Oasis.

[Namaste]

Yesterday -- Grace

Yesterday I did not cry
Every day seems a little better
(my days are so empty)

Yesterday I didn’t think about you
I talked and laughed with a friend
(but then the memory of you captured me and I paused, distracted)

Yesterday I bought food, and never even thought
About what you would like to eat or drink
(my lips on your belly thrilled by the contrast of satin skin and rough hair)

Yesterday the sun was shining
And I wondered whether I should plan my garden
(I stood at the bottom of a dark well and didn’t look up)

Yesterday I listened to music for a while
I couldn’t decide if I should change the station
(who do I share my dreams with? who answers my questions?)

Yesterday I didn’t do much at all
Watched a little TV, read my book a little
(I’m so afraid of falling, afraid of not being caught)

Yesterday I only belonged to myself,
Not responsible for anyone else
(nobody called, nobody asked how I was doing)

Yesterday I was okay
It was a pretty good day.
(what about today?)

 

[Namaste]

I can't breathe.

And I don't know how to put the pieces back together.

 

[Namaste]

The Gift -- Sara Teasdale

What can I give you, my lord, my lover,
You who have given the world to me,
Showed me the light and the joy that cover
The wild sweet earth and the restless sea?

All that I have are gifts of your giving--
If I gave them again, you would find them old,
And your soul would weary of always living
Before the mirror my life would hold.

What shall I give you, my lord, my lover?
The gift that breaks the heart in me:
I bid you awake at dawn and discover
I have gone my way and left you free.

 

[Gusty Wind]

Re: Yesterday -- Grace

Yesterday I did not cry
Every day seems a little better
(my days are so empty)

Yesterday I didn’t think about you
I talked and laughed with a friend
(but then the memory of you captured me and I paused, distracted)

Yesterday I bought food, and never even thought
About what you would like to eat or drink
(my lips on your belly thrilled by the contrast of satin skin and rough hair)

Yesterday the sun was shining
And I wondered whether I should plan my garden
(I stood at the bottom of a dark well and didn’t look up)

Yesterday I listened to music for a while
I couldn’t decide if I should change the station
(who do I share my dreams with? who answers my questions?)

Yesterday I didn’t do much at all
Watched a little TV, read my book a little
(I’m so afraid of falling, afraid of not being caught)

Yesterday I only belonged to myself,
Not responsible for anyone else
(nobody called, nobody asked how I was doing)

Yesterday I was okay
It was a pretty good day.
(what about today?)

How are you Namaste?

Hope today your day is going to be better then my day.

 

[Guest]

 

[Namaste]

I will never understand why you didn't choose me, why you didn't choose us.

Why wasn't I enough for you? I didn't imagine all that love, that understanding, that connection, that knowledge.

I wish you'd chosen me and I will never understand why you didn't.

 

[Namaste]

"You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living.

Then you read a book(Lady Chatterley, for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with Richard, and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating.

The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom(when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death.

Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death."

Winter, 1931-1932 from The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume One 1931-1934

Who will save your soul?

 

[Gusty Wind]

....

 

[Namaste]

Send in the clowns.

I don't do it often, but I was thinking of you today, cautiously and tentatively, a little like the way a tongue might probe a tender, sensitive tooth.

I don't have many regrets. But the way I treated you towards the end of our time was unkind, perhaps the most unkind I have ever been to someone who trusted and loved me.

It is often the case that hindsight and introspection reveal hitherto half-hidden truths that we did not previously acknowledge, whether it be because we didn't want to, we didn't know how to, or because of unrealised potential.

I lost my way for a while and I let go of your hand and perhaps it was time, a natural progression, and perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was a result of my temporary insanity, my fear, my insecurity.

Of the people in my life, you have been one of the best and though we had our difficulties, you always treated me with respect. I regret that I did not always do that for you, though I suspect you do not know the entirety of my actions towards the end.

I often wonder what you would make of me, had we met each other now instead of back then. I think you would like me now, I'm a better person.

I have come such a long way since then, since our end. I am softer and more gentle and I am not so impatient and dismissive. There is tolerance where once there was judgement. There is humility where once there was pride. There is awareness where once there was arrogance. There is softness where once there were thorns.

We probably would have made it.

But I would not be who I am now unless we'd walked our path and for that, I will always thank you. You helped shape my fabric, and I know how many of your tears are sewn into my lining.

I still throw you over me like a coat when I need to hide for a while

Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.

Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.

Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.

Don't you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother, they're here.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.

​

 

[Gusty Wind]

"I lost my way for a while and I let go of your hand and perhaps it was time, a natural progression, and perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was a result of my temporary insanity, my fear, my insecurity."


Good too see you again Namaste.

___________________
this life of me
soon will be over
everyone i know
is turning and walk away
one regret is
I've giving up too soon
yes
noone cares

 

[Namaste]

there is nothing.

How many times do I have to try to tell you
That I'm sorry for the things I've done
But when I start to try to tell you
That's when you have to tell me
Hey...this kind of trouble's only just begun
I tell myself too many times
Why don't you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut
That's why it hurts so bad to hear the words
That keep on falling from your mouth
Falling from your mouth
Falling from your mouth
Tell me...
Why
Why
I may be mad
I may be blind
I may be viciously unkind
But I can still read what you're thinking
And I've heard it said too many times
That you'd be better off
Besides...
Why can't you see this boat is sinking
(This boat is sinking this boat is sinking)
Let's go down to the water's edge
And we can cast away those doubts
Some things are better left unsaid
But they still turn me inside out
Turning inside out turning inside out
Tell me...
Why
Tell me...
Why
This is the book I never read
These are the words I never said
This is the path I'll never tread
These are the dreams I'll dream instead
This is the joy that's seldom spread
These are the tears...
The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head
And these are the years that we have spent
And this is what they represent
And this is how I feel
Do you know how I feel?
'Cause I don't think you know how I feel
I don't think you know what I feel
I don't think you know what I feel
You don't know what I feel

 

[Namaste]

Put the saddle on the mare,
For the wet winds blow;
There's winter in the air,
And autumn all below.
For the red leaves are flying
And the red bracken dying,
And the red fox lying
Where the oziers grow.

Put the bridle on the mare,
For my blood runs chill;
And my heart, it is there,
On the heather-tufted hill,
With the gray skies o'er us,
And the long-drawn chorus
Of a running pack before us
From the find to the kill.

Then lead round the mare,
For it's time that we began,
And away with thought and care,
Save to live and be a man,
While the keen air is blowing,
And the huntsman holloing,
And the black mare going
As the black mare can.

- Arthur Conan Doyle.

 

[Namaste]

Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again.
A great man in his pride
Confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon
Supersession of breath;
He knows death to the bone
Man has created death.

- William Butler Yeats

 

[Namaste]

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory,
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

[Namaste]

VII

pardon, great enemy,
Without an angry thought
We've carried in our tree,
And here and there have bought
Till all the boughs are gay,
And she may look from the bed
On pretty things that may
please a fantastic head.
Give her a little grace,
What if a laughing eye
Have looked into your face?
It is about to die.

- William Butler Yeats

 

[Namaste]

It's hard to know if you're alive or dead
When steel and fire go roaring through your head.

One moment you'll be crouching at your gun
Traversing, mowing heaps down half in fun :
The next, you choke and clutch at your right breast
No time to think leave all and off you go . . .
To Treasure Island where the Spice winds blow,
To lovely groves of mango, quince and lime
Breathe no good-bye, but ho, for the Rest West!
It's a queer time.

You're charging madly at them yeling 'Fag!'
When somehow something gives and your feet drag.
You fall and strike your head; yet feel no pain
And find . . . You're digging tunnels through the hay
In the Big Barn, 'cause it's a rainy day.
O springy hay, and lovely beams to climb!
You're back in the old sailor suit again.
It's a queer time.

Or you'll be dozing safe in your dug-out
A great roar the trench shakes and falls about
You're struggling, gasping, struggling, then . . . hullo!
Elsie comes tripping gaily down the trench,
Hanky to nose -- theat lyddite makes a stench
Getting her pinafore all over grime.
Funny! because she died ten years ago!
It's a queer time.

The trouble is, things happen much too quick;
Up jump the Boshes, rifles thump and click,
You stagger, and the whole scene fades away:
Even good Christians don't like passing straight
From Tipperary or their Hymn of Hate
To Alleluiah-chanting, and the chime
Of golden harps . . . and . . . I'm not well today . . .
It's a queer time.

- Robert Graves

 

[Namaste]

...no doubt I now grew very pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased and what could I do? It was a low dull, quick sound much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what could I do? I foamed I raved I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder louder louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! no, no? They heard! they suspected! they knew! they were making a mockery of my horror! this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now again hark! louder! louder! louder! Louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!"

- Edgar Allan Poe

 

[shyybabe]

I don't do it often, but I was thinking of you today, cautiously and tentatively, a little like the way a tongue might probe a tender, sensitive tooth.

I don't have many regrets. But the way I treated you towards the end of our time was unkind, perhaps the most unkind I have ever been to someone who trusted and loved me.

It is often the case that hindsight and introspection reveal hitherto half-hidden truths that we did not previously acknowledge, whether it be because we didn't want to, we didn't know how to, or because of unrealised potential.

I lost my way for a while and I let go of your hand and perhaps it was time, a natural progression, and perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was a result of my temporary insanity, my fear, my insecurity.

Of the people in my life, you have been one of the best and though we had our difficulties, you always treated me with respect. I regret that I did not always do that for you, though I suspect you do not know the entirety of my actions towards the end.

I often wonder what you would make of me, had we met each other now instead of back then. I think you would like me now, I'm a better person.

I have come such a long way since then, since our end. I am softer and more gentle and I am not so impatient and dismissive. There is tolerance where once there was judgement. There is humility where once there was pride. There is awareness where once there was arrogance. There is softness where once there were thorns.

We probably would have made it.

But I would not be who I am now unless we'd walked our path and for that, I will always thank you. You helped shape my fabric, and I know how many of your tears are sewn into my lining.

I still throw you over me like a coat when I need to hide for a while

Thank you for sharing these thoughts. I agree that everyone we let in close helps us to grow.

 

[Namaste]

Thank you, Shy.

I've read of your strengths, of your bottomeless love and patience and sacrifice.

People like you constuct the fabric of this earth, despite the efforts of others to rip it apart

 

[shyybabe]

*blushes*

Thank God you didn't read about my potty mouth, it's still a well-kept secret in my mind.

I've always believed in the golden rule and tried to live my life as best I can. Children, animals, idiots all deserve equal patience although some days it doesn't always work in that order.

Thank you for your kind words.

 

[Namaste]

Words are cheap - it's actions which count, no?

You're intelligent and loving and prinicipled and strong and determined and I have nothing but admiration.

According to Gandhi, we must be the change we wish to see in the world. People like you embody that - and it is seen, and it is acknowledged, albeit silently at times.

Namaste

 

[Namaste]

The paper tigers roar at noon;
The sun is hot, the sun is high.
They roar in chorus, not in tune,
Their plaintive, savage hunting cry.

O, when you hear them, stop your ears
And clench your lids and bite your tongue.
The harmless paper tiger bears
Strong fascination for the young.

His forest is the busy street;
His dens the forum and the mart;
He drinks no blood, he tastes no meat:
He riddles and corrupts the heart.

But when the dusk begins to creep
From tree to tree, from door to door,
The jungle tiger wakes from sleep
And utters his authentic roar.

It bursts the night and shakes the stars
Till one breaks blazing from the sky;
Then listen! If to meet it soars
Your heart's reverberating cry,

My child, then put aside your fear:
Unbar the door and walk outside!
The real tiger waits you there;
His golden eyes shall be your guide.


The world and all the worlds are yours;
And should he leap thejungle path
And clasp you with his bloody jaws,

Then say, as his divine embrace
Destroys the mortal parts of you:
I too am of that royal race
Who do what we are born to do.

- AD Hope

 

[Byron In Exile]

Stanzas Written in Dejection —
December 1818, Near Naples


The Sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might,
The breath of the moist earth is light
Around its unexpanded buds;
Like many a voice of one delight
The winds, the birds, the Ocean-floods;
The City's voice itself is soft, like Solitude's.

I see the Deep's untrampled floor
With green and purple seaweeds strown;
I see the waves upon the shore
Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown;
I sit upon the sands alone;
The lightning of the noontide Ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion,
How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.

Alas, I have not hope nor health
Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that content surpassing wealth
The sage in meditation found,
And walked with inward glory crowned;
Nor fame nor power nor love nor leisure—
Others I see whom these surround,
Smiling they live and call life pleasure:
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.

Yet now despair itself is mild,
Even as the winds and waters are;
I could lie down like a tired child
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear
Till Death like Sleep might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air
My cheek grow cold, and hear the Sea
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.

Some might lament that I were cold,
As I, when this sweet day is gone,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan—
They might lament, — for I am one
Whom men love not, and yet regret;
Unlike this day, which, when the Sun
Shall on its stainless glory set,
Will linger though enjoyed, like joy in Memory yet.

 

[Namaste]

for you byron.......

I have not told my garden yet,
Lest that should conquer me;
I have not quite the strength now
To break it to the bee.

I will not name it in the street,
For shops would stare, that I,
So shy, so very ignorant,
Should have the face to die.

The hillsides must not know it,
Where I have rambled so,
Nor tell the loving forests
The day that I shall go,

Nor lisp it at the table,
Nor heedless by the way
Hint that within the riddle
One will walk to-day!


If my hand is warmer, it is because of the faceless people which hold it

 

[Namaste]

I never meant 2 cause u any sorrow
I never meant 2 cause u any pain
I only wanted 2 one time see u laughing
I only wanted 2 see u laughing in the purple rain

Purple rain purple rain
Purple rain purple rain
Purple rain purple rain

I only wanted 2 see u bathing in the purple rain

I never wanted 2 be your weekend lover
I only wanted 2 be some kind of friend
Baby I could never steal u from another
It’s such a shame our friendship had 2 end

Purple rain purple rain
Purple rain purple rain
Purple rain purple rain

I only wanted 2 see u underneath the purple rain

Honey I know, I know, I know times are changing
It’s time we all reach out 4 something new
That means u 2
U say u want a leader
But u can’t seem 2 make up your mind
I think u better close it
And let me guide u 2 the purple rain

Purple rain purple rain
Purple rain purple rain

If you know what I’m singing about up here
C’mon raise your hand

Purple rain purple rain

I only want 2 see u, only want 2 see u
In the purple rain.

- Prince