“She searched for love, not chaotically, like thousands of other girls her age, but by relying on her powerful instincts. She believed that her one and only love would not pass her by unnoticed but would declare loud and clear: “Here I am. It’s me.””
— Dmitry Lipskerov (born 1964), from “Oedipus Complex”, translated from the Russian by Anna Seluyanova and Marcia Karp in: “Life Stories. Original works by Russian writers”
“ Искала любовь, но не оголтело, как тысячи ее сверстниц, полагаясь на свои могучие инстинкты, веря, что та единственная, неповторимая не пройдет стороной, незамеченная, а во всеуслышание заявит; вот она я! пришла ! “
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I will tell you the dreams of my life
On this deepest of blue nights.
In your hands my soul will tremble,
On your shoulders my cross will rest.
The summits of life are lonely,
So lonely and so cold! I locked
My yearnings inside, and all reside
In the ivory tower I raised.
Today I will reveal a great mystery;
Your soul has the power to penetrate me.
In silence are vertigos of the abyss:
I hesitate, I am sustained in you.
I die of dreams; I will drink truth,
Pure and cool, from your springs.
I know in the well of your breast
Is a fountain that vanquishes my thirst.
And I know that in our lives, this
Is the inexpressible miracle of reflection…
In the silence, my soul arrives at yours
As to a magnificent mirror.
Imagine the love I dreamed
In the glacial tomb of silence!
Larger than life, larger than dream,
A love imprisoned beneath an azure without end.
Imagine my love, love which desires
Impossible life, superhuman life,
You who know how it burdens and consumes,
Dreams of Olympus bound by human flesh.
And when met with a soul which found
A bit of azure to bathe its wings,
Like a great, golden sun, or a shore
Made of light, your soul opened:
Imagine! To embrace the Impossible!
Radiant! The lived illusion!
Blessed be God, the sun, the flower, the air,
And all of life, because you are life!
If I bought this happiness with my anguish,
Bless the weeping that stains my eyes!
All the ulcers of the past laugh
At the sun rising from red lips!
Ah you will know, My Love,
We will travel far across the flowery night;
There what is human frightens, there you can hear it,
See it, feel it, life without end.
We go further into night, we go
Where in me not an echo reverberates,
Like a nocturnal flower in the shade,
I will open sweetly for you.
-Delmira Agustini, Intimate
(Taken by me)
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Skeleton ~ Memento Mori
Etching produced as a memento mori which is a Medieval Latin Christian Theory and practice of rembering your own mortality and the inevitably of death.
"Remember Man that you are dust and unto dust you shall return."
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“There was a fabric of knowing, he claimed, beyond vision, beyond hearing. Just as dogs practise an apparently subsonic intelligence, or birds know by inner geometry their flight paths and havens, so there are latent forms of life everywhere and secret understandings.”
—
Gail Jones, from ‘Dreams of Speaking’
(via derangedrhythms)
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Because she is light of innocence,
because white things illuminate her mysterious light,
things taking on white,
And even the blackest souls become uncertainly bright.
Delmira Agustini, In the Light of the Moon
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Do not tell everyone your story. You will only end up feeling more rejected. People cannot give you what you long for in your heart. The more you expect from people’s response to your experience of abandonment, the more you will feel exposed to ridicule. You have to close yourself to the outside world so you can enter your own heart and the heart of God through your pain. God will send to you the people with whom you can share your anguish, who can lead you closer to the true source of love.
Henri J.M. Nouwen, The Inner Voice of Love
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