(there are many rocks on which i tread... not the same rocks i am used to, and not even rocks with a history that i may be able to imagine. but rocks nonetheless. i study them, in between glances, for the special one which i will take home with me.
you can't take them all home; i tried that once, helplessly, in a place which throbbed of mystery and wonder, but i now treasure some of these as relics from a place which continues to exist.)
but the path, let us return to the path. is the rock, the individual rock among thousands, nearly as interesting as the path itself? the path, a collection of shared directions, an accidental display of time-worn tracks, forged by untold numbers of travelers, human and beyond - the miracle is in this unintentional preservation, and in this image as in countless others i see my life.
if you and many other souls are traveling together; or if yours and many other bodies were inhabited by the same soul;
the path remains ever-yet-wandered-upon,
and i want to live the creed of finding that beautiful.
|laida lertxundi - vivir para vivir, 2015, 16mm|
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune without the words,
and never stops at all.
and sweetest in the gale is heard;
and sore must be the storm
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm.
i've heard it in the chillest land,
and on the strangest sea;
yet, never, in extremity,
it asked a thing of me.
|jean de pomereu - sans noms|
i will learn from myself, be my own pupil.
i will learn from myself the secret of (your name here).