So delicate yesterday,
the night-singing birds by the creek.
Their words were:
You may make a jewelery flower
out of gold and rubies and emeralds,
but it will have not fragrance.
-- Rumi
Showing posts with label Birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birds. Show all posts
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
On the Lady from The Great Divorce
"...only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face."
"...there is joy enough in the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life."
"...her beauty brightened so that I could hardly see anything else,"
"...the invitation to all joy, singing out of her whole being like a bird's song on an April evening, seemed to me such that no creature could resist it."
"Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives."
"Love shone not from her face only, but from all her limbs, as if it were some liquid in which she had just been bathing."
"...there is joy enough in the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life."
"...her beauty brightened so that I could hardly see anything else,"
"...the invitation to all joy, singing out of her whole being like a bird's song on an April evening, seemed to me such that no creature could resist it."
"Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives."
"Love shone not from her face only, but from all her limbs, as if it were some liquid in which she had just been bathing."
Sunday, April 19, 2009
If only the rest of the clergy understood it as well
This is what my BP (beloved priest) does, and encourages us to do.
From chapter 4 of Lilith:
'The sun broke through the clouds, and the raindrops flashed and sparkled on the grass. The raven was walking over it.
"You will wet your feet!" I cried.
"And mire my beak," he answered, immediately plunging it deep in the sod, and drawing out a great wriggling red worm. He threw back his head, and tossed it in the air. It spread great wings, gorgeous in red and black, and soared aloft.
"Tut! tut!" I exclaimed; "you mistake, Mr. Raven: worms are not the larvæ of butterflies!"
"Never mind," he croaked; "it will do for once! I'm not a reading man at present, but sexton at the--at a certain graveyard--cemetery, more properly--in--at--no matter where!"
"I see! you can't keep your spade still: and when you have nothing to bury, you must dig something up! Only you should mind what it is before you make it fly! No creature should be allowed to forget what and where it came from!"
"Why?" said the raven.
"Because it will grow proud, and cease to recognise its superiors."
No man knows it when he is making an idiot of himself.
"Where do the worms come from?" said the raven, as if suddenly grown curious to know.
"Why, from the earth, as you have just seen!" I answered.
"Yes, last!" he replied. "But they can't have come from it first-- for that will never go back to it!" he added, looking up.
I looked up also, but could see nothing save a little dark cloud, the edges of which were red, as if with the light of the sunset.
"Surely the sun is not going down!" I exclaimed, struck with amazement.
"Oh, no!" returned the raven. "That red belongs to the worm."
"You see what comes of making creatures forget their origin!" I cried with some warmth.
"It is well, surely, if it be to rise higher and grow larger!" he returned. "But indeed I only teach them to find it!"
"Would you have the air full of worms?"
"That is the business of a sexton. If only the rest of the clergy understood it as well!"
In went his beak again through the soft turf, and out came the wriggling worm. He tossed it in the air, and away it flew.'
From chapter 4 of Lilith:
'The sun broke through the clouds, and the raindrops flashed and sparkled on the grass. The raven was walking over it.
"You will wet your feet!" I cried.
"And mire my beak," he answered, immediately plunging it deep in the sod, and drawing out a great wriggling red worm. He threw back his head, and tossed it in the air. It spread great wings, gorgeous in red and black, and soared aloft.
"Tut! tut!" I exclaimed; "you mistake, Mr. Raven: worms are not the larvæ of butterflies!"
"Never mind," he croaked; "it will do for once! I'm not a reading man at present, but sexton at the--at a certain graveyard--cemetery, more properly--in--at--no matter where!"
"I see! you can't keep your spade still: and when you have nothing to bury, you must dig something up! Only you should mind what it is before you make it fly! No creature should be allowed to forget what and where it came from!"
"Why?" said the raven.
"Because it will grow proud, and cease to recognise its superiors."
No man knows it when he is making an idiot of himself.
"Where do the worms come from?" said the raven, as if suddenly grown curious to know.
"Why, from the earth, as you have just seen!" I answered.
"Yes, last!" he replied. "But they can't have come from it first-- for that will never go back to it!" he added, looking up.
I looked up also, but could see nothing save a little dark cloud, the edges of which were red, as if with the light of the sunset.
"Surely the sun is not going down!" I exclaimed, struck with amazement.
"Oh, no!" returned the raven. "That red belongs to the worm."
"You see what comes of making creatures forget their origin!" I cried with some warmth.
"It is well, surely, if it be to rise higher and grow larger!" he returned. "But indeed I only teach them to find it!"
"Would you have the air full of worms?"
"That is the business of a sexton. If only the rest of the clergy understood it as well!"
In went his beak again through the soft turf, and out came the wriggling worm. He tossed it in the air, and away it flew.'
Friday, April 10, 2009
Wormicide
It was raining the other day, and as I left work and walked across the vast parking lot I watched a worm squirm his way through a puddle. The sight of this gets me every time, and I bent to try to rescue him. He was slippery and annoyed by my "help", energetically resisting my efforts. I eventually did grab him, hoping I didn't hurt him in the process, and walked him over to a landscaped area which offered some dirt.
I felt both virtuous and victorious.
For roughly 13 seconds.
Then I saw another worm, this time already dead.
Then another.
Then another.
And a sense of futility rolled over me; the parking lot was too big. I was surrounded by other parking lots. The city was full of parking lots and driveways and other surfaces all covered with suicidal worms awaiting destruction.
I couldn't possibly save them.
That's when the anger hit; what the heck is wrong with worms that they end up drowning on asphalt?
Where do they all come from?
Why do I feel guilty about them?
And then, as if in a Hallmark card commercial, silent violins began to play and I thought of birds.
Birds were the answer; every rainstorm is a gift to the birds.
And I felt better.
Easter is coming. Alleluia.
I felt both virtuous and victorious.
For roughly 13 seconds.
Then I saw another worm, this time already dead.
Then another.
Then another.
And a sense of futility rolled over me; the parking lot was too big. I was surrounded by other parking lots. The city was full of parking lots and driveways and other surfaces all covered with suicidal worms awaiting destruction.
I couldn't possibly save them.
That's when the anger hit; what the heck is wrong with worms that they end up drowning on asphalt?
Where do they all come from?
Why do I feel guilty about them?
And then, as if in a Hallmark card commercial, silent violins began to play and I thought of birds.
Birds were the answer; every rainstorm is a gift to the birds.
And I felt better.
Easter is coming. Alleluia.
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