Reflections of a Man's Heart

Science de l'homme

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Mon, 17 Jul 2006 00:35:00 +0200

Science de l'homme: zéro...

- Edgar Morin

Le plus important...

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sun, 16 Jul 2006 02:30:00 +0200

...ce que je vois là n'est qu'une écorce. Le plus important est invisible...

- Le Petit Prince

The work for which all other work is but preparation

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sat, 8 Jul 2006 01:25:00 +0200

For one human being to love another, that is the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Dream notebook

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Tue, 25 Apr 2006 20:15:00 +0200

What will become of these

my many lives,

abandoned each morning abruptly to their own fates?

Of the fox who stopped to look at me,

bright death stippling her muzzle,

and announced -clearly, simply- "I was hungry"?

Of the engine left half-disassembled,

the unmendable roof leaks, the waiting packed bags?

Cloudbellies of horses drinking at sunset.

Fierce embraces remembered half a day if at all.

Even the bedside jar of minute and actual seashells

wavers and thins -

though each was lifted, chosen,

I no longer recall whether in joy or distraction,

in foreknowledge or false belief.

How much more elusive, these half-legible scribblings.

If souvenirs at all, they are someone else's.

As each of my memories,

it seems, is destined to be someone else's.

to belong to a woman who

looks faintly like me and whom I wish well,

as one would any stranger passed in a shop, on the street.

- Jane Hirshfield, Given sugar, given salt.

Serenade

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sat, 22 Apr 2006 21:20:00 +0200

I believe you are more mine than my skin. When I seek

Within me, along my veins, in my blood, my mysterious

Circulatory branches of light that I tell over,

It is you I find, as if you were blood,

As if you were stone or a bite.

I stay outside late, reason, delirium, clothes.

I am of an old race of darkness and forests,

But while I bend down as in a well and enter

Feeling my way like a blind man in my own territory,

I find no railing to direct my steps,

But, instead, the growth of your rose in my own dwelling.

Deep in me you go on growing, unfathomable

In your origin, I cannot touch your eyes

Without burning my fingernails on their petals,

The flames of your form which burn in my thirst,

The leaves of your face which build your absence.

I ask, “Who is there? Who is there?” as if very late,

Very late, somebody knocked

On my door, and then in the middle

Of emptiness there was nothing but air,

Water, trees, the dying daily fire,

As if there was nothing there but everything which exists,

Nothing but all the earth which had rapped on my door.

So, nameless, vague as life, turbid

As the burgeoning mud and vegetation,

You awake in my breast whenever I shut my eyes.

When I lie on the earth you come into being

Like the flowing dust, the river deepening its bed,

Guarding a tangle of naked roots

Which grows as grows your presence in me,

Which accompanies their darkness as you accompany me.

So, here, blood or wheat, earth or fire, we live

Like a single plant which cannot explain its leaves.

- Pablo Neruda

To know the why we are

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Fri, 21 Apr 2006 00:05:00 +0200

To know the why we are

we have only this body

covering us.

I'm not a presence that can cover you.

- José Hierro

Somewhere I have never travelled

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Thu, 20 Apr 2006 23:10:00 +0200

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

any experience,your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and

my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility: whose texture

compels me with the color of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens; only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

- e e cummings

Breathe, before it's gone

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Thu, 20 Apr 2006 23:05:00 +0200

The morning wind spreads its fresh smell.

We must get up and take that in,

that wind that lets us live.

Breathe, before it's gone.

- Rumi

In the town with cat-shaped maze

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Wed, 5 Apr 2006 20:54:29 +0200

- Even blue mold is

A map of dream,

Oh lunar park!

I waited in a map of dreams

and I found the town

was exactly as the map showed

a town covered with a thin seven colored membrane of oil

with a maze shaped like a big fluffy pliant cat

with transparent streets one on top of the other

on this side of the street along the beach

what does the unhurt dream once more melt into?

It melts into the map of the mesh of the blood vessels

throughout the body.

into the town of the cat shaped maze

harbor, amphitheatre, park, restaurant,

then an eternal voyager who will never return

then an eternal surveyor who will come

then a hyena

(It was in those days that I had a job in a

restaurant in a secluded alley at the base of

the cat's tail. A little ways away there was a

heart shaped park which the neighbors called

Cat's Balls Park but its polite name was Luna

Park I don't know why they called it that I

like the name Cat's Balls better. (Maybe

because there was such a marvelous view of

the moon from the park) Since he never came

back every day I broke a china beckoning-cat

into pieces throwing it on the floor of the

damp kitchen. (I agreed that they could

deduct the price of the cat from my pay) Each

time I did it the aged cook grinned and gave

me a donut. I picked up the pieces of cat and

ate the donut).

Over the faded park the sky drizzling rain lost the moon

from the spring showers to the monsoons

throw away the transparent sphere

it's only a childish ball game

nobody has ever survived

except as a fat ghost.

(So the old cook advised me out of his gentle wisdom)

In a white glass jar like an amphithreatre

my fingers scoop out cold cream

what is being torn off, my fingers or the cosmetics?

transparent grains conceal themselves in the essence of the cream

their small dull points make my blood spurt

and stream under the smooth hills of my fingers

a gush of magma of my scanty blood

my lips suck it up

dizziness for smallness

A mental compass constantly draws transparent circumferences

Sweeping up and down on the curved surface inside the sphere.

Its reality wears a sandal that is perhaps a full vision of the moon

The moon waning in the shape of a gentle inlet of south sea island is his toenail

This is a land from which a sail hardly ever returns

Beware captain,

of the singing voices don't tie your body

to the goin insane masts

don't be enraptured by the beatific death

in the whirlpool of transparent fruit juice

or the tornado of sand that reveals death

at the end of its wandering voyage

don't look. Don't forget the restaurant here in this country.

(So the old cook filled with mild sadness advised again)

In a restaurant in a secluded alley at the base

of the tail, in the town of the cat shaped maze,

I waited for him to come back to me. In their

comfortable cage in the park the bears

wandered around in their trousers, and the

hyena having just arrived from the South ran

as hard as he could on the road of night and

bit me on the shoulder and I waited

drinking off the pale white milk. But he did not

come back. I waited in the town of the maze

shaped like the cat and the town became

more and more transparent, and the harbor

became a bay where a drop of the cat's tears

calmed itself.

- Kanai Mieko

La terre vue du ciel

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Wed, 15 Mar 2006 20:55:00 +0100

These Christmas, I sent sweetie La Terre Vue du Ciel, a DVD with pictures taken from air by Yann Arthus Bertrand. And the music is really touching too...

It is oh so beautiful, it made us breathless the first time we watched it together.

Can't help but recommend it wholeheartedly.

Do yourself a favor, and get it from www.amazon.fr.

Coming off -after all

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Tue, 14 Mar 2006 20:59:01 +0100

Light crimson bush clovers

scattered and gone;

love is like gilt

coming off

after all.

- Meiko Matsudaira

Doppelgänger

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Mon, 13 Mar 2006 21:18:56 +0100

The old knot:

cleave to this,

though faithfulness, all faithfulness,

cuts at the heart

(that wreckage carved out by choice, the heart)

& cleave this -

whatever is split

will carry its shadow, that second road,

its yellow leaves falling and falling

in the steep woods of our hundred other lives.

- Jane Hirshfield, Of Gravity & Angels.

An Event Which Makes No News

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sat, 25 Feb 2006 18:38:49 +0100

Did you see in the shadowy woods

a branch grew, leaves came out

of a girl's pliant extended arms

and quickly became a tree?

Did you see?

A youth stood by the tree,

took off his deep blue coat,

and in a moment became a dove?

(The telephone keeps ringing, ringing.

Nobody answers, nobody is there, today is

Sunday)

When the lights go on on the suburban trains,

People come back to their office buildings

wearing the face of human beings.

Haven't you heard the story?

In the nearby meadow,

one or two unknown horses have lingered on

these days after a holiday.

(The telephone keeps ringing, ringing.

Nobody answers.

Nobody is there. Eventually, it's Monday)

- Shinkawa Kazue

Changes

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sun, 12 Feb 2006 09:34:21 +0100

Not much free time these two weeks, after Rye arrived.

In fact, I'm writing this early in Sunday, while she sleeps like a baby. . .

These days we have been around shopping, and had to do some paperwork for her Visa here.

Unfortunately, we had some trouble when she arrived, so apparently we will get a Visa for only 8 months.

It seems Visas are being handled much more strictly nowadays, maybe because there is a lot of illegal residents in the country. Now, no less than 12% of the population is from other countries...

Whatever, I don't think we will have much of a problem to renew it later.

. . .

These two weeks since she arrived have been good, but both of us have the feeling that we haven't been able to really meet, and missed a lot just having a rest.

Yes, it looks more like a military instruction camp, with so many chores to handle ^^

In fact, I think yesterday was the first day we enjoyed that "like in vacation" feeling. We spent the evening doing nothing, just reading in bed. Soooo lazy!

While she had some appointment with other students in her academy to get out on Saturday night, in the end nothing materialized. Exceptionally, it was a *good* thing. Really needed to spend some time together doing nothing.

. . .

At work, things are just so-so, most of my energies put into something else nowadays. Now that Rye is here, I think I will start to rethink what I want from my work, and what new directions to pursue.

Let's see what happens. . .

As I lay with my Head in your Lap, Camerado

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sun, 12 Feb 2006 09:15:00 +0100

As I lay with my head in your lap camerado,

The confession I made I resume, what I said to you and the open air I resume,

I know I am restless and make others so,

I know my words are weapons full of danger, full of death,

For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to unsettle them,

I am more resolute because all have denied me than I could ever have been had all accepted me,

I heed not and have never heeded either experience, cautions, majorities, nor ridicule,

And the threat of what is call'd hell is little or nothing to me,

And the lure of what is call'd heaven is little or nothing to me;

. . . Dear camerado! I confess I have urged you onward with me, and still urge you, without

the

least

idea what is our destination,

Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell'd and defeated.

- Walt Whitman

Such is life ^^

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Tue, 24 Jan 2006 08:03:12 +0100

Several cows are happily grazing in a field.

One of the cows suddenly looks up, startled, and says, "Grass! We've been eating grass!"

Nothing lasts

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sun, 22 Jan 2006 23:52:03 +0100

"Nothing lasts" -

how bitterly the thought attends each loss.

"Nothing lasts" -

a promise also of consolation.

Grief and hope

the skipping rope's two ends,

twin daughters of impatience.

One wears a dress of wool, the other cotton.

- Jane Hirshfield

The road not taken

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sun, 22 Jan 2006 23:45:17 +0100

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

Pending issues

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sun, 22 Jan 2006 23:35:00 +0100

Today I finished some pending issues...

I met Francesc and Vale, and we all had dinner together. They are my best friends in Barcelona right now.

So, Francesc helped Vale and me move some things she left at home when we parted ways...

It felt strange to move all those things. A bit like closing a door that led to a (very important) part of my life...

...

I wish all the best for Vale, and especially that she gets as much love as she deserves.

And that is quite a lot.

...

It is a tangled web we weave.

Got it ^^

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Thu, 19 Jan 2006 23:09:56 +0100

Today, the Student Visa for sweetie arrived...

Sooo good!

The habit of wanting your

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Mon, 16 Jan 2006 20:50:00 +0100

For years, the habit of wanting you,

carried like something unnoticed,

lint in a pocket, or manzanita

seed waiting a fire -

you come to me

changed, an old photograph

blurred with motion,

the shutter too slow to keep you the same.

After a while, the light, an old habit

between us, drains off:

simple to meet,

to walk towards evening

in a park at the continent's edge;

simple to talk

until conversation drains off,

a newly decanted wine,

and we're left with the sediment dark

at bottom between us,

desire,

simple to say,

and all the decision pours out of my life,

leaving me buoyant, empty, to float

towards your hand.

- Jane Hirshfield, Of Gravity & Angels.

From the Upanishads...

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Mon, 16 Jan 2006 20:46:56 +0100

I see the truth in thee, and what is in thee is in me, and I am that I am.

- Upanishads

14 days left

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Mon, 16 Jan 2006 20:40:00 +0100

Just 14 days are left until January 30, when Rye Mi is supposed to arrive here.

. . .

Still some paperwork left on the spanish side of the equation, but after I talk with the guy in charge of visas in the spanish embassy in Seoul, I feel reasonably confident...

Of course, he couldn't give a definite 'yes'. But even if she had to come one or two weeks later, nothing really bad would happen.

. . .

This time has been really tough for us, but finally she finished everything there, including her thesis (which is now in print), and now she is enjoying some quiet time with her family.

They accept the situation, so everything will be ok in the korean side.

In fact, giving her time to communicate and share with her family before she came was the most important reason why we have endured such a long separation, besides she finishing her thesis.

Really, really tough separation.

God. Sooo tough.

. . .

It all looks unreal, now that it is about to happen.

Wow.

Thanks God!

. . .

Now the "normal" work of a live-together relationship will begin.

Ha ha. "Normal live-together relationship"? Is there such thing?

When raising a family, having to share the shower, sex, money and friendship mix, all sorts of strange things happen...

Yet, "the living cannot help but love the world"

And, while I'm not afraid of what might come, I look at what's coming with a lot of respect...

Especially, I'm worried about the side effects of economic and communicational dependence on her, so we will work very hard at her becoming as autonomous as possible.

Think everything will be all right on the "people around her" side. There will be a lot of english speaking people around her, and I think I must have have found all korean things in Bcn, so she can met them too.

I really researched like crazy for all korean things around, from food stores (2) to restaurants (4, each one with a different specialty) to korean schools (really, there is one where the children of mixed couples learn korean on saturdays!), churches (yes, we have!), or korean-whatevers.

I even found a spanish guy who is married to a korean woman almost the same age as Rye Mi.

Being the extroverted side of the family, I'm sure she will make friends outside of my own circle fast. Think that is really important for her -as well as a healthy relation.

And, on the economic side, it was not a problem at all in my prior relation, when Vale was completely dependent on me for the first four years.

At least, she always told me everything was ok, and felt very grateful we always handled that without a single problem. Since she said after we finished our relations, and while discussing what support Rye Mi would need, it must be true.

. . .

So curious re-reading this and seeing the INTJ guy in me always planning . . .

All those words to say that I hope she finds her own place, that she becomes the best she can be, that she be herself... and that all that can happen while she is by my side.

But, I don't want the later if she can't have all other things... After all, we are supposed to be friends who sincerely care about each other's growth, isn't it? And friends we are!

. . .

And, in the end, despite all planning, what she will really need more is love and unconditional support.

That is the difficult part no planning or money can provide. How often we get lost and choose power, money, social relevance... How often we refuse to carry the prize.

. . .

Feel sure about my choice, even knowing it will not be easy. Especially after knowing all difficulties.

No need to pretend not to see what is there for love to bloom ^^

. . .

Time to remember a nice poem, before this gets too dense...

Come quickly -as soon as
these blossoms open,
they fall.
This world exists
as a sheen of dew on flowers.

Preparation

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Mon, 9 Jan 2006 00:12:54 +0100

For one human being to love another, that is the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

God (3)

noreply@blogspirit.com (Pet) — Sat, 7 Jan 2006 15:45:00 +0100

This one is for you, Eve!

I hope that moving to a new place is one of those steps that leads you to the remaining of your life . . .

No, you never will bind him

To your signs and your burdens!

The least chink -he's inside it,

Like the supplest of gymnasts.

By the drawbridges

And flocks in migration,

By the telegraph poles,

God's escaping us.

No, you never will train him

To abide and to share!

He, in feelings' resident slush,

Is a gray floe of ice.

No, you never will catch him

On a thrifty dish, God

Never thrives in the window

Like domestic begonias!

All, beneath the roof's vault,

Were awaiting the builder,

The call. Poets and pilots

- All gave up in despair.

He's the sprint -and he's moving.

The whole volume of stars

Is, from Alpha to Omega,

Just a trace of his cloak.

- Marina Tsvetaeva