The Right Time

Sometimes it's the right time. Pablo Neruda says:

I love the handful of the earth you are.
Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe.

Your wide eyes are the only light I know
from extinguished constellations;
your skin throbs like the streak
of a meteor through rain.

Your hips were that much of the moon for me;
your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;
your heart, fiery with its long red rays,

was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.
So I pass across your burning form, kissing
you--compact and planetary, my dove, my globe.

(as translated by Stephen Tapscott)

and then he says, as he always has:

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Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tries to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

(that translation by Merwin)

and then, last, he says quite appropriately:

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Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Allsorts

Greenstorm is gone for a little while. I seem to have turned into Blue Girl. That's okay. Rebirth does that to ya.

I have been stripped and regifted. Before the people who loved me were my strength; now my work and my love for the land are my strengths, and people are my trial.

I am learning my balance here, in this land of people. How do I find the heart of love in me, and not the trappings only? How do I act constantly from a place that is good and giving and true? How do I protect myself in a place where thoughtlessness and deliberate malice occur as much as the kindness and gentleness I have come to expect? From whom should I protect myself, and how do intentions vs actions factor into this equation?

Some things I know. The gossip lately has been pure poison. That I will no longer be part of. Further, I will retain my integrity of action. A number of requests have been made of me recently, and it's important to me to honour them in every particular if I have accepted them. No fidging details for my own personal benefit.

There's more, but I am tired. Breakupos are hard on the soul; dancing is good for it.