Friday, August 14, 2015

"...a time outside time..."

His words:

And mine:

Oliver (or Dr. Sacks, if you prefer),

I am inconsolable. I have not met you, but your influence on me and my life's trajectory has been profound and ineffable. The world (my world) has been a better place because you're in it; I can't imagine being without. I only hope that I have contributed even a fraction of what you have to our understanding of the human condition by the time my clock has tic'd its last toc.

Thank you for writing, for that is what reached me at a young age. Thank you for reaching my Mother first, for she somehow knew the influence your words would wield. Thank you for using your wisdom to care for (and learn from) others, for that is my life's goal. Thank you.

With love, respect, and gratitude,

Monday, March 30, 2015

"Walk Slowly" - Danna Faulds

It only takes a reminder to breathe,

a moment to be still, and just like that,

something in me settles, softens, makes

space for imperfection. The harsh voice

of judgment drops to a whisper and I

remember again that life isn’t a relay

race; that we will all cross the finish

line; that waking up to life is what we

were born for. As many times as I

forget, catch myself charging forward

without even knowing where I’m going,

that many times I can make the choice

to stop, to breathe, and be, and walk

slowly into the mystery.

Friday, January 23, 2015

"Music" - Anne Porter

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother’s piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold

And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying

Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country

I’ve never understood
Why this is so

But there’s an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow
For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest

And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country

We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams

And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows

Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

"When We Two Parted" - Lord Byron

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken -hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well-
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met-
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Edgar Allan Poe wrote,

"They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night."

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

E.L. Doctorow said,

"[Writing is] like driving a car at night: you never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."