Posts Tagged ‘Jack’
A Thing Of Beauty From Endymion – Book I by John Keats (1795-1821) A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make ‘Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink. Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour; no, even as the trees That whisper round a temple become soon Dear as the temple’s self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast That, whether there be shine or gloom o’ercast, They always must be with us, or we die.
Mind, Heart, Spirit.
Every colour, every season observed I give reason and voice to. I proclaim my conclusions, and wonder. The rainbow colours of the Earth, and the philosophies of other voices. I broaden my understanding of what is possible, and my intellect sings. My learning is infinite, more endless than the boundaries of the universe. To grow in understanding forever; to fulfil my potential for becoming. And always, to question, to seek enlightenment in the unexpected places of life and beyond. My Mind is always questing, on a voyage to the epic places of discovery.
A plane never opened wings with the freedom of a bird. So my Spirit, reflects the nightingale. Always about to fly, to the vast mystery of sky within soul. My Spirit has no end and no beginning. Born out of eternity, to the cloudless sky with a thousand morning stars. Fly anywhere and everywhere, in a moment with no measure. Hover over deserts and oceans, and perch on mountain summits. Respire with the phases of the grass and the forest. Unfurl with the skyward branch, and whisper with the breeze over a summer landscape. My Spirit is limitless in a spectrum of truth.
Emotion is found in the contemplation of compassionate life, and love; my heart seeks her own expression of what she finds. She has no cage. She gives because her song is of giving. And she loves because her gift is her loving. She can break forever, but her breaking is into hope, and her tears fall towards a more infinite form of giving. She keeps intuition, trust, faith; she is the pride of my Mind and my Spirit. She is the essence of the nectar in a flower and a young tree, the cadence of birdsong, the always shattering sparkle on the water of a travelling brook. My mind took flight, and my spirit soared, when my heart found her wings.
Once, I imagined I was on a river bank, watching the water current flow towards its immense destination and source of ocean. Then I saw, across the river, my Heart, waiting in the shimmering light. I wanted to follow, but wondered what lay beyond, over the river, on the unfamiliar bank. I knew I must make the journey, and discover other miracles to contemplate. And my Heart, in her courage, had journeyed before me.