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Thursday, November 19, 2009
Madame, it is an old word and each one takes it new and wears it out himself. It is a word that fills with meaning as a bladder with air and the meaning goes out of it as quickly. It may be punctured as a bladder is punctured and patched and blown up again and if you have not had it does not exist for you. All people talk of it, but those who have had it are marked by it, and I would not wish to speak of it further since of all things it is the most ridiculous to talk of and only fools go through it
Everybody can be great... because anybody can serve. You don't have to have a college degree to serve. You don't have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. you only need a heart full of grace. a soul generated by love.
I think about you in every moment and every image of you hurts me horribly. I want to feel every thought, every whisper you say in the deep silence of the eternity of you soul. To be able to cry in me, beside you, beside me in you, to be able to understand why our hearts beat, why we live among moments and not among eternities as if it were different.
To be able to understand every smile which breaks in my just like a wave, which finally breaks against the cliff of my eternity through the blood of my ancestors as my misconducts break in your eternity and that of your ancestors.
And they want to tell you how much I love you, how much I adore you in this vain world.
I know we will never be able to look in the eyes, but only in the hearts.
I know they beat against the infinite precisely because they beat even though we both want the infinite and its truth. Any beat opposes the infinite because it measures an infinity, even if it is finite. And then?
Everybody can be great... because anybody can serve. You don't have to have a college degree to serve. You don't have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. you only need a heart full of grace. a soul generated by love.
I think about you in every moment and every image of you hurts me horribly. I want to feel every thought, every whisper you say in the deep silence of the eternity of you soul. To be able to cry in me, beside you, beside me in you, to be able to understand why our hearts beat, why we live among moments and not among eternities as if it were different.
To be able to understand every smile which breaks in my just like a wave, which finally breaks against the cliff of my eternity through the blood of my ancestors as my misconducts break in your eternity and that of your ancestors.
And they want to tell you how much I love you, how much I adore you in this vain world.
I know we will never be able to look in the eyes, but only in the hearts.
I know they beat against the infinite precisely because they beat even though we both want the infinite and its truth. Any beat opposes the infinite because it measures an infinity, even if it is finite. And then?
