They find countless mysterious ways

They find countless mysterious ways

Ambrogio Alciati, 1914

“Separated lovers cheat absence by a thousand fancies which have their own reality.

They are prevented from seeing one another and they cannot write;

nevertheless they find countless mysterious ways of corresponding,

by sending each other the song of birds,

Frances MacDonald MacNair 1893

the scent of flowers,

the laughter of children,

the light of the sun,

the sighing of the wind,

Frederick Walker, 1871

and the gleam of the stars – all the beauties of creation.”

Edward Okun
Edward Okun (1872 – 1945) self-portrait with Butterfly

– Victor Hugo

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Everything is flowing – like blood in Nature’s warm heart

“Everything is flowing — going somewhere, animals and so-called lifeless rocks as well as water. Thus the snow flows fast or slow in grand beauty-making glaciers and avalanches; the air in majestic floods carrying minerals, plant leaves, seeds, spores, with streams of music and fragrance; water streams carrying rocks… While the stars go streaming through space pulsed on and on forever like blood…in Nature’s warm heart.” – John Muir

Konstantin Bogaevsky

image: Konstantin Bogaevsky

Stargazer

stargazer

Image: ‘Stargazer’ – Sam Wolfe Connelly

“There is truth, my boy. But the doctrine you desire, absolute, perfect dogma that alone provides wisdom, does not exist. Nor should you long for a perfect doctrine, my friend. Rather, you should long for the perfection of yourself. The deity is within you, not in ideas and books. Truth is lived, not taught. Be prepared for conflicts, Joseph Knecht — I can see they have already begun.” – Hermann Hesse; Glass Bead Game

“I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.” – Hermann Hesse; Damien

My hair is being pulled by the stars again

 I’m awaiting a lover. I have to be rent and pulled apart and live according to the demons and the imagination in me. I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

― Anaïs Nin,  From “A Journal of Love” The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934-1937

image: L’age d’or, 1930. Luis Buñuel

If the Stars…

If the stars should appear but one night every thousand years, how man would marvel and stare. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

“When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.” Wendell Berry

Most people are like a falling leaf that drifts and turns in the air, flutters, and falls to the ground. But a few others are like stars which travel one defined path: no wind reaches them, they have within themselves their guide and path — Hermann Hesse

Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars. — Gustave Flaubert

What is Love? I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul. — Victor Hugo

To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion, to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly, to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart, to bear all cheerfully, to all bravely await occasions, hurry never. In a word, to let the spiritual unbidden and unconscious grow up through the common. This is to be my symphony.”  — William Henry Channing