| Etienne's Sacred Space | |||||||||||||||||
| At night make me one with the darkness, in the morning make me one with the light. -Wendell Berry |
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest, And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, And the narrowest hinge in my hand put to shame all machinery, And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. -Walt Whitman | ||||||||||||||||
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anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did. Women and men (both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain Children guessed (but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that no one loved him more by more When by now and tree by leaf She laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her Someones married their everyones laughed their cryinga and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then) they said their nevers they slept their dream Stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so many floating bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and no one stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep no one and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes Women and men (both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain -E.E. Cummings | We are the music nakers, and we are the dreamers of the dreams. -Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Ronald Dahl | ||||||||||||||||
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| To those who hear the music, and have the courage to dance. |
Within the circles of our lives we dance the circles of the years, the circles of the seasons within the circles of the years, the cycles of the moon within the circles of the seasons, the circles of our reasons within the cycles of the moon. Again, again we come and go, changed, changing. Hands join, unjoin in love and fear, grief and joy. The circles turn, each giving into each, into all. Only music keeps us here, each by the others held. In the hold of hands and eyes we turn in pairs, that joining joining each to all again. And then we turn aside, alone, out of the sunlight gone into the darker circles of return. -Wendell Berry | ||||||||||||||||
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