#quiet feeling

[quietfeelingsbigheart]

10/26/19

Chaos and noise

Bouncing all around

Things calling for my attention yet

Calm and peace

Steadies my heart

Keeping me strong as 

I walk through the storm

[vardasvapors]

by æjaÿ

[reneink]

Quiet Feeling (Part II)

The summer afternoon and a picture change my day, my plans and my probably my life...

finally you has become in someone new, like the flowers of the cherry tree, the sakura hana valley, Toby how I really would like to say that I’m SO PROUD OF YOU and I don´t talking about games or teams...I’m talking about the most beautiful gift that you give us now...the little flowers sleeping on his bed with the white bear with her name in golden thread letters...welcome to this place sweet little miracle, Ayla....

Toby, is time to let the clock walk alone, my tears fall and I don´t knw why...probably I’m a fool like the tarot card...

You will never read this words, but feels good write this...I’m proud Toby...please become in the best dad of this world.

[vardasvapors]

Too old to carry arms and to fight like others—   they generously assigned to me the inferior role of a chronicler I record—not knowing for whom—the history of the siege   I have to be precise but I don’t know when the invasion began two hundred years ago in December in autumn perhaps yesterday     at dawn here everybody is losing the sense of time   we were left with the place an attachment to the place still we keep ruins of temples phantoms of gardens of houses if we were to lose the ruins we would be left with nothing   I write as I can in the rhythm of unending weeks monday: storehouses are empty a rat is now a unit of currency tuesday: the mayor is killed by unknown assailants wednesday: talks of armistice the enemy interned our envoys we don’t know where they are being kept i.e. tortured thursday: after a stormy meeting the majority voted down the motion of spice merchants on unconditional surrender friday: the onset of plague saturday: the suicide of N.N., the most steadfast defender sunday: no water we repulsed the attack at the eastern gate named the Gate of the Alliance   I know all this is monotonous nobody would care   I avoid comments keep emotions under control describe facts they say facts only are valued on foreign markets but with a certain pride I wish to convey to the world thanks to the war we raised a new species of children our children don’t like fairy tales they play killing day and night they dream of soup bread bones exactly like dogs and cats   in the evening I like to wander in the confines of the City along the frontiers of our uncertain freedom I look from above on the multitude of armies on their lights I listen to the din of drums to barbaric shrieks it’s incredible that the City is still resisting the seige has been long the foes must replace each other they have nothing in common except a desire to destroy us the Goths the Tartars the Swedes the Emperor’s troops regiments of                       Our Lord’s Transfiguration who could count them colors of banners change as does the forest on the horizon from the bird’s delicate yellow in the spring through the green the red                       to the winter black   and so in the evening freed from facts I am able to give thought to bygone far away matters for instance to our allies overseas I know they feel true compassion they send us flour sacks of comfort lard and good counsel without even realizing that we were betrayed by their fathers our former allies from the time of the second Apocalypse their sons are not guilty they deserve our gratitude we are so grateful they have never lived through the eternity of a siege those marked by misfortune are always alone Dalai Lama’s defenders Kurds Afghan mountaineers   now as I write these words proponents of compromise have won a slightly advantage over the part of the dauntless usual shifts of mood our fate is still in the balance   cemeteries grow larger the number of defenders shrinks but the defense continues and will last to the end and even if the City falls and one of us survives he will carry the City inside him on the roads of exile he will be the City   we look at the face of hunger the face of fire the face of death and the worst of them all—the face of treason   and only our dreams have not been humiliated                                                              (Warsaw 1982)

Zbigniew Herbert, Report from a Besieged City (trans Czeslaw Milosz)

[vardasvapors]

Then he knelt, and she stooped and laid her hand on his head, and a great stillness came upon him; and he seemed to be both in the World and in Faery, and also outside them and surveying them, so that he was at once in bereavement, and in ownership, and in peace. When after a while the stillness passed he raised his head and stood up. The dawn was in the sky and the stars were pale, and the Queen was gone. Far off he heard the echo of a trumpet in the mountains. The high field where he stood was silent and empty; and he knew that his way now led back to bereavement.

J. R. R. Tolkien, Smith of Wootton Major