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ferineEARTH VOICES
by Bliss Carman (1861-1929)
I heard the spring wind whisper
Above the brushwood fire,
"The world is made forever
Of transport and desire.
"I am the breath of being,
The primal urge of things;
I am the whirl of star dust,
I am the lift of wings.
"I am the splendid impulse
That comes before the thought,
The joy and exaltation
Wherein the life is caught.
"Across the sleeping furrows
I call the buried seed,
And blade and bud and blossom
Awaken at my need.
"Within the dying ashes
I blow the sacred spark,
And make the hearts of lovers
To leap against the dark."
II
I heard the spring light whisper
Above the dancing stream,
"The world is made forever
In likeness of a dream.
"I am the law of planets,
I am the guide of man;
The evening and the morning
Are fashioned to my plan.
"I tint the dawn with crimson,
I tinge the sea with blue;
My track is in the desert,
My trail is in the dew.
"I paint the hills with color,
And in my magic dome
I light the star of evening
To steer the traveller home.
"Within the house of being,
I feed the lamp of truth
With tales of ancient wisdom
And prophecies of youth."
III
I heard the spring rain murmur
Above the roadside flower,
"The world is made forever
In melody and power.
"I keep the rhythmic measure
That marks the steps of time,
And all my toil is fashioned
To symmetry and rhyme.
"I plow the untilled upland,
I ripe the seeding grass,
And fill the leafy forest
With music as I pass.
"I hew the raw, rough granite
To loveliness of line,
And when my work is finished,
Behold, it is divine!
"I am the master-builder
In whom the ages trust.
I lift the lost perfection
To blossom from the dust."
IV
Then Earth to them made answer,
As with a slow refrain
Born of the blended voices
Of wind and sun and rain,
"This is the law of being
That links the threefold chain:
The life we give to beauty
Returns to us again."
("Earth Voices" is reprinted from April Airs: A Book of New England Lyrics. Bliss Carman. Boston: Small, Maynard and Company, 1916.)
The state of mankind, the state of others, the state of the world, and my own degenerating, struggling state, I've allowed to loom so large as of late as to block out hope. It's too easy for me to ignore the unbearable lightness of being and acknowledge only the unbearable.
I refuse to opt for ignorance to maintain a level of personal comfort. Knowledge of the issues, of the news, of general and specific affairs outweighs my petty need for a sense of well-being. These are trying times on all fronts: humanitarian, environmental, political; and, of course, personal. Awareness and intellectual curiosity are of utmost importance, as is action (voting, donating, writing or calling officials, volunteering). As for the personal, that's less obvious to deal with.
Be-weeping my outcast state produces nothing, but feeds a looming sense of overwhelming helplessness, of ultimate aloneness. I cannot control the ravages on my body over time, even though I'm anxious to blame myself and flounder in self-imposed guilt for a neuromuscular disease that isn't my doing, that isn't caused by karma, that isn't a punishment for something I've thought or done. I'm so quick to accept blame, even for things completely beyond my control; guilt is a habit, a masochistic, familiar emotional frame of mind. It serves no purpose save to further self-imposed isolation and to send me deeper into a spiral of despair.
Spring is here. The seasons turn, oblivious to our personal pain, struggle, or triumph. Spring is here, and it's time to sacrifice this weighing and pointless guilt. Saturday will be a day submerged in Nature, a day to begin unraveling the smothering layers of guilt, in preparation of burning the root-effigy (the focus of my negative energy for the last year) at the Gathering.
A whirlwind of emotion, largely self-loathing, occurred recently when Faith & the Muse announced their local tour date. It is on a Wednesday night, and not far off. I cannot go. I have no transportation, and my routine doesn't allow me the spontaneity I once embraced. I go to bed at 8:30 PM Sunday through Thursday, as dad works early in the morning. I usually read until midnight, then my morning CNA stretches me and gets me up at 9:30 AM. At 12:30 PM a CNA visits shortly to help me onto the toilet. Then at 4:00 I'm given a shower every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday--Tuesday and Thursday at 4:00 I'm stretched again, a repeat of the morning routine. It's taken me a long time to accept such a schedule, and to not view it as yet another defeat--a rebuke of personal freedom and choice, a choking result of my own helplessness and disability's progression. It does crimp my social life, yet it's tolerable. It is my life now. I have no choice but to accept. Thankfully Friday night I can stay up late (though late for me is 10:30). and--bliss!--Saturday and Sunday are home health-care free.
I've taken heart in that I'm no longer needed by F&tM. I no longer host their list, I no longer run their fanbase. Others from the fanbase have risen to the fore and impressively so. Intimidatingly so. I am a fan; I will always be a fan. I love those I've met involved with F&tM, and of course M & W themselves. I'm no longer necessary, though, and given my schedule, my daily routine, I'm unable to do much of what seems normal or simple to others. It's so difficult to skirt the despair that beckons, that threatens to consume me. I can't give in; I can only endure.
Spring is here. And with it, the need for ritual. To lay in the comforting arms of Nature, to offer gifts to, to rest in the awareness of.
by Bliss Carman (1861-1929)
I heard the spring wind whisper
Above the brushwood fire,
"The world is made forever
Of transport and desire.
"I am the breath of being,
The primal urge of things;
I am the whirl of star dust,
I am the lift of wings.
"I am the splendid impulse
That comes before the thought,
The joy and exaltation
Wherein the life is caught.
"Across the sleeping furrows
I call the buried seed,
And blade and bud and blossom
Awaken at my need.
"Within the dying ashes
I blow the sacred spark,
And make the hearts of lovers
To leap against the dark."
II
I heard the spring light whisper
Above the dancing stream,
"The world is made forever
In likeness of a dream.
"I am the law of planets,
I am the guide of man;
The evening and the morning
Are fashioned to my plan.
"I tint the dawn with crimson,
I tinge the sea with blue;
My track is in the desert,
My trail is in the dew.
"I paint the hills with color,
And in my magic dome
I light the star of evening
To steer the traveller home.
"Within the house of being,
I feed the lamp of truth
With tales of ancient wisdom
And prophecies of youth."
III
I heard the spring rain murmur
Above the roadside flower,
"The world is made forever
In melody and power.
"I keep the rhythmic measure
That marks the steps of time,
And all my toil is fashioned
To symmetry and rhyme.
"I plow the untilled upland,
I ripe the seeding grass,
And fill the leafy forest
With music as I pass.
"I hew the raw, rough granite
To loveliness of line,
And when my work is finished,
Behold, it is divine!
"I am the master-builder
In whom the ages trust.
I lift the lost perfection
To blossom from the dust."
IV
Then Earth to them made answer,
As with a slow refrain
Born of the blended voices
Of wind and sun and rain,
"This is the law of being
That links the threefold chain:
The life we give to beauty
Returns to us again."
("Earth Voices" is reprinted from April Airs: A Book of New England Lyrics. Bliss Carman. Boston: Small, Maynard and Company, 1916.)
The state of mankind, the state of others, the state of the world, and my own degenerating, struggling state, I've allowed to loom so large as of late as to block out hope. It's too easy for me to ignore the unbearable lightness of being and acknowledge only the unbearable.
I refuse to opt for ignorance to maintain a level of personal comfort. Knowledge of the issues, of the news, of general and specific affairs outweighs my petty need for a sense of well-being. These are trying times on all fronts: humanitarian, environmental, political; and, of course, personal. Awareness and intellectual curiosity are of utmost importance, as is action (voting, donating, writing or calling officials, volunteering). As for the personal, that's less obvious to deal with.
Be-weeping my outcast state produces nothing, but feeds a looming sense of overwhelming helplessness, of ultimate aloneness. I cannot control the ravages on my body over time, even though I'm anxious to blame myself and flounder in self-imposed guilt for a neuromuscular disease that isn't my doing, that isn't caused by karma, that isn't a punishment for something I've thought or done. I'm so quick to accept blame, even for things completely beyond my control; guilt is a habit, a masochistic, familiar emotional frame of mind. It serves no purpose save to further self-imposed isolation and to send me deeper into a spiral of despair.
Spring is here. The seasons turn, oblivious to our personal pain, struggle, or triumph. Spring is here, and it's time to sacrifice this weighing and pointless guilt. Saturday will be a day submerged in Nature, a day to begin unraveling the smothering layers of guilt, in preparation of burning the root-effigy (the focus of my negative energy for the last year) at the Gathering.
A whirlwind of emotion, largely self-loathing, occurred recently when Faith & the Muse announced their local tour date. It is on a Wednesday night, and not far off. I cannot go. I have no transportation, and my routine doesn't allow me the spontaneity I once embraced. I go to bed at 8:30 PM Sunday through Thursday, as dad works early in the morning. I usually read until midnight, then my morning CNA stretches me and gets me up at 9:30 AM. At 12:30 PM a CNA visits shortly to help me onto the toilet. Then at 4:00 I'm given a shower every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday--Tuesday and Thursday at 4:00 I'm stretched again, a repeat of the morning routine. It's taken me a long time to accept such a schedule, and to not view it as yet another defeat--a rebuke of personal freedom and choice, a choking result of my own helplessness and disability's progression. It does crimp my social life, yet it's tolerable. It is my life now. I have no choice but to accept. Thankfully Friday night I can stay up late (though late for me is 10:30). and--bliss!--Saturday and Sunday are home health-care free.
I've taken heart in that I'm no longer needed by F&tM. I no longer host their list, I no longer run their fanbase. Others from the fanbase have risen to the fore and impressively so. Intimidatingly so. I am a fan; I will always be a fan. I love those I've met involved with F&tM, and of course M & W themselves. I'm no longer necessary, though, and given my schedule, my daily routine, I'm unable to do much of what seems normal or simple to others. It's so difficult to skirt the despair that beckons, that threatens to consume me. I can't give in; I can only endure.
Spring is here. And with it, the need for ritual. To lay in the comforting arms of Nature, to offer gifts to, to rest in the awareness of.
