The Universe whispers

«She learned to tame her expectations and accept the fact that, all the variables implicated on her quest to find the pure feeling are beyond one’s control. Yet, she trusted that the universe will whisper on her ear the exact coordinates to guide her to this secluded place where magic happens and two unsuspected beings can finally find each other.»

                                                               By Raquel R. in Short Story number 7 

To a stranger

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me

as of a dream,)

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,

All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate,

chaste, matured,

You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,

I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours

only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you

take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or

wake at night alone,

I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Walt Whitman 

(here)

«somewhere i have never travelled»

«She longed for the unquestionable certainty that the real feeling infuses into every inch of one’s being, obliterating the tiniest specks of doubts, that circle around one’s willingness to let the guard down, like hungry sharks waiting to feed on the prey.»

                                                              By Raquel R. in Short Story number 7 

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 skillfully, 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 colour 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 

«I am not done with my changes»

«He was not the man he was before, but he would not be the man he was now if he were to deny or ignore his past. Ultimately, each of those moments were like the pages of his old favourite book. If one of its pages was ripped apart, its soul would be mortally wounded and its essence would not be complete anymore. »

                                                               By Raquel R. in Short Story number 6 

The Layers

I have walked through many lives,

some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle of being

abides, from which I struggle

not to stray.

When I look behind,

as I am compelled to look

before I can gather strength

to proceed on my journey,

I see the milestones dwindling

toward the horizon

and the slow fires trailing

from the abandoned camp-sites,

over which scavenger angels

wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe

out of my true affections,

and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart be reconciled

to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind

the manic dust of my friends,

those who fell along the way,

bitterly stings my face,

Yet I turn, I turn,

exulting somewhat,

with my will intact to go

wherever I need to go,

and every stone on the road

precious to me.

In my darkest night,

when the moon was covered

and I roamed through wreckage,

a nimbus-clouded voice

directed me:

“Live in the layers,

not on the litter.”

Though I lack the art

to decipher it,

no doubt the next chapter

in my book of transformations

is already written.

I am not done with my changes.  

Stanley Kunitz 

The quest

«He closed his eyes and recognized that every hazard he had endured throughout his perilous journey, was not in vain, for he had finally reached his destination. That conviction made the moment even more precious to him.» 

                                                   By Raquel R. in Short Story number 5 

 Life

Let me but live my life from year to year,

With forward face and unreluctant soul;

Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal;

Not mourning for the things that disappear

In the dim past, nor holding back in fear

From what the future veils; but with a whole

And happy heart, that pays its toll

To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.

So let the way wind up the hill or down,

O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy:

Still seeking what I sought when but a boy,

New friendship, high adventure, and a crown,

My heart will keep the courage of the quest,

And hope the road's last turn will be the best.

Henry Van Dyke

Dreams

«Those were the moments when he almost let despair overcome his heart. Yet, his unquestionable faith on what laid ahead, over the horizon, did not allow him to give up.» 

                                                              By Raquel R. in Short Story number 5 

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow. 

Langston Hughes 

I Heard a Bird Sing

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December

A magical thing

And sweet to remember.

'We are nearer to Spring

Than we were in September,'

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December.

                                                                                        Oliver Herford

Music in the heart

"When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among people,
To make music in the heart."

           Howard Thurman