"Home is behind, the world ahead
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadow to the edge of night
Until the stars are all alight
Mist and shadow, cloud and shade
All shall fade
All shall... fade."
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
When I see myself in someones writing, I feel the world upon my shoulders; those things I feel, I feel for you.
"Air and earth are my horizons. What lies between is what I am.
[...] Every day, the sun. Every day. And I walk east in the garden to see you, west through the country to be with you. O sun, my head fills with light. Do not turn me away from your easy lust, whole in the sky, white with heat. Do not bind me in layers of darkness, a worm in the brown cake of earth. My hands are bread I have made every day. The sun comes into my heart where sparrows nest. I am ridiculous and rolling on the ground, pleased with such company. Every day, the sun on the wall, the sun, lingering on a ripe fig. I am he who worships the sun, a space in my heart a bird could fill. I am one who listens to the grass speaking in the garden. May I chew the green blade of eternity in a garden filled with sun. May I walk into the fire and be burned like kernels of wheat, ground into the pulp of existence. May the sun come and bake me brown as bread. May I rise like bread everyday.
In the field with my cattle, my shadow sinks into black earth and rises. The smell of things growing. The horizon parts like waking lovers and like a child, the sun rises from their sleep. The world watches its steps, old man, old child, old king. Sun passing in the sky, light of all that can be said, shadow of hidden things. Every face watches, every eye turns; resplendent dawn and evening. Such passion is existence. Every day the sun king rides his boat, glory dripping like water from an oar. Every day the streets fill with people, every face, turning. Such power can not be measured. Such love can not be told. Unspeakable grace in the fields and cities. I dip my bread in milk and eat."
[...] Every day, the sun. Every day. And I walk east in the garden to see you, west through the country to be with you. O sun, my head fills with light. Do not turn me away from your easy lust, whole in the sky, white with heat. Do not bind me in layers of darkness, a worm in the brown cake of earth. My hands are bread I have made every day. The sun comes into my heart where sparrows nest. I am ridiculous and rolling on the ground, pleased with such company. Every day, the sun on the wall, the sun, lingering on a ripe fig. I am he who worships the sun, a space in my heart a bird could fill. I am one who listens to the grass speaking in the garden. May I chew the green blade of eternity in a garden filled with sun. May I walk into the fire and be burned like kernels of wheat, ground into the pulp of existence. May the sun come and bake me brown as bread. May I rise like bread everyday.
In the field with my cattle, my shadow sinks into black earth and rises. The smell of things growing. The horizon parts like waking lovers and like a child, the sun rises from their sleep. The world watches its steps, old man, old child, old king. Sun passing in the sky, light of all that can be said, shadow of hidden things. Every face watches, every eye turns; resplendent dawn and evening. Such passion is existence. Every day the sun king rides his boat, glory dripping like water from an oar. Every day the streets fill with people, every face, turning. Such power can not be measured. Such love can not be told. Unspeakable grace in the fields and cities. I dip my bread in milk and eat."
The Egyptian Book of the Dead, translated by Normandi Ellis
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