Alone with trembling hands and leaking eyes within the silence of a song that had been sung,
An indicator that it was not my mind or my instrument alone to which is doing the singing;
A Strength of Purpose and Meaning: its presence undeniably permeating.
"He had read of 'Space': at the back of his thinking for years had lurked the dismal fancy of the black, cold vacuity, the utter deadness, which was supposed to separate the worlds. He had not known how much it affected him till now - now that the very name 'Space' seemed a blasphemous libel for this empyrean ocean of radiance in which they swam. He could not call it 'dead'; he felt life
pouring into him from it every moment. How indeed should it be otherwise, since out of this ocean the worlds and all their life had come? He had thought it barren; he saw now that it was the womb of worlds, whose blazing and innumerable offspring looked down nightly even upon the Earth with so many eyes - and here, with how many more! No: Space was the wrong name. Older thinkers had been wiser when they named it simply the heavens - the heavens which declared the glory - the
'happy climes that ly
Where day never shuts his eye
Up in the broad fields of the sky.'
He quoted Milton's words to himself lovingly, at this time and often"
Every Night, Every Night
Every second at the wake
It breaks and consumes me,
Broken, consumed: you and me.
To you reading: please do not fulfill my fear that you will not hear.
I am of a reasonable mind and a sincere heart.
How great, the sandcastles we continue making,
So long as the inevitable, unseizable wind is prevailing.
What more can we ask for in a desert such as this,
Than to take refuge in what we can make,
Or to remove the reality of indefinite living?
Open insides and mind.
To real fields, the "happy climes that ly".
Not Out of Routine or Duty
Do I ever speak of embracing truth or continuity of hope
But of Love and Sincerity, should every word I speak be.