Friday, February 22, 2008
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling) i fear
no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
I had this read to me by a very special human being whilst high up in the Andes mountains. It moved me beyond words. The person, the poem and the love. I've heard that Lord Byron wrote this after meeting his young cousin at the funeral of her husband. They say he fell in love with her on sight and this poem was about that moment.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The early 18th and 19th century explorers had it all. They really did not know what was out there until they found it themselves. The yearning to seek, explore and find must have been so overpowering for them to leave the comfort of their society for the madness of long boat rides, disease, potential failure. They truly lived on the edge of risk.
Do we risk today? Is leaving a job after ten years a form of risk? Is jumping on a plane to visit Patagonia, where you land at the architecturally fine El Calafate airport in Argentine Patagonia really exploring? The funny thing is that so many people think it is. I got aghast looks of wonderment when I mentioned I was returning to Patagonia again. "Why do you like it so much and you really like to travel to wild places don't you?" I thought what a shame it was not as wild as I would wish it to be.
Lady Florence Dixie had a similar reaction but in 1878.
“Patagonia! Who would ever think of going to such a place?” “Why, you will be eaten up by cannibals” “What on earth make you choose such an outlandish part of the word to go to?” “What can be the attraction” Why, it is thousands of miles away, and no one had ever been there before, except Captain Musters, and one or two other adventurous madmen!” These and similar questions and exclamations I heard from the lips of my friends and acquaintances, when I told them of my intended trip to Patagonia, the land of the Giants, the land of the fabled Golden City of Manoa. What was the attraction in going to an outlandish place so many miles away? The answer to the question was contained in its own words. Precisely because it was an outlandish place and so far away, I chose it.
Extract from Across Patagonia by Lady Florence Dixie
Friday, February 15, 2008
Welcome to my blog. Musings, ponderings, commentaries, general moments of thought will be captured here. There are no rules, and this has nothing to do with any work related activity.
An outlaw is a fugitive, rebel or a criminal. I'm using it in the rebel, and on occasion, the fugitive sense. The only criminals here will be those that don't question, those that don't wonder, those that accept the status quo, lying in lazy contempt or lust of what others achieve, instead of doing it for themselves.
What have fugitives got to do with this? Well the topic of today is something that you will have observed if you have ever shared a meal with a South African. The constant question of where should I live? Where to go to escape the brutal reality of life in their beloved country. They all know that running away is inevitable so the mutual sharing and cogitating is a form of therapy that knows no end. But this is not just the curse of South African comteporary history. It is the curse to anyone who has left their homeland. Your roots are always strong and pulling you back when you let your mind wonder a little to home!
So, where should one live? A question that may not be answered in a lifetime. Perhaps just by your state of mind.