Always, Rudy

little lost messages

which have recorded your shape
it was always like the first time
so permanently beside me.
your voice is everywhere
i become liquid
i become drunk with the sounds
i sing the blues
because it hurts if i don't


it was new and shiny
the day
you gave me the
wind chime

it made the sweetest sound
at the merest whisper of the wind
little lost melodies
recorded in my mind

i became giddy with the sound

or was it the kisses down my spine
with stubbled chin
and white hot tongue?

now it's old and weathered
but still
it plays your melody
recorded in my mind

you became liquid
and flowed through my veins

For Rudy

In the night when poems
are born,

breathe on my hands


We were young, we were eternal. we wanted to last

That for us, was cause enough.

Saying goodbye to Ru when he went to London for the first time.

The funny thing is, with the passage of time, something does happen to long-term foreigners which makes them more like real exiles, and they do not like it at all. The homeland which they left behind changes. The culture, the politics and their old friends all change, die, forget them. They come to feel that they are foreigners even when visiting “home”. Jhumpa Lahiri, a British-born writer of Indian descent living in America, catches something of this in her novel, “The Namesake”. Ashima, who is an Indian émigré, compares the experience of foreignness to that of “a parenthesis in what had once been an ordinary life, only to discover that the previous life has vanished, replaced by something more complicated and demanding”.

— Excerpted from The Others, from The Economist

Memories

Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back.

That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that’s where I imagine it - there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases.

In other words, you’ll live forever in your own private library.

— Haruki Murakami ~ Kafka on the Shore ~

♥

Distant Voyage

Distant Voyage

Sailing towards the end of the world
Magnificently reflecting towards eternity
A voyage not always smooth
Against rough and rocky shores
I have adored certain parts
A journey beyond my wildest dreams
Beneath countless stars and many moons
Chapters that seemed endless in time
The wind has filled my sails full
In the rocking of the bough

Sleeping away in the palm of my hand
Are the precious moments in my life


©

Saying goodbye

A week ago a close friend of ours called Laura passed away. She was one of the most remarkable people I have ever met and suddenly died of natural previously undiagnosed causes. She was well travelled, intelligent, beautiful and had a belly laugh which was infectious. She had just finished her degree in Evolutionary Biology at Oxford and was a strong campaigner for the teaching of evolution, environmentalism and various secular issues. Obviously she was also a staunch atheist.

Early last week her best friend contacted me to request that I conduct the memorial service as she knew that Laura would be "tickled pink" to know that I (as an ex pastor) was given this role. It was a real honour and I was really touched to be asked to perform it. It was also a little daunting as I had not had much experience in funeral services, let alone secular services.

She was buried at a beautiful environmental burial site on the hills of East Sussex. It is a beautiful spot of English countryside and all the caskets are made of bio-degradable substances. In addition, there are no gravestones, just small wooden plaques with a new tree planted at the head of each grave.

The service itself was conducted with her friends and family at her grave whilst the cold winter rain camouflaged our tears. My introduction was based around a quote by Emerson "It is not the length of life but the depth of life" as Laura loved, laughed, thought and felt deeply. In return she was loved deeply. She will also be missed deeply.

It was followed by a reading of Led Zeppelin's Immigrant song as she was indeed a Valkyrie and had spent the past few months working on a farm in Iceland. Other readings about friendship, love and the appreciation of life were read followed by the laying of flowers (no non bio-degradeable items were allowed). He best friend then poured a shot of her favourite Port onto her grave as a final toast to her.

We then returned to her friend's family farm which is around the corner where sat up until the early hours of the morning pouring over family albums, telling each other stories and finishing that bottle of Port she so loved.

It was a beautiful, heartfelt and moving service with no grand allusions to an afterlife, gods or sins. We celebrated her life here on earth as sacred with no need for anything further to be added in some ivory tower in the heavens. She was special enough as a beautiful person here on earth. It embraced our humanity, our frailty and the love, respect and deep friendship which binds us as a community.

~written by Ru~

http://atheisttoolbox.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=20&p=92237#p92237

Absolutes

Let there be days soft and deceptive
the taste of water absolute
the inner sun absolute
and our awakening absolute

Let our life fly over fields
filled with radiance we almost touch
air we almost embrace
and moments of near fullness

We are one with the legendary shadows
smiling with apricot lips and vanilla voices
singing the sea's high sound
in a rush of joy before dark

When the last feather of light floats down
on the ripening hours
the breath grows visible
dividing and dividing stillness

We recall fine tunings of sun
the moon's ancestral silver
fugitive years and moments
nudging enchantment when we wore

the loose limbs of childhood
and watched endless springs and summers
steeped in the absolute music
of long-traveling light

~by Ruth Daigon~

♥

VIP

♥

We only get one shot at this life.
It only goes round once and time is precious.
We better spend that time with someone important.


♥

sometimes

you just have

to let

go

♥

Lassie died shortly after this photo was taken.

♥

Children are infinitely precious
and must be unconditionally
loved and protected.



♥

©

evening

the soft twilight is meant
for poets and dreamers
a love song in the air

birds flutter
a fright full of wings

a moment dying
in the last daylight
breaking in pieces
outside my window

the evening comes to me
innocent and lyrically sensuous
a maiden in veils
of shadows and stars


♥



©

~Christa

Stories

I could tell you stories
from the edge of reasoning

there are worlds you haven’t seen
and words you’ve never spoken

not to me at least and
when the sun sets
at the end of today

remember how this moment
that has never happened before
arrived from nowhere
to stay

we light another cigarette
finish the wine

and write a story
in smoke

♫


~Christa
©

Try to praise the mutilated world.

Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

Adam Zagajewski

♥