Some people say the world is fucked up. Some answer that it is a cold place and that we should accept it.
"To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead."
"In order to be brave you must first start by being afraid, for true courage lies in the overcoming of fear, not in its absence"
---
Tonight the heaven has no garb.
Tonight the heaven has no garb.
He shivers naked.
And never saw I yet his gaze
so all-too waking.
Say, when you fall asleep tonight:
A day is won.
On the road where one loses all
a rest's begun.
Then you will live from day to day
and lose, lose fast,
and yet desire still to remain
until the last.
Then you will find life strong,
if you can burn.
Then will each loss become a gain -
for you shall turn
ever further towards that ground of life
that gave you birth,
and beyond all dreams' deceit
the cause is there -
until in the hour of your greatest loss
your soul, burned down,
goes to the place of extinguished lights.
A day is won.
~ Karin Boye
--------------------
"Kierkegaard, in "Sickness until death" analyzes despair as a disrelationship to the Self, to the source of being human. For Kierkegaard there are three major forms of despair :
first, despair that is unconscious; second, despair that is conscious and which manifests itself as weakness; and third, despair which is conscious and manifest itself as defiance. In the unconscious form of despair, the person is out of relation to the Self, but is unaware of it. Such a person, according to Kierkegaard, tends to live a hedonistic life, dispersed in sensations of the moment, having no commitment to anything higher than ego-impulses."...
If you are a thrill-seeker, at some point you realize the emptiness of the thrills - which makes you return to the search for something deeper. Sometimes you return to the simple things, like the sound of the leaves blowing in the tree outside your window. Or just how the sunshine looks an early morning.
I haven't seemed to find a deeper answer yet, but maybe that is it.
Maybe we all humans have to go there some time, some more often, some later than others, but we end up there in the end.
To crash your face into reality can be tough, or maybe that depends on how used you are to it?
Some live their lives in what they think is reality, but maybe their reality is reality enough?
How can one be the judge of that?
All these things we build, and make, and want. What are we searching for?
"...Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration . I will face my fear . I will permit it to pass over and through me . And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path . Where the fear has gone there will be nothing . ONLY I WILL REMAIN . "
-------------------------
And it was at that age. Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don`t know. I don`t know where it came from.
from winter or a river
I don`t know how or when
no , they were not voices, they
were not
words, nor silence,
but from the street I was summoned
from the branches of night
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me
from winter or a river
I don`t know how or when
no , they were not voices, they
were not
words, nor silence,
but from the street I was summoned
from the branches of night
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me
-Pablo Neruda
I wonder...is pain necessary? Are we running from pain if it is not part of our existence?
Are thoughts illusions from an ego blinding us from seeing our real core and true self?
Do we have to reexperience pain to set it free? Is that necessary? Or is the knowledge of pain being something we chose and can chose away enough? Is pain a result of old destructive thought patterns? Where is the line between repression and healthiness?
Of Course It Hurts
Of course it hurts when buds burst.
Otherwise why would spring hesitate?
Why would all our fervent longing
be bound in the frozen bitter haze?
The bud was the casing all winter.
What is this new thing, which consumes and bursts?
Of course it hurts when buds burst,
pain for that which grows
and for that which envelops.
Of course it is hard when drops fall.
Trembling with fear they hang heavy,
clammer on the branch, swell and slide -
the weight pulls them down, how they cling.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the deep pulling and calling,
yet sit there and just quiver -
hard to want to stay
and to want to fall.
Then, at the point of agony and when all is beyond
help,
the tree's buds burst as if in jubilation,
then, when fear no longer exists,
the branch's drops tumble in a shimmer,
forgetting that they were afraid of the new,
forgetting that they were fearful of the journey -
feeling for a second their greatest security,
resting in the trust
- that creates the world.
- Karin Boye
Swedish version
(more beautiful in my opinion)
YOU SHALL THANK
You shall thank your gods,
if they force you to go
where you have no footprints
to trust to.
You shall thank your gods,
if all shame on you they pin.
You must seek refuge
a little further in.
What the whole world condemns
sometimes manages quite well.
Outlaws were many
who gained their own soul.
He who is forced to wild wood
looks on all with new sight,
and he tastes with gratitude
life's bread and salt."
You shall thank your gods,
when your shell they break.
Reality and kernel
the sole choice you can make.
Swedish version
Collection of Swedish and translated (Eng, Germ, etc)
poems by Karin Boye
No comments:
Post a Comment