Category: how to live

From a poem by Francis Thomson

T

Where is the land of Luthany,
Where is the tract of Elenore?
I am bound therefore.

‘Pierce thy heart to find the key

When to the new eyes of thee
All things by immortal power,
Near or far,
Hiddenly
To each other linked are,
That thou canst not stir a flower
Without troubling of a star;
When thy song is shield and mirror
To the fair snake curled pain,
Where thou dar’st affront her terror
That on her thou may’st attain
Persean Conquest; seek no more,
O seek no more!
Pass the gates of Luthany,
Tread the region Elenore!

Francis Thompson

XXXTags: connection, death, flower, hope, knowledge, learning, life, light, loss, quest, sight, star, 

The dreams, the metaphors of the mind

I wish we were in Alston steep and fine

The Pennines all around, the lakes nearby.

We walked the Pennine way in our own time.

Your heart was in the hills, to teesdale chained.

You didn’t like the urban sprawl, the blight

I wish we were in Alston now and then

The time has passed we find our memories fade.

I miss you,miss you, miss you, I can’t lie

I wish that we were near high force, that air.

And our;United Kingdom’s in decay.

We saw an eagle but it did not fly

0h every breath we took was like a prayer.

I find it hard to walk without a crutch

I can see but I can’t feel your touch

You would hardly know me now I sigh

I wish you were in Alston by my side.

The dreams, the symbols memories combine.

This is how you’re with me for all time

I am very proud because I’ve tried

Am I you?

The phone rang and a voice said,
is that you?
I said, it’s me.
He said, who are you?
I said,I’ve not figured that out yet.
He said, are you pulling my leg?
I said, I can’t even see your leg!
He said, do you fancy eating owt tonight?
I said, eeh, you’re from Manchester!
But it was just a spelling mistake.
He was trying it on.
Whatever it is

Logic and marriage

Annie ran into Mary’s kitchen wearing a pale green coat and matching suede s oes
Oh,let me tell you my happy news,I am gettng married again
Is that why you are all dressed up?Why green?
Don’t be ridiculous,marriage needs organising
You mean the Ceremony?
Yes, and the meal
I think marriage itself needs organising.Who will pay the bills and bring in the coal?
Which side of the bed will you sleep on?
Oh, I must get larger bed,Annie realised thoughtfully
And who is to be your husband?
I’ve not decided yet,Annie admitted quietly
How many candidates are there for the position,Mary asked quizzically?
Well, the main one is Denis, the psychoanalyst across the road
I expect he already has a big bed..Mary joked knowingly
Yes,I spent a night or so with him and he has a memory foam mattress here.
I hope it doesn’t remember all the women he has slept with
Well, only if they slept there.They might have gone to an hotel or been in a caravan
at Southwold Harbour,Annie rambled on
They might have slept in a wood by a log fire or in a tent on the West Bank
So will he be faithful to you?
He’s already told me he adores me more than he knew possible
That will soon wear off when you live together
How cruel you are,Annie sighed ,like martyr waiting to be executed
Shall I make some tea for us both?
Yes and boil my hankies as well,Mary joked.
I shall boil your tongue if you keep teasing me!
They sat down near the window while the sun was setting in a wine coloured sky
I do like your outlook,Annie said
I thought it was Microsoft’s,Mary told her innocently
You silly idiot,I mean your view
I’ve never heard of YourView.Is it a new thing like Zoom? Mary asked nervously
I mean, this view here from your window at dusk
Wow,I am frightened how I assume everything I learn of is related to Modern Technology
Yeah, said Annie,I’ve done it too
You are both stupid,said Emile the resident cat
How rude.Why do you say that,Mary enquired boldly?
It’s the whole human race.All hooked on Skype or a Twatter
What’s a Twattter?
It’s someone who lives on Twitter
You won’t find a bird on Twitter.
So a bird can’t be a Twatter
That is correct.Aristotle would be pleased if he were here
Where is he?
In a book.

That is end of “Logic made simple” on BBC education

A golden sheet

I saw your soul like that of a wild bird


Someone other guided me to act
Deep inside my voice had been unlocked
I sang the psalms and then a lullaby
Not aware in thought that you would die.


I fed you with a teaspoon the mashed fish
From a plate as good as one might wish
Like a little child you tried your best
You smiled at me and gazed like one who’s blessed


You sat up with a brighter face at last
Then lay back and God knows all the rest

Oh, don’t go yet ,my darling,I am here
The floor of heaven came down amidst my tears
Made of sumptuous satin, gold,revered
For a little moment it hung low
Then it rose and took you in its glow
I saw your soul like that of a wild bird
Taken by the Power who spoke the Word


A sheet of tears fell down from my closed eyes
It’s hard ,so hard when those you love must die

Happiness

Are fish happy dancing through the waves?

Darting through the pearls and crystal caves?

Singing as they wander with their mates

No anxious thoughts of money nor of fate.

Through the salty water on they glide

Happy with the temperature and tide.

I wish that I could swim beneath the sea

No painful joints nor mental agony.

I liked the teal green seas we saw at Hythe

Coming down the Saxon Cliffs we sighed.

The burning cornfields sent their red smoke high.

I wish we were together in the car

Driving down to Kent, it’s not so far

Loving memories

I look up our small street,
To see if you are coming.
I don’t know what time it is,
But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us,
And you could whistle well.
You wore an old tweed jacket
You loved us,I could tell.

I look out there each day,
But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.
I saved your Woodbine packet,
It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean?
Where has Daddy gone?
When will be the welcome day,
When we hear his songs again?

I’ll sing like him all day,
I’ll dream of him all night.
I hope he won’t be angry,
If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now.
He went too far away, too soon.
I’ll write down what I think he sang,
And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,
He dwells inside my heart.
And though I still can’t see his face,
I recognise his Art.

The dreams, the metaphors of the mind

I wish we were in Alston steep and fine

The Pennines all around, the lakes nearby.

We walked the Pennine way in our own time.

Your heart was in the hills, to teesdale chained.

You didn’t like the urban sprawl, the blight

I wish we were in Alston now and then

The time has passed we find our memories fade.

I miss you,miss you, miss you, I can’t lie

I wish that we were near high force, that air.

And our;United Kingdom’s in decay.

We saw an eagle but it did not fly

0h every breath we took was like a prayer.

I find it hard to walk without a crutch

I can see but I can’t feel your touch

You would hardly know me now I sigh

I wish you were in Alston by my side.

The dreams, the symbols memories combine.

This is how you’re with me for all time

I am very proud because I’ve tried

The neighbour’s cat ate my curry

I left a pan of curry on the stove
Hot as ash combined with burning coal
Yet when I went back in a cat stood there
Eating this strong curry with no care.

It must have had thick skin inside its mouth
Before I looked ,it ran out of the house
To think it gobbled up our supper so
Leaving me with nothing but a glow

So then I made a chilli beef and beans
My heart ached as I listened to puss scream
Can cats learn that pans are out of bounds?
I’d hate to hear again its anguished sounds

Be sure to close the kitchen door or else
You too will suffer torment from cats’ yells

Astonished into bud

Fritillaria sewerzowii Green_15-2 [1024x768]

Flower by Mike Flemming.Copyright 2015

The journey to the heart is graced by love.
And those who need to seek obey their call.
Though virtue and her graces smile above,
We see steep paths ahead with risky falls

With willingness to cross fields deep in mud,
To struggle through the tangled wind bent wood.
Our soul within knows when there’s latent good;
Recalls old trees astonished into bud.

As flowers spring up to gently grace our toes
Encouragement is with much joy received;
And as we smell the fragrance of the rose,
At last we know our souls were not deceived.

For Virgil,fortune favours steadfast feet.
The journey may be long,the end is sweet.

St Margaret’s Bay

St Margaret’s Bay,the lighthouse,the green grass

,The Kentish light,the avenues of glass

See across the Channel where they hide

Drowning migrants rolling on the tide.

Who are they,we say  in cruel tone  ?

Jesus lived in Bethlehem, not Rome

Higher climbs the butterfly in sun .

Disappearing, burnt to Kingdom come

Joy and woe

The music of the fountain in the pond

The warmth of July sun on face and hands

How you liked sit here for an hour.

And how you loved the shrubs and little flowers.

I still can’t be here without feeling sad.

And yet inside my heart I’m also glad.

For while you lost your appetite for food

Sitting in the courtyard did you good.

And when the little tulips shared their heads

Your joy was sweet, my lover oh our bed.

When you were too weak to hug me more

The images of tulips through me poured.

I close my eyes and see them once again

This helps me survive the grievous pain.

For joy and woe are woven and are one.

The fabric of our life can’t be undone

Touch me

My tree

Holding hands in the dark

Helps us when we cannot talk

Touching, holding, being there

Gives us strength so we can bear

The heavy load,the angst, the care

The holy dove,the hands of love

Down below, up above

Grasp my body, hold me tight

Through the nightmares,give me light

Comfort me, we’re not alone

In the darkness be my home

Fishing

Poachers caught the geese from off the Lea

They roasted them for Xmas so we hear

If I asked they might get one for me

Not what we desire for Xmas tea

The same is true for Kentish wine and beer

Unless we all get drunk beneath the tree

We could go fishing in the river Lea

If we had a boat then I could steer

Don’t lie so still

Ah,brother I don’t want you to lie still

No blood to circulate,no thoughts,no will

No help,no humour.jokes no

sharp true eye

From our old shared pram,to live, to die.

I used to do your homework

late at night

Abstract thought to you was no delight.

You wondered over X and y and z

Preferred the shapes of Nature in your. head.

I shall retain the memories of the good

You who taught me speech and hate and love

When we speak but do not look

When we speak but do not look upon
The person we address, we are undone
We miss the tiny signs, the looks, the lines
We treat them as mere object we define

We treat them like a post of wood or stone
As if we cannot hurt nor cause them shame
We hit them with sharp words or thoughtless rot
And on and on until hate is begot

All want to be acknowleged,seen and heard
But must approach each other with great care
For most of us are thin skinned, nervous beasts
Who fear they are not asked to the great Feast

And in a thousand gestures we declare
We are not speaking merely to thin air

Force

Denial worked for you for many years
When you nearly crashed when turning right
You give no hint that you had any fear
Denial worked for you for many years
Real though is the body,real the tears
As I sat beside you,well prepared
Your smile was not imagined,nor the light
Denial worked for you for many years
Once you nearly crashed, that was not right

When we turn our face the other way
The roving car will hit us with its force
No time for any thought,much less a prayer
When we turn our face the other way
We will feel the impact or we die
No new day will dawn for those who care
When their eyes are red, their voices hoarse
When we turn our face the other way
The speeding car will hit us with its force

Behind glass… a defense

Have you ever felt you were behind a pane of glass? I did once many years ago after a friend committed  suicide.It must be a protective  condition but it is painful and odd.Everyone else seems ok ,you imagine,but you are not a part..In reality many people may be feeling like you do and putting on a performance while out at work or socialising.We are probably wiser as we grow older as we know more people better and see we are not  unique in our suffering and pain; we know that feelings pass,even the worst ones and we may have become better at judging others and knowing if friends die  by suicide it’s probably not our fault

When one feels that way it has to be accepted for the time being, like all feelings,I found reading poetry helped me and also being with others in a group where I could sit and listen without pressure to speak.I like this poem from then.It was a favorite  of Simone Weil,the mystic.

LOVE BADE ME WELCOME  by George Herbert

 

 Love Bade Me Welcome – from Love (III)

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back.
Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.

A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkinde, ungrateful? Ah, my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.

I didn’t know I knew

s:

“Once I begin the act of writing, it all falls away; the view from the window, the tools, the talismans, and I am unconscious of myself… one’s carping inner critics are silenced for a time… there is always a surprise, a revelation. During the act of writing, I have told myself something that I didn’t know I know.”

– Gail Godwin

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Teachers who touch our hearts

Leaves are the placet  along with roots where communication happens.When we grow beans the plants at first have just two leaves and need warmth and light to develop…. and so do human beings,We need food as well.
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Thoughtfulness:Some reflections

http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/thoughtfulnes

I became embroiled in “thinking” but I am more interested in thoughtfulness.To me this is connected to reflection and care.To be a thoughtful person I need to be involved with society.A thinker may remain aloof… and if you are a ruminator or a brooder this will detach you from the world of others too.So there’s a paradox  here about thinking and thought.

The other problem with thinking using logic and reasoning is the question of the premises you use.If they are not sensible,if they are wrong, if they are poor then thinking is entirely vain.And also by a careful choice of  premises or assumptions almost anything can be “proved”

Syllogisms can be useful but really what do they tell you except something you most likely already know

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Feeling suicidal?

I noticed many people read the article I reblogged about  a woman who was feeling so depressed last year.There are many resources … the Samaritans being the best here in the UK.local charges on phone

Or visit this link

http://www.breathingspacescotland.co.uk/bspace/119.34.36.html

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The shadow of a human

th Cloudy sju wiki

One side of us is good and the other is bad

We are like old gramophone records

Sometimes we are playing the good side

Then late we play the reverse.

The brighter the appearance

The darker the shadow

so Jung decided

Which may explain

why he and Heidegger

did not see the truth about the Nazis.

Jung got a top job

because all the Jewish psychoanalysts had to flee Austria and Germany

And later France

Jung was unable

to use his own insights

I guess we are all  a bit like that.

But we must keep trying…..

We need to accept  the pain

Of knowing we have a shadow.

If not,we will do harm

for if we don’t know it

we cannot control it

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Keeping reality at bay

       “Clichés, stock phrases, adherence to conventional, standardized codes of expression and conduct have the socially recognized function of protecting us against reality.”
― Hannah Arendt
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Could you love an insect?

We were told when Robert the Bruce was in prison he survived by studying a spider creating its webs,It consoled him.So the spider helped him but was hardly a pet.First it was totally independent and more important,insects don’t have faces.They have eyes but no expression.And they are too small.A cat may feel like a baby…but a fly will not

Which makes me think we love  animals and even birds because we can detect a personality or imagine we do…….we can ascribe feelings and love to them.Perhaps we make them into mini human beings?

As insects are so different and smaller generally,as they are cold blooded,they seem too different to become pets.I have been known to address a spider as I help it out of the bath but I can’t distinguish that one from another.With cats,even when they are the same color,we can recognise their eyes,And they are very aware of our feelings…and wish to comfort.

But with insects we can get benefit by see how different they are and studying their lives .Ants are very kind to each other and carry a damaged ant back to the nest,for examplle.So they can provide food for thought..

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Cezanne

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Another psychoanalyst …Winnicott and Harold Pinter

“In a remembrance of the writer Harold Pinter that appeared in the Los Angeles Times (and posted on Slow Painting), Charles McNulty included a memorable quote by D. W. Winnicott:

But for all his vehemence and posturing, Pinter was too gifted with words and too astute a critic to be dismissed as an ideological crank. He was also too deft a psychologist, understanding what the British psychoanalyst D.W. Winnicott meant when he wrote that “being weak is as aggressive as the attack of the strong on the weak” and that the repressive denial of personal aggressiveness is perhaps even more dangerous than ranting and raving. (All that stiff-upper-lip business can be murderous.)”

I just came across that quote by accident and thought it was worth posting here

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Don’t sleep with a mouse

Much as we may love all creatures,.never go to bed with anything you may roll onto in the night……………Including very small men.

Have a sense of proportion.You will thank me one day.A man pancake is not a nice sight

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