from Parabola:
ARCS
Murasaki shown writing at her desk at Ishiyama-dera inspired by the Moon, ukiyo-e by Suzuki Harunobu, c. 1767
"Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house."
—Murasaki Shikibu
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
William Blake, "The Night of Peace," 1815
“I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all year.”
—Charles Dickens
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ikko Narahara, from the series ‘Where Time has Stopped," Venezia, 1964
“Life may be brimming over with experience, but somewhere, deep inside, all of us carry a vast and fruitful lonliness wherever we go. And sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths, or the turning inwards in prayer for five short minutes."
—Etty Hillesum "An Interrupted Life," p. 87
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John Florea, Ringing Bell During the Bean Throwing Festival on New Years Eve. Photographic Print - 12 x 16 in.
Japan
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
—Billy Collins from Sailing Alone Around the Room with thanks to Ox-Herding.
ARCS
Murasaki shown writing at her desk at Ishiyama-dera inspired by the Moon, ukiyo-e by Suzuki Harunobu, c. 1767
"Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house."
—Murasaki Shikibu
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
William Blake, "The Night of Peace," 1815
“I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all year.”
—Charles Dickens
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ikko Narahara, from the series ‘Where Time has Stopped," Venezia, 1964
“Life may be brimming over with experience, but somewhere, deep inside, all of us carry a vast and fruitful lonliness wherever we go. And sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths, or the turning inwards in prayer for five short minutes."
—Etty Hillesum "An Interrupted Life," p. 87
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John Florea, Ringing Bell During the Bean Throwing Festival on New Years Eve. Photographic Print - 12 x 16 in.
Japan
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
—Billy Collins from Sailing Alone Around the Room with thanks to Ox-Herding.
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