| VII. IN PARADISUM | |
| In Paradisum deducant Angeli | Into paradise may angels draw them, |
| in tuo adventu suscipiant te Martyres | on your arrival, may the martyrs receive you |
| et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Jerusalem | and lead you into the holy city Jerusalem. |
| Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat | May the chorus of angels receive you, |
| et cum Lazaro quondam paupere | and with Lazarus, once a beggar, |
| aeternam habeas requiem | may you have eternal rest. |
Sunday, 12 February 2017
Faure - In Paradisum
Monday, 6 February 2017
The Invitation
The Invitation by Oriah
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.
I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk
looking like a fool for love for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own without moving to hide it
or fade it or fix it.
mine or your own without moving to hide it
or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful
to be realistic to remember the limitations
of being human.
mine or your own if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful
to be realistic to remember the limitations
of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another
to be true to yourself. If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day.
is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another
to be true to yourself. If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live
or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself and if you truly like
the company you keep in the empty moments.
from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself and if you truly like
the company you keep in the empty moments.
By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,
from the book The Invitation
published by HarperONE, San Francisco,
1999 All rights reserved
from the book The Invitation
published by HarperONE, San Francisco,
1999 All rights reserved
Albert Camus - Freedom
The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/albertcamu391590.html
Kubla Khan
Kubla Khan
Related Poem Content Details
Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Edith Piaf
Edith Piaf
Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien I Regret Nothing
Non! Rien de rien ...
Non! Je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait ni le mal
Tout ça m'est bien égal!
Non! Rien de rien ...
Non! Je ne regrette rien...
C'est payé, balayé, oublié
Je me fous du passé!
Avec mes souvenirs
J'ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux!
Balayés les amours
Avec leurs trémolos
Balayés pour toujours
Je repars à zéro ...
Non! Rien de rien ...
Non! Je ne regrette rien ...
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait ni le mal
Tout ça m'est bien égal!
Non! Rien de rien ...
Non! Je ne regrette rien ...
Car ma vie, car mes joies
Aujourd'hui ça commence avec toi!
No! Absolutely nothing...
No! I regret nothing
Neither the good that I've done nor the bad
All this is much the same to me!
No! Absolutely nothing...
No! I regret nothing...
It is paid, swept away, forgotten
I don't care about the past!
With my souvenirs
I lit a fire
My sorrows, my pleasures
I need them no more!
Swept away the love affairs
With their tremors
Swept away forever
I leave with nothing ...
No! Absolutely nothing...
No! I regret nothing
Neither the good that I've done nor the bad
All this is much the same to me!
No! Absolutely nothing...
No! I regret nothing...
Because my life, because my joys
Today that begins with you!
Rumi - The Grapes of my Body
The grapes of my body can only become wine
After the winemaker tramples me.
I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling
So my inmost heart can blaze and dance with joy.
Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing
“I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty”
The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: “I am not working in ignorance
You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse,
But it is I who am the Master of this Work.
And when through my Passion you reach Perfection,
You will never be done praising my name.”
After the winemaker tramples me.
I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling
So my inmost heart can blaze and dance with joy.
Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing
“I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty”
The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: “I am not working in ignorance
You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse,
But it is I who am the Master of this Work.
And when through my Passion you reach Perfection,
You will never be done praising my name.”
— from The Way of Passion: A Celebration of Rumi, by Andrew HarveySunday, 5 February 2017
Quanta Qualia
One of my favourite piece of music - and by an amazing modern composer Patrick Hawes and sung by Hayley Westenra.
"Quanta Qualia"
Anima mea (my soul)
Mane! (Wait!)
Quanta Qualia (how great and how wonderful)
Conventus gaudia (the joys of the meeting)
Erunt. (will be)
Mane! (Wait!)
Quanta Qualia (how great and how wonderful)
Conventus gaudia (the joys of the meeting)
Erunt. (will be)
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