling ecstatically this

proud nowhere of earth's most prodigious night
blossoms a newborn babe:around him,eyes
--gifted with every keener appetite
than mere unmiracle can quite appease--
humbly in their imagined bodies kneel
over time space doom dream while floats the whole

perhapsless mystery of paradise)

mind without soul may blast some universe
to might have been,and stop ten thousand stars
but not one heartbeat of this child;nor shall
even prevail a million questionings
against the silence of his mother's smile

--whose only secret all creation sings

e.e. cummings

[painting is Correggio's "Nativity (Holy Night)"]

Sunday, December 09, 2007

an inner winter glance

a benefit of winter's thieving the leaves is that you can see through the trees. new things that you never knew were there: houses, streams, rocks, secret roads, etc. everything is exposed, the bare tree branches, pretty houses on the hill. it is a time for seeing clearly, for breathing clearly as the cold crisp air attacks your lungs- making you feel more awake, more aware you're alive. but it can be painful. the undiscovered stream may not want a visitor, the icy air stings your fingertips, the truth hurts. discovery doesn't always give way to a pleasant reality. at least it's the season for hibernation. for comfy sweaters and warm drinks, for an excuse to stand on the inside of the window pane, watching snow clothe the naked trees.

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

~e.e. cummings