Monday, December 29, 2014

Inspiration For the New Year(poems & quotes) :New Year by Ella Wheeler Wilcox*How beautiful the turning of the year! by Turlough O'Carolan*The year Ahead by Horatio Nelson Powers

Music:
Sayonara No Natsu(Summer of Goodbye) 
(Theme Song of "From up on Poppy hill"



New Year(As the old year sinks down in Time's ocean...)
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

As the old year sinks down in Time's ocean,
Stand ready to launch with the new,
And waste no regrets, no emotion,
As the masts and the spars pass from view.
Weep not if some treasures go under,
And sink in the rotten ship's hold,
That blithe bonny barque sailing yonder
May bring you more wealth than the old.

For the world is for ever improving,
All the past is not worth one to-day,
And whatever deserves our true loving,
Is stronger than death or decay.
Old love, was it wasted devotion?
Old friends, were they weak or untrue?
Well, let them sink there in mid ocean,
And gaily sail on to the new.

Throw overboard toil misdirected,
Throw overboard ill-advised hope,
With aims which, your soul has detected,
Have self as their centre and scope.
Throw overboard useless regretting
For deeds which you cannot undo,
And learn the great art of forgetting
Old things which embitter the new.

Sing who will of dead years departed,
I shroud them and bid them adieu,
And the song that I sing, happy-hearted,
Is a song of the glorious new.


How beautiful the turning of the year!
Turlough O'Carolan

How beautiful the turning of the year!
A moment artificial yet profound:
Point upon an arbitrary chart
Passing like a breath upon the heart,
Yearning with anticipation wound,
New hope new harbored in old-fashioned cheer.
Even when the boundary line is clear,
We recognize the oneness of the ground.
Years, like circles, do not end or start
Except we lay across their truth our art,
Adjusting dates as they go round and round
Revolving to a tune long sung and dear.

The Year Ahead
Horatio Nelson Powers

A flower unblown; a book unread;
A tree with fruit unharvested;
A path untrod; a house whose rooms
Lack yet the heart's divine perfumes;
A landscape whose wide border lies
In silent shade beneath the skies;
A wondrous fountain yet unsealed;
A casket with its gifts concealed--
This is the Year that for you waits
Beyond tomorrow's mystic gates.


If this life of ours
Be a good glad thing,why should we make us merry
Because a year of it is gone? but Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come
Whispering ‘It will be happier;’ and old faces
Press round us, and warm hands close with warm hands,..
Like April sap to the topmost tree, that shoots
New buds to heaven, whereon the throstle rock’d
Sings a new song to the new year—and you,
Strike up a song, my friends, and then to bed.
Alfred tennyson

Saturday, December 27, 2014

New year by Peggy Toney Horton


Each New Year,we have before us a brand new book containing 365 blank pages.Let us fill them with all the forgotten things from last year—the words we forgot to say,the love we forgot to show,and the charity we forgot to offer.
Peggy Toney Horton

Happy New Year 2015! - Music Maksim Mrvica

Reflections on New year by Wilferd A. Peterson


The conventional Happy New Year approach is to think of the New Year as something that happens outside of our selves.It is a good luck wish that the New Year, in some magical way, will bring us our heart’s desire.

We look to the New Year to make us happy. When we expect happiness to come to us from the outside, we are usually disappointed. Happiness is not guaranteed by sunny weather, a raise in pay, a new car, a beautiful home or anything else of a material nature. External things are often possessed by very unhappy people.

Happiness does not come out of a New Year, it comes out of men and women. Life does not change when we hang a new calendar on the wall or when the clock strikes midnight and a New Year begins.The only way life will change for us is when we change ourselves.
Wilferd A. Peterson

Friday, December 26, 2014

Play your own instrument in the orchestra of life by Dale Carnegie(Inspiring life quote)


You are something new in this world.Be glad of it.
Make the most of what nature gave you.
In the last analysis, all art is autobiographical.
You can sing only what you are.You can paint only
what you are.You must be what your experiences,
your environment,and your heredity have made you.
For better or for worse,you must cultivate your own
little garden.For better or for worse,you must
play your own little instrument in the orchestra of life.
Dale Carnegie

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Excerpt From Jesus the Son of Man:Man From Lebanon by Khalil Gibran

Music:Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis
Ralph Vaughan Williams


Excerpt From Jesus,the son of man
Chapter:A man from Lebanon,Nineteen centuries afterward
Khalil Gibran

Master, master singer,
Master of words unspoken,
Seven times was I born, and seven times have I died
Since your last hasty visit and our brief welcome.
And behold I live again,
Remembering a day and a night among the hills,
When your tide lifted us up.
Thereafter many lands and many seas did I cross,
And wherever I was led by saddle or sail
Your name was prayer or argument.
Men would bless you or curse you;
The curse, a protest against failure,
The blessing, a hymn of the hunter
Who comes back from the hills
With provision for his mate.

Master, Master Poet,
Master of words sung and spoken,
They have builded temples to house your name,
And upon every height they have raised your cross,
A sign and a symbol to guide their wayward feet,
But not unto your joy.
Your joy is a hill beyond their vision,
And it does not comfort them.
They would honor the man unknown to them.
And what consolation is there in a man like themselves,
a man whose kindliness is like their own kindliness,
A god whose love is like their own love,
And whose mercy is in their own mercy?
They honor not the man, the living man,
The first man who opened His eyes and gazed at the sun
With eyelids unquivering.
Nay, they do not know Him, and they would not be like Him.

They would be unknown, walking in the procession of the unknown.
They would bear sorrow, their sorrow,
And they would not find comfort in your joy.
Their aching heart seeks not consolation
in your words and the song thereof.
And their pain, silent and unshapen,
Makes them creatures lonely and unvisited.
Though hemmed about my kin and kind,
They live in fear, uncomraded;
Yet they would not be alone.
They would bend eastward when the west wind blows.

They call you king,
And they would be in your court.
They pronounce you the Messiah,
And they would themselves be anointed with the holy oil.
Yea, they would live upon your life.

Master, Master Singer,
Your tears were like the showers of May,
And your laughter like the waves of the white sea.
When you spoke your words were the far-off whisper of their
lips when those lips should be kindled with fire;
You laughed for the marrow in their bones that was
not yet ready for laughter;
And you wept for their eyes that yet were dry.
Your voice fathered their thoughts and their understanding.
Your voice mothered their words and their breath.


Seven times was I born and seven times have I died,
And now I live again, and I behold you,
The fighter among fighters,
The poet of poets
King above all kings,
A man half-naked with your road-fellows.
Every day the bishop bends down his head
When he pronounces your name.
And every day the beggars say:
"For Jesus' sake
Give us a penny to buy bread."
We call upon each other,
But in truth we call upon you,
Like the flood tide in the spring of our want and desire,
And when our autumn comes, like the ebb tide.
High or low, your name is upon our lips,
The Master of infinite compassion.


Master, Master of our lonely hours,
Here and there,betwixt the cradle and the coffin,
I meet your silent brothers,
The free men, unshackled,
Sons of your mother earth and space.
They are like the birds of the sky,
And like the lilies of the field.
They live your life and think your thoughts,
And they echo your song.
But they are empty-handed,
And they are not crucified with the great crucifixion,
And therein is their pain.
The world crucifies them every day,
But only in little ways.
The sky is not shaken,
And the earth travails not with her dead.
They are crucified and there is none to witness their agony.
They turn their face to right and left
And find not one to promise them a station in his kingdom.
Yet they would be crucified again and yet again,
That your God may be their God,
And your Father their Father.


Master, Master Lover,
The Princess awaits your coming in her fragrant chamber,
And the married unmarried woman in her cage;
The harlot who seeks bread in the streets of her shame,
And the nun in her cloister who has no husband;
The childless woman too at her window,
Where frost designs the forest on the pane,
She finds you in that symmetry,
And she would mother you, and be comforted.


Master, Master Poet,
Master of our silent desires,
The heart of the world quivers with the throbbing of your heart,
But it burns not with your song.
The world sits listening to your voice in tranquil delight,
But it rises not from its seat
To scale the ridges of your hills.
Man would dream your dream but he would not wake to your dawn
Which is his greater dream.
He would see with your vision,
But he would not drag his heavy feet to your throne.
Yet many have been enthroned inn your name
And mitred with your power,
And have turned your golden visit
Into crowns for their head and sceptres for their hand.


Master, Master of Light,
Whose eye dwells in the seeking fingers of the blind,
You are still despised and mocked,
A man too weak and infirm to be God,
A God too much man to call forth adoration.
Their mass and their hymn,
Their sacrament and their rosary, are for their imprisoned self.
You are their yet distant self, their far-off cry, and their passion.

But Master, Sky-heart, Knight of our fairer dream,
You do still tread this day;
Nor bows nor spears shall stay your steps.
You walk through all our arrows.
You smile down upon us,
And though you are the youngest of us all
You father us all.

Poet, Singer, Great Heart,
May our God bless your name,
And the womb that held you, and the breasts that gave you milk.
And may God forgive us all.

Monday, December 22, 2014

Magic Night-Mikis Theodorakis & Vasilis Saleas -

Inspiring Christmas Thoughts & Quotes


We hear the beating of wings over Bethlehem and
a light that is not of the sun or of the starsw
shines in the midnight sky.

Let the beauty of the story take away all narrowness, all thought of formal creeds. Let it be remembered as a story that has happened again and again, to men of many different races, that has been expressed through many religions, that has been called by many different names. Time and space and language lay no limitations upon human brotherhood.
New York Times editorial of December 25, 1937

The earth has grown old with its burden of care
But at Christmas it always is young,
The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair
And its soul full of music breaks the air,
When the song of angels is sung.
Phillips Brooks.

Your friendship is a glowing ember
Through the year; and each December
From its warm and living spark
We kindle flame against the dark
And with its shining radiance light
Our tree of faith on Christmas night.
Thelma J. Lund

André Rieu - O Christmas Tree

Saturday, December 20, 2014

A Christmas Heart by SEAY

Every time we love, every time we give,it's Christmas.* Best Inspirational Quotes about Love:


Luis Valadares Photography

We,unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Maya Angelou

There are no signs,
There are no stars aligned,
No amulets no charms,
To bring you back to my arms.
There's just this human heart.
That's built with this human fault.
What was your question?
Love is the answer.
Annie Clark (St. Vincent)

I think that if You like to respect and admire someone
whom you love,but actually,you love even more the people
who require understanding and who make mistakes and have
to grow with their mistakes.
Eleanor Roosevelt

I love you not only for what you are, but for what
I am when I am with you.I love you not only for
what you have made of yourself, but for what you are
making of me.I love you for the part of me that you bring out.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks
for another day of loving.
Kahlil Gibran

Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull
of what you really love.
Rumi

Every time we love,every time we give,it's Christmas.
Dale Evans

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Humanity by Johann Friedrich von Schiller


The greater part of humanity is too much harassed and fatigued by the struggle with want, to rally itself for a new and sterner struggle with error. Satisfied if they themselves can escape from the hard labour of thought, they willingly abandon to others the guardianship of their thoughts.
Johann Friedrich von Schiller

Life between gloriousness & wretchedness by Pema Chödrön


Life is glorious, but life is also wretched. It is both. Appreciating the gloriousness inspires us, encourages us, cheers us up, gives us a bigger perspective, energizes us. We feel connected. But if that's all that's happening, we get arrogant and start to look down on others, and there is a sense of making ourselves a big deal and being really serious about it, wanting it to be like that forever. The gloriousness becomes tinged by craving and addiction.

On the other hand, wretchedness--life's painful aspect--softens us up considerably. Knowing pain is a very important ingredient of being there for another person. When you are feeling a lot of grief, you can look right into somebody's eyes because you feel you haven't got anything to lose--you're just there. The wretchedness humbles us and softens us, but if we were only wretched, we would all just go down the tubes. We'd be so depressed, discouraged, and hopeless that we wouldn't have enough energy to eat an apple. Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. They go together.
Pema Chödrön,Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living

Monday, December 15, 2014

The Buried Life by Matthew Arnold

Music:
CHRIS SPHEERIS-Juliette



Delphin Enjolras Art

The Buried Life
MATTHEW ARNOLD

Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.

Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves—and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!


But we, my love!—doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?—must we too be dumb?

Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!

Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be—
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity—
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.

But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us—to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough,alas! none ever mines.

And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves—
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress'd.

And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well—but 't is not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.

Only—but this is rare—
When a belovèd hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd—
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.

And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Visible and invisible labor by Victor Hugo


One is not idle because one is absorbed in thought.There is both visible and invisible labor. To contemplate is to toil,to think is to do.The crossed arms work,the clasped hands act. The eyes upturned to Heaven are an act of creation.
Victor Hugo

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Two modes of Thought :Skepticism & Openness to new ideas by Carl Sagan


It seems to me what is called for is an exquisite balance between two conflicting needs: the most skeptical scrutiny of all hypotheses that are served up to us and at the same time a great openness to new ideas. Obviously those two modes of thought are in some tension. But if you are able to exercise only one of these modes, whichever one it is, you’re in deep trouble.

If you are only skeptical, then no new ideas make it through to you. You never learn anything new. You become a crotchety old person convinced that nonsense is ruling the world. (There is, of course, much data to support you.) But every now and then, maybe once in a hundred cases, a new idea turns out to be on the mark, valid and wonderful. If you are too much in the habit of being skeptical about everything, you are going to miss or resent it, and either way you will be standing in the way of understanding and progress.

On the other hand, if you are open to the point of gullibility and have not an ounce of skeptical sense in you, then you cannot distinguish the useful as from the worthless ones.
Carl Sagan

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Wisdom Quotes by Plutarch


The mind is not a vessel to be filled,but a fire to be kindled.

Do not speak of your happiness to one less fortunate than yourself.

A few vices are sufficient to darken many virtues.

Know how to listen,and you will profit even from
those who talk badly.

Of all the disorders in the soul,envy is the only
one no one confesses to.

Reason does not seek to eradicate passion,for that
would be neither expedient nor possible,but to plant
some limitation,order and ethical virtues.

Perseverance is more prevailing than violence;and many
things which cannot be overcome when they are together,
yield themselves up when taken little by little.

Monday, December 8, 2014

On the Lake(Auf dem See) by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe


On the Lake
Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
Translated by J. S. Dwight

MY blood flows fresh, my soul finds food,
I roam the world at large;
And Nature,—smiles she not most good?
She holds my heart in charge.
The wavelets lift our little boat,
With the oars, in measured beat,
And hills, piled cloudlike, hither float
Our bounding bark to meet.

Eye, mine eye, why art thou sinking?
Of those dreams must still be thinking?
Go, Dream! golden as thou art;
Here, too, love and life have part.

Under the wave fly, blinking,
Shoals of stars, as I ponder;
Flocks of clouds hang drinking
Round the hills away yonder;
Morning wind is dancing
O’er the shadowy cove,
From the lake come glancing
Fruits half hid in the grove.

The original poem in German
Auf dem See

Und frische Nahrung, neues Blut
Saug ich aus freier Welt:
Wie ist Natur so hold und gut,
Die mich am Busen hält!

Die Welle wieget unsern Kahn
Im Rudertakt hinauf,
Und Berge, wolkig himmelan,
Begegnen unserm Lauf.

Aug, mein Aug, was sinkst du nieder?
Goldne Träume, kommt ihr wieder?
Weg, du Traum! so gold du bist:
Hier auch Lieb und Leben ist.

Auf der Welle blinken
Tausend schwebende Sterne,
Weiche Nebel trinken
Rings die türmende Ferne;

Morgenwind umflügelt
Die beschattete Bucht,
Und im See bespiegelt
Sich die reifende Frucht.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Excerpts from"The beloved:Reflections on the path of the heart" by Khalil Gibran

Music:
Canon In D-brian Craig



Excerpt from:"Reflections on the path of the heart"
Chapter:At the gate of the temple
Khalil Gibran

Yesterday I stood by the gate of the temple and asked passersby about the mysteries and virtues of love.

A man of middle years passed by,his body wasted,his face dark. Sighing,he said,'Love has made weak the strength I inherited from the First Man.

A youth,his body strong and brawny,passed by.In a voice of song he said,'Love is resolution added to my being, linking my present to generations past and future.'


A woman,her eyes melancholy,passed by and,sighing,said, 'Love is a deadly poison, the breath of black adders writhing in Hell, flowing and swirling through the sky until it falls covered in dew, only to be lapped up by thirsty spirits.Then they are drunk for a moment,sober for a year, dead for eternity.'

A rosy-cheecked girl passed by and said,smiling, 'Love is a fountain whose waters the spirit brides pour into the spirits of the strong, making them to ascend in prayer among the stars of night and to sing songs of praise before the sun by day.'

A man passed by.His clothes were black,his beard long. Frowning,he said,'Love is blind ignorance.It begins at youth's beginning and ends with its end.'


A handsome man with open features passed and gaily said, 'Love is celestial knowledge that lights our eyes and shows us things as the gods see them.'

A blind man passed,tapping the earth with his cane, and weeping,he said,'Love is a thick mist enshrouding the soul on all sides and veiling the outlines of existence from it-or allowing it to see only the specters of its desires wandering among the rocks,deaf to the sounds of its own cries echoing in the valley.'

A youth carrying a guitar passed and sang out, 'Love is a magical ray of light shining out from the depths of the sensitive being and illuminating all around it. You see the world as a procession traveling through green meadows,life as a lovely dream erected between wakefulness and wakefulness.'


And old man passed.His back was bent,his feet dragged like pieces of cloth. In a quavering voice he said, 'Love is rest for the body in the silence of the tomb, peace for the soul in the depths of eternity.'

A child of five years passed and laughed back to me, 'Love is my father,love is my mother.Only my father and my mother know love.'

The day went by.The people passed before the temple, each describing himself as he spoke of love,revealing his hopes and telling of the mystery of life.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Letra de canción de Si Tú Me Amas de Il Divo lyrics


Solo en ti
Por siempre seré feliz
Historia que presentí mucho antes de vivir en mí

Por que solo en ti,
Encuentro lo que ayer perdí
Tú eres en mí existir,
Mi gran felicidad

Si tú me amas
Yo seré esa esperanza
Que jamás se querrá morir
En este amor sin fin
Tú serás siempre mi alma

Despertar, paraísos de visión y paz
Se que solo los podré encontrar,
En mis días junto a ti

Si tú me amas,
Yo seré esa esperanza,
Que jamás se querrá morir
En este amor sin fin
Tú serás siempre mi alma

Si tú me amas,
Yo seré una esperanza
Que jamás se querrá morir
En este amor sin fin
Tú serás siempre mi alma amor mío

Jamás querrá morir
Abrázame hasta el fin
Volaré si me amas

Haces realidad,
La magia de soñar
Volaré si tú me amas

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

What is a Human Being? by Guy de Maupassant


A human being - what is a human being? Everything and nothing.Through the power of thought it can mirror everything it experiences.Through memory and knowledge it becomes a microcosm,carrying the world within itself.A mirror of things,a mirror of facts. Each human being becomes a little universe within the universe!
Guy de Maupassant

Temptations are always with us by Montesquieu


In vain do we seek tranquility in the desert; temptations are always with us; our passions, represented by the demons, never let us alone: those monsters created by the heart, those illusions produced by the mind, those vain specters that are our errors and our lies always appear before us to seduce us; they attack us even in our fasting or our mortifications, in other words, in our very strength.
Montesquieu, The Persian Letters

Monday, December 1, 2014

Inspirierende Rumi Zitaten,Weisheiten und Gedichten über die Liebe, das Leben und die Spiritualität


Liebende treffen sich nicht
Rumi

Mit der Minute,in der ich meine erste Liebesgeschichte hörte,
begann ich nach dir zu suchen,nicht ahnend,wie blind das war.
Liebende treffen sich nicht letztendlich irgendwo.
Sie sind ineinander, schon die ganze Zeit über.


Jenseits von richting und falsh

Jenseits der Vorstellungen von richtig und falsch
gibt es ein Feld. Ich treffe dich dort.
Wenn sich die Seele im Gras niederlegt,ist die Welt zu voll,um darüber zu reden. Gedanken,Sprache,sogar die Worte "mit einander" ergeben keinen Sinn.


Wenn Liebe und Geist sich mischen

Wenn deine Liebe das Innerste erreicht,
schießen Erdausbrüche und helle Fontänen in die Luft.
Das Universum wird ein einziges spirituelles Ding,
so einfach, wenn Liebe und Geist sich mischen.


Vermishung

Mit deiner Seele hat sich meine
gemischt wie Wasser mit dem Weine.
Wer kann den Wein vom Wasser trennen,
wer dich und mich aus dem Vereine?


laß die Schönheit,die wir lieben,sein,was wir tun

Wie an jedem anderen Tag wachen wir heute auf, leer und ängstlich. Öffne nun nicht die Tür zum Arbeitszimmer und fange an zu lesen.

Nimm ein Musikinstrument.
Lass die Schönheit,die wir lieben,
in dem sein,was wir tun.
Es gibt hundert Wege,auf die Knie zu gehen
und den Boden zu küssen.

Beides

Wir sind der Spiegel und das Gesicht darin.
Wir schmecken in diesem Moment der Ewigkeit
den Geschmack der Ewigkeit.
Wir sind der Schmerz und das, was den Schmerz heilt.
Wir sind das süße kühle Wasser und der Krug,der es ausgießt.

Saturday, November 29, 2014

Un extrait de la nouvelle" Esprits rebelles" de Khalil Gibran

Music:
Canon In D-brian Craig



Extrait des"Esprits rebelles"
Khalil Gibran

Quand tu perds un ami cher,tu cherches autour de toi et tu en trouves de nombreux autres, alors tu finis par te consoler. Et quand tu perds tes biens, tu réfléchis et tu t'aperçois que tu peux en obtenir tout autant, alors tu finis par oublier.Mais quand tu perds la paix de l'âme,où peux-tu la retrouver, par quoi peux-tu la remplacer? La main de la mort te frappe violemment, et tu es malheureux, pourtant chaque jour et chaque nuit tu sens la caresse de la vie, et tu es heureux.

Le destin vient à toi par surprise, il te dévisage de ses yeux énormes et terrifiants, t'attrape le cou de ses griffes acérées, te jette brutalement à terre,puis te piétine de ses pieds crochus et s'en va en ricanant. Mais il revient vite vers toi plein de repentir et de regret, te relève avec douceur de ses mains gantées de soie, et te chante l'espoir, alors il t'émeut.Tracas et fatigues assaillent tes nuits puis s'évanouissent quand arrive le matin, ainsi tu reprends conscience et espères à nouveau.

Mais quand ta raison de vivre est un oiseau que tu aimes! Tu le nourris des graines de ton cœur et l'abreuves de la lumière de tes yeux,ta poitrine est son refuge et ta chaleur son nid, tu le regardes et le couves de tout ton amour, et voilà qu'il t'échappe, vole au-dessus des nuages puis va chercher un autre toit, sans que tu puisses espérer le voir revenir. Que fais-tu dans ce cas, dis-moi,que fais-tu ? Où trouver patience et consolation, comment faire renaître l'espoir ?

Friday, November 28, 2014

Immortality Quote:We want a witness by Margaret Atwood


Why is it we want so badly to memorialize ourselves? Even while we're still alive. We wish to assert our existence... We put on display our framed photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver-plated cups; we monogram our linen, we carve our names on trees, we scrawl them on washroom walls. It's all the same impulse. What do we hope from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply attention, of any kind we can get? At the very least we want a witness. We can't stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down.
Margaret Atwood

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