Karma
Some day it’ll come around… have some pity amidst your anger.
Are you happy now? If I were driven just a bit more to desperation then
I would ridiculously blame this all on your prescient words that night
after drinks at S.
Words are seeds, they say.
I got my car yesterday. Hyundai Elantra GLS 5dr, sterling silver, and it is
unique and cute. Not like all those admittedly excellently made but
boring Honda Civics. Hyundai cars are well made too, they just have a
bit of a bum rap and an image of cheapo disposable cars that has been
slow to fade. It handles well too, and the engine practically purrs compared to the previous three cars we test drove.
The Institute for Systems Biology has a new website, which is a
considerable improvement over previous one which was disorganized and
really hard to navigate.
Too drained to write more; I just had a conversation that made me
acutely aware of the fragility of my state – being driven to tears by a
friend’s offhand remark which was meant to be an expression of surprise
and a piece of advice. I’ll
just put up Emerson’s poem as a reminder to myself. But it is very well
to
refer the poem to those who are in the proper position to derive
healthy comfort from the wise
words; not so for me… I see now that what every reading does for me
is twist the knife in a bit deeper, and I am sustained by that pain. Ha, I
must be a
masochist, as you’ve accused me of being.
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good fame,
Plans, credit, and the muse;
Nothing refuse.
‘Tis a brave master,
Let it have scope,
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope;
High and more high,
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But ’tis a god,
Knows its own path,
And the outlets of the sky.
‘Tis not for the mean,
It requireth courage stout,
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending;
Such ’twill reward,
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.
Leave all for love;
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, for ever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.
Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
Vague shadow of surmise,
Flits across her bosom young
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free,
Do not thou detain a hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.
Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho’ her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.
– R. Emerson, “Give All To Love”
Please heal.
The Day I Die
March 16, 2011 @ 9:28 pm
Ever wondered how to use death as an advisor?…
There is a free nifty utility for this. No ads, no upselling, no malware, no catch. If it helps you, great….