Tag Archive | life



By Edwin Curran

They grow around the homes of all the land
Silent music!  Daffodils, roses that stand
Like pink sweet girls–music to see
The growing of beautiful melody!
Flowers are the music of the ground
From earth’s lips spoken without sound;
Flowers are as music, silent, deep
Oxlyps, marigolds, music men keep
In pots and vases, beds and jars
Music as though they were bundles of stars!

Some guard the sick beds where men lie
And breathe to them the summer sky
Breathe back the springtime, when life seems
But sorrow, pain, and darkened dreams.
When in the dreary chamber, they
Can make the shadows bright as day;
Blow in the wind and fields, and run
The little flowers, fresh with sun.

In glittering restaurants they gleam,
Buttercups, violets, beam with beam;
And though the dancing sounds and thrills,
The sweeter songs are daffodils.
And where are spangles, laughter, light,
They make a joy the summer night.

Some grace the tables where we dine–
Our sweetest cups of dewy wine,
The sunlight burning in their bowls
The starlight trickling from their souls,
To add a zest to drink and food,
So splendid, beautiful and good.

So go the flowers place to place
The sweetest friends of the human race;
Then finally the last place of all
Upon men’s graves they gladly fall,
And lie there dreaming with their friends
Flowers with flowers, as the long day ends.

Surfing Through Life


By Paul Chafer


Awaiting the storm

Forming on distant shores.

Preparing myself for

The ocean’s tidal swell.

Opening my heart

To the rawest of elements.

I ride the anticipation

Of the coming waves.

Conquering the building

Fear as the water leaps high.

A great solid wall

Unfurling its rippling energy.

Through the tube,

Board skimming, skipping.

Flirting with danger,

Risking everything:

Inside a living

Hollow cocoon

Of thundering power.

Controlled fear beats

Inside my pumping heart,

Driving my adrenaline

Through to spiritual fulfillment.

On exiting the beast,

It rolls onward to its death.

Through its existence

We both lived, sharing

A unique oneness.

Children of nature within

A union of creation, so special,

It takes the breath away.

Savouring my exhilaration,

I see another wave being born,

And prepare to surf again.



A quote on trees by Hermann Hesse

The Majestic Oak, Majestic Oaks Housing Development

Image by Kyle Ford at kylefordphotography.com

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers.  I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves.  And even more I revere them when they stand alone.  They are like lonely persons.  Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche.  In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves.  Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree.  When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured.  And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries.  Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth.  They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says:  A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life.  The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark.  I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says:  My strength is trust.  I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me.  I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else.  I trust that God is in me.  I trust that my labor is holy.  Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us:  Be still!  Be still!  Look at me!  Life is not easy, life is not difficult.  Those are childish thoughts.  Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent.  You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home.  But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother.  Home is neither here nor there.  Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening.  If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning.  It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so.  It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life.  It leads home.  Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts:  Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours.  They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them.  But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy.  Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree.  He wants to be nothing except what he is.  That is home.  That is happiness.”
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte