...Are not all friendships born at the moment when at last you
meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and
uncertain at best) of that something which you were born
desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all
the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and
day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking
for, watching for, listening for? But you'be never had it...
meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and
uncertain at best) of that something which you were born
desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all
the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and
day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking
for, watching for, listening for? But you'be never had it...
All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have
been but hints of it - tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite
fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear.
But if it should really become manifest - if there ever came
an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself,
you would know it.
been but hints of it - tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite
fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear.
But if it should really become manifest - if there ever came
an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself,
you would know it.
Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say:
"Here at last is the thing I was made for." We cannot tell each
other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the
incommunicable and unappeasable longing, the thing we
desired before we met our wives [husbands] or made our friends
or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our
deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife [husband] or
friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all.
"Here at last is the thing I was made for." We cannot tell each
other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the
incommunicable and unappeasable longing, the thing we
desired before we met our wives [husbands] or made our friends
or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our
deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife [husband] or
friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all.
C.S. Lewis
from: The Problem of Pain
from: The Problem of Pain
with thanks to The Beauty We Love
~
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
[the True Friend] -
and say, sit. Eat.
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
[the True Friend] -
and say, sit. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Derek Walcott
With thanks to The Beauty We Love
[brackets mine]
~
Photo - Mystic Meandering
Star Burst Crystal
