This distance between us which stretches and shrinks, as the breathing trees, exhaling their oxygen, lift and sigh with the weight of the world, clasped by the molten center… We dance in and out of our bodies, never one thing or the other. What is this that we are so like the mist that changes to water; this rocking tide that we remember imperfectly in our separate skins. Burdened with ourselves, as we love one another, how to escape the unyielding law of the universe, the self and the Other; imperfect love. That the self sometimes in sleep, admits the loss, the grief, and accepts the burden of loneliness; embracing what we will not admit we long for. ~ Ruth Stone
Within him, man bears his fate and there comes a moment when he knows himself vulnerable; and then, as in a vertigo, blunder upon blunder lures him. And, at this very moment, there gleamed above his head, across a storm-rift, like a fatal lure within a deep abyss, a star or two. Only too well he knew them for a trap. A man sees a few stars at the issue of a pit and climbs toward them, and then—never can he get down again but stays up there eternally… But such was his lust for light that he began to climb. ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (Photo by Sean &Seng)
Everyone knows that the moon started out as a renegade fragment of the sun, a solar flare that fled that hellish furnace and congealed into a flat frozen pond suspended between the planets. But did you know that anger began as music, played too often and too loudly by drunken performers at weddings and garden parties? Or that turtles evolved from knuckles, ice from tears, and darkness from misunderstanding? As for the dominant thesis regarding the origin of love, I abstain from comment, nor will I allow myself to address the idea that dance began as a kiss, that happiness was an accidental import from Spain, that the ancient game of jump-the-fire gave rise to politics. But I will confess that I began as an astronomer - a liking for bright flashes, vast distances, unreachable things, a hand stretched always toward the furthest limit - and that my longing for you has not taken me very far from that original desire to inscribe a comet’s orbit around the walls of our city, to gently stroke the surface of the stars...
'The Origins of Things'
It’s not enough to say the heart wants what it wants. I think of the ravine, the side dark with pines where we lounged through summer days, waiting for something to happen; and of the nights, walking the long way home, the stars so close they seemed to crown us. Once, I asked for your favorite feeling. You said hunger. It felt true then. It was as if we took the bit and bridle from our mouths. From that moment I told myself it was the not yet that I wanted, the moving, the toward. ~ Mary Szybist (Photo by Jay Harrison)
Who still believes in the transmigration of souls?… Just when we start to believe in moonlight we notices how many stars it erases. It is not easy. I am going to come back as the birthmark on the inside of your thigh, between your dreams of angels and solar dust. ~ Richard Jackson (Photo by Jason Hetherington)
Here is the ocean,this is the moonlight:
Say that both precisely beyond either were –
so in darkness ourselves go,
mind in mind which is the thrilling least of all
(for love’s secret supremely clothes herself with day)
should any curious dawn discuss our mingling spirits,
you would disappear unreally;
as this planet (understand) forgets the entire and perpetual sea,
but if yourself consider it wonderful
that your (how luminous) life toward twilight
will dissolve, reintegrate, beckon through me,
I think it is less wonderful than this:
Only by you my heart always moves...