Time keeps moving on
Through the sunshine and the storm
And my dreams are set in stone
And someday I'll be who I want to be
For now I'll wait
For the sun to shine again
And for now I'll wait
For the rain to pass away
And I'm looking for the brighter days
When all my hurts seem to fade away
I'm looking for the brighter days to come my way
Faces come and faces go
But none seem to look my way
And walls have stood and walls have fallen
But my heart seems to wait
For now I'll sit at the end of the road
And for now I'll wait
At the end of the pathway
I'll see the sun one day shine upon me
I'll see the sun one day
And watch the nighttime turn to morning
But for now it all comes back around
~brighter days~
LeeLand
BEHOLD, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.
I started---seeming to espy
The home and sheltered bed,
The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by
My Father' house, in wet or dry
My sister Emmeline and I
Together visited.
She looked at it and seemed to fear it;
Dreading, tho' wishing, to be near it:
Such heart was in her, being then
A little Prattler among men.
The Blessing of my later year
Was with me when a boy:
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble care, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love, and thought, and joy.
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.
I started---seeming to espy
The home and sheltered bed,
The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by
My Father' house, in wet or dry
My sister Emmeline and I
Together visited.
She looked at it and seemed to fear it;
Dreading, tho' wishing, to be near it:
Such heart was in her, being then
A little Prattler among men.
The Blessing of my later year
Was with me when a boy:
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble care, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love, and thought, and joy.
Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can't imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard, I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can't imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard, I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
I am too alone in the world,
and yet not alone enough
to make every hour holy.
I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough
just to stand before you like a thing,
dark and shrewd.
I want my will, and I want to be with my will
as it moves towards deed;
and in those quiet, somehow hesitating times,
when something is approaching,
I want to be with those who are wise
or else alone.
I want always to be a mirror that reflects your whole being,
and never to be too blind or too old
to hold your heavy, swaying image.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere do I want to remain folded,
because where I am bent and folded, there I am a lie.
And I want my meaning
true for you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I studied
closely for a long, long time,
like a word I finally understood,
like the pitcher of water I use every day ,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that carried me
through the deadliest storm of all.
....................................................................................................................
our work needs to be independent of others' work.
You must not compare yourself to others.
No one can help you. You have to help yourself.
Criticism leads to misunderstandings and defeatism.
Work from necessity and your compulsion to do it.
Work on what you know and what you are sure you love.
Don't observe yourself too closely,
just let it happen.
Don't let yourself be controlled by too much irony.
Live in and love the activity of your work.
Be free of thoughts of sin, guilt and misgiving.
Be touched by the beautiful anxiety of life.
Be patient with the unresolved in your heart.
Try to be in love with the questions themselves.
Love your solitude and try to sing with its pain.
Be gentle to all of those who stay behind.
Your inner self is worth your entire concentration.
Allow your art to make extraordinary demands on you.
Bear your sadness with greater trust than your joy.
Do not persecute yourself with how things are going.
It's good to be solitary, because solitude is difficult.
It's good to love, because love is difficult.
You are not a prisoner of anything or anyone.
—Rilke
O Jesus meek and humble of heart, Hear me.
From the desire of being esteemed,
From the desire of being loved,
From the desire of being extolled,
From the desire of being honored,
From the desire of being praised,
From the desire of being preferred to others,
From the desire of being consulted,
From the desire of being approved,
Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being humiliated,
From the fear of being despised,
From the fear of suffering rebukes,
From the fear of being calumniated,
From the fear of being forgotten,
From the fear of being ridiculed,
From the fear of being wronged,
From the fear of being suspected,
Deliver me, Jesus.
That others may be loved more than I,
That others may be esteemed more than I,
That in the opinion of the world, others may increase, and I may decrease,
That others may be chosen and I set aside,
That others may be praised and I unnoticed,
That others may be preferred to me in everything,
That others may become holier than I, provided that I become as holy as I should,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it. Amen.
From the desire of being esteemed,
From the desire of being loved,
From the desire of being extolled,
From the desire of being honored,
From the desire of being praised,
From the desire of being preferred to others,
From the desire of being consulted,
From the desire of being approved,
Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being humiliated,
From the fear of being despised,
From the fear of suffering rebukes,
From the fear of being calumniated,
From the fear of being forgotten,
From the fear of being ridiculed,
From the fear of being wronged,
From the fear of being suspected,
Deliver me, Jesus.
That others may be loved more than I,
That others may be esteemed more than I,
That in the opinion of the world, others may increase, and I may decrease,
That others may be chosen and I set aside,
That others may be praised and I unnoticed,
That others may be preferred to me in everything,
That others may become holier than I, provided that I become as holy as I should,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it. Amen.
...its all the same because they all require all of me in that space, in that moment, and
they all also give me more chances to be there again...& that's ok. what is important to remember is that they cannot exist without one another and we do not exist with out them, because then where would FaiTh and hope enter in.
especially when :
We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.
Hebrews 6:19-20 TNiV
Reading George Herbert
"all he ever wanted was to disappear.
but he kept coming upon himself
as if he were a character in a story who,
despite his best efforts to understand,
remained inscrutable. how he tried
to keep straight the difference between
who the author said he was and who he
thought he was. he told himself again
and again that God was closer to him
than he was to himself. still, he couldn't
close the distance. he was always getting
lost in his own plot, going off in all
the wrong directions. his own words
never helped, being always full of
wild hunger, self-propulsive. prayer
helped. but even when he heard
a melody not his own, when he'd try
to sing it, what came out of him
was off key and horribly out of tune.
each day he went to war against himself,
but he could never disarm himself.
yet, waking, he'd often relish the new day,
tasting the sweetness of the world
he accepted as an undeserved gift.
and, in its clear and shimmering air,
he'd sometimes see a road that ran straight
to the open door of paradise, though
the moment he started walking,
the day would be diminished by the weight
of clouds that gradually lugged themselves
all the way to the horizen. how
could he not help but think, sure of course,
just as i expected, just what i deserved?
once, having travelled farther
from himself than he'd ever been,
he believed he heard God saying, yes, this way
come ahead, enter, but he was only human,
and thought the voice must be his own.
"all he ever wanted was to disappear.
but he kept coming upon himself
as if he were a character in a story who,
despite his best efforts to understand,
remained inscrutable. how he tried
to keep straight the difference between
who the author said he was and who he
thought he was. he told himself again
and again that God was closer to him
than he was to himself. still, he couldn't
close the distance. he was always getting
lost in his own plot, going off in all
the wrong directions. his own words
never helped, being always full of
wild hunger, self-propulsive. prayer
helped. but even when he heard
a melody not his own, when he'd try
to sing it, what came out of him
was off key and horribly out of tune.
each day he went to war against himself,
but he could never disarm himself.
yet, waking, he'd often relish the new day,
tasting the sweetness of the world
he accepted as an undeserved gift.
and, in its clear and shimmering air,
he'd sometimes see a road that ran straight
to the open door of paradise, though
the moment he started walking,
the day would be diminished by the weight
of clouds that gradually lugged themselves
all the way to the horizen. how
could he not help but think, sure of course,
just as i expected, just what i deserved?
once, having travelled farther
from himself than he'd ever been,
he believed he heard God saying, yes, this way
come ahead, enter, but he was only human,
and thought the voice must be his own.
