I and this mystery; here we stand.
to call woodthrush or apple.
A hummingbird, fewer.
A wristwatch: 1024.
An alphabet's molecules,
tasting of honey, iron and salt,
cannot be counted–
as some strings, untouched,
sound when a near one is speaking.
As it was when love slipped inside us.
It looked out to face in every direction.
Then it was inside the tree, the rock, the cloud.
Truth cannot be out there—cannot exist independently of the human mind—because sentences cannot so exist, or be out there.
The world is out there, but descriptions of the world are not.
Only descriptions of the world can be true or false.
The world on its own—unaided by the describing activities of humans—
Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity
What is life?
It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow which runs across
the grass and loses itself in the sunset.
Blackfoot warrior and orator
1830 - 1890
other's eyes and in what flowsbetween them then. To see your facein a crowd of others, or alone on afrightening street, I weep for that.Our tears improve the earth. Thetime you scolded me, your gratitude,your laughing, always your qualitiesincrease the soul. Seeing you is awine that does not muddle or numb.We sit inside the cypress shadowwhere amazement and clear thoughttwine their slow growth into us.
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass. And the eyes of those two Indian ponies Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the willows To welcome my friend and me. We step over the barbed wire into the pasture Where they have been grazing all day, alone. They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness That we have come. They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more, They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, For she has walked over to me And nuzzled my left hand. She is black and white, Her mane falls wild on her forehead, And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist. Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom.
As I listened from a beach-chair in the shade
To all the noises that my garden made,
It seemed to me only proper that words
Should be withheld from vegetables and birds.
A robin with no Christian name ran throughThe Robin-Anthem which was all it knew,And rustling flowers for some third party waitedTo say which pairs, if any, should get mated.Not one of them was capable of lying,There was not one which knew that it was dyingOr could have with a rhythm or a rhymeAssumed responsibility for time.Let them leave language to their lonely bettersWho count some days and long for certain letters;We, too, make noises when we laugh or weep:Words are for those with promises to keep.
–W. H. Auden
Man has no Body distinct from the Soul!
for that Body is a portion of the Soul
discerned by the five Senses,
the chief inlets to the Soul in this age.
Energy is the only life and is from the Body;
and reason is the bound or outward
circumference of energy.
Energy is eternal delight.