Gesundheit

 

Lunch at Vienna, June 2014

Gesundheit! 
health, it means health in German. 
I was pleasantly surprised when the friendly German chef exclaimed it, after I sneezed at a Viennese cafe.

London. Bath. Brussels. Bruges. Antwerp. Amsterdam. Koln. Munich. Salzburg. Vienna. 

The picturesque scenes, where at times, I had to gently say, ‘give me a moment and let me absorb this all in.’ 

The majestic, the quiet simplicity; The beautiful, the tragic; The glamorous rich, the ragged rugged poor.

The cacophony of German, French and Dutch being spoken in the background, as we find our way around these new foreign, mysterious places. So much to see, hear, feel and touch. 

The joy of companions and a fine blend of solitary reflections.  

Everyone has a story to tell,

But not everyone can tell it. 

Can we ask the right questions? 

Maybe then, we are halfway there. 

Recondite

"He seemed to weave, like the spider, from pure impulse, without reflection. Every man's work, pursued steadily, tends in this way to become an end in itself, & so to bridge over the loveless chasms of his life." - Silas Marner, Mary Ann Evans aka George Eliot.

Is death a horror?

In the routine of things, the folly of youth (does it have to be folly?) impedes;
Toiling each day, making a living (living a making?) intrudes;

Why does the man with white-picket fence rather drown in Lethe? 
Who once was and is remembered no more.

Are we the captain of our souls?
Or do we adhere to a far greater Captain, Creator, Crucified
and Risen.

The living that never lived,
the life that never loved..
is a horror, is it not already death?

Poesy

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

- John Donne

Death, a comma between life & everlasting life.

Oh, the joy of Poesy. 

Largesse

“Your life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire.”
― Thomas Merton

I've always enjoyed growing older.
Another facet of human experience -
the changes, the transformations;
the mouldings, the formings;
where deep roots are not reached by the frost..

Your mercies are new every morning,
All-sufficient for every season.

Stichomythia

“We are bound to hurt one another so much, again and again. we are so terribly different.''Yes,' he said, 'But the more different, the more lovely the loving.”
― Olaf Stapledon

Sometimes the unsaid words, say so much.
The silent facial expressions - the rolling of eyes, the sulk, the smirk...
tells of the heart,
our hearts.

The dullness of life without relationships.
Students, friends and family that enriches,
encourage & enables.
The gift of life, the gift of lives -
thankful for them all.

Better is one day in Your courts
than a thousand elsewhere.

Halcyon

The pretty city lights and her well-kept secrets,
lurking between the streets,
those untold, unsaid and vastly unknown.

Glancing out the balcony,
I stand, I stare.

The lady that earns by selling her body,
the family that's off for dinner,
the car that just parked, ready to meet a friend.

The men that look for her, haunted and hungry,
the parents, proud of their well-fed kids,
the kindled hearts in reuniting with an old friend.

The blend, the mixture, the joy, the tragedy...

Oh, in this pretty city lights,
I've seen her heights, I've seen her gaping void.

Reach our tragic depths,
reach our rapturous heights.

Sacristy

“Ah! There is nothing like staying at home, for real comfort.”
― Jane Austen

What a week.
Liken to my mixed berries breakfast today,
it was a creamy blend of sweet & sour.
The stretching of heart - in pain, in loneliness, in humility...
Yet, deep down you know,
it is all good for the soul.

To be Home where You are,
& home where you are.

Ricochet

“Let all your thinks be thanks.”
― W.H. Auden

An unexpected ride back home,
the sudden work load cast upon,
a sweet message from a dear friend,
the new faces staring back at me...

I certainly would not have thought it to be,
yet it is.
Life is wonderful because You are the author of it.

A willing heart,
a joyful spirit,
ever ready to do Your will.