One of the best Sylvia Plath comments I had read.
I want to taste and glory in each day,
and never be afraid to experience pain;
and never shut myself up
in a numb core of non-feeling,
or stop questioning and criticizing life
and take the easy way out.
To learn and think:
to think and live;
to live and learn:
this always, with new insight,
and new love.
– Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
Sirena, feels very close.
it’s a riptide
on a moonless night
stealthy and inexorable
out to a pounding
for his hand
but he “will drag you under, too”
it’s without logic
the ghastly ripples
across generations of pain
you dive in
it’s no good
you can’t reach
the rope’s too short and the sea too rough
if only they would get help
but they don’t, won’t
and so it’s intractable
this persistent murmur, glacial masquerade, madness
a sibling to genius, sure
yet right here, right now?
it’s a scourge–
we won’t speak of it
that the rip’s not there
and maybe that’s the worst
Interesting combination of picture and quote. Tell us more David
“From the beginning I had a sense of destiny, as though my life was assigned to me by fate and had to be fulfilled. This gave me an inner security, and though I could never prove it to myself, it proved itself to me. I did not have this certainty, it had me.”
C. G. Jung, from Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Used to do that, fly.
We just returned from our summer vacation after visiting our son and his family. What a wonderful time that passed all too quickly. I found this poem that I wanted to share this morning. The picture is of our grandson Jack, who will be 7 in October. He loves life and it shows in all that he does.
“I love the hour before takeoff,
that stretch of no time, no home
but the gray vinyl seats linked like
unfolding paper dolls. Soon we shall
be summoned to the gate, soon enough
there’ll be the clumsy procedure of row numbers
and perforated stubs—but for now
I can look at these ragtag nuclear families
with their cooing and bickering
or the heeled bachelorette trying
to ignore a baby’s wail and the baby’s
exhausted mother waiting to be called up early
while the athlete, one monstrous hand
asleep on his duffel bag, listens,
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