The Inner Valley

La danza ya no suena, la música dejó de ser palabra, el cántico creció del movimiento. Orfeo, dividido, anda en busca de esa unidad áurea que perdimos. Mundo desintegrado, tu esencia reside tal vez en la luz, más neutra ante los ojos desaprendidos de ver; y bajo la piel, ¿qué turbia imporosidad nos limita? De ti a ti, abismo; y en él, los ecos de una prístina ciencia, ahora exangüe. Ni tu cifra sabemos. Ni aun captándola tuviéramos poder de penetrar. Yerra el misterio en torno de su núcleo. Y restan pocos encantamientos válidos. Quizás apenas uno y grave: en nosotros tu ausencia retumba todavía, y nos estremecemos que una pérdida se forma de esas ganancias. Tu medida, el silencio la ciñe, la esculpe casi, brazos del no-saber. Oh fabuloso mudo paralítico sordo nato incógnito la raíz de la mañana que tarda, y tarde, cuando  la línea del cielo en nosotros se esfuma, tornándonos extranjeros más que extraños. En el duelo de las horas, tu imagen atravie...

“One day a man came to God, an old farmer, and he said, "Look, you may be God, and you may have created the world, but one thing I must say to you: you are not a farmer. You don't know even the basic principles of farming. You have something to learn." God said, "What's your advice?" The farmer said, "You give me one year's time, and just let things be according to me, and see what happens. There will be no poverty left!" God was willing, and one year was given to the farmer. Naturally, he asked for the best, he thought only of the best--no thunder, no strong winds, no dangers for the crop. Everything was comfortable, cozy, and he was very happy. The wheat was growing so high! When he wanted sun, there was sun; when he wanted rain, there was rain, and as much as he wanted. This year everything was right, mathematically right. But when the crops were harvested, there was no wheat inside. The farmer was surprised. He asked God, ...

The sea cries with its meaningless voice Treating alike its dead and its living, Probably bored with the appearance of heaven After so many millions of nights without sleep, Without purpose, without self-deception. Stone likewise. A pebble is imprisoned Like nothing in the Universe. Created for black sleep. Or growing Conscious of the sun's red spot occasionally, Then dreaming it is the foetus of God. Over the stone rushes the wind Able to mingle with nothing, Like the hearing of the blind stone itself. Or turns, as if the stone's mind came feeling A fantasy of directions. Drinking the sea and eating the rock A tree struggles to make leaves- An old woman fallen from space Unprepared for these conditions. She hangs on, because her mind's gone completely. Minute after minute, aeon after aeon, Nothing lets up or develops. And this is neither a bad variant nor a tryout. This is where the staring angels go through. This is where all the stars bow ...

Fui al río, y lo sentía cerca de mí, enfrente de mí. Las ramas tenían voces que no llegaban hasta mí. La corriente decía cosas que no entendía. Me angustiaba casi. Quería comprenderlo, sentir qué decía el cielo vago y pálido en él con sus primeras sílabas alargadas, pero no podía. Regresaba —¿Era yo el que regresaba?— en la angustia vaga de sentirme solo entre las cosas últimas y secretas. De pronto sentí el río en mí, corría en mí con sus orillas trémulas de señas, con sus hondos reflejos apenas estrellados. Corría el río en mí con sus ramajes. Era yo un río en el anochecer, y suspiraban en mí los árboles, y el sendero y las hierbas se apagaban en mí. Me atravesaba un río, me atravesaba un río! ******* Juan L. Ortíz (Puerto Ruiz, Entre Ríos, Argentina, 11 de Junio de 1896 ~ Paraná, Entre Ríos, 2 de Septiembre de 1978). ◙ Z. L. Feng

The free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.   But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the ...

"Whoever reads philosophy reads himself as much as he reads the philosopher. I am in a dialogue with certain decisive events in my life as much as I am with the ideas on the page. Meaning is the matter of my existence. My effort to understand is a perpetual circling around a few obsessive images." ******* Dušan "Charles" Simić (Belgrade, Yugoslavia; 9 May 1938). ◙ Vakhtang Tato Akhalkatsishvili ******* “Quien lee un texto filosófico se lee a sí mismo en tanto lee al filósofo. Estoy en diálogo con ciertos eventos decisivos de mi vida en  la misma medida en que estoy en diálogo con las ideas impresas en la página. La búsqueda de sentido es la substancia de mi existencia. Mi esfuerzo por comprender es un perpetuo circular alrededor de unas pocas imágenes obsesivas.”

"But the crowd seldom can render a reason for its opinions; it thinks one thing today, another tomorrow.  For this cause, wise and prudent men are not in haste to adopt the opinions of the crowd." ******* Søren Aabye Kierkegaard ( Copenhagen, Denmark, 5 May 1813 ~ Copenhagen, 11 November 1855). ◙ Matazo Kayama.

“A question with no answer is a barrier that cannot be breached. In other words, it is questions with no answers that set the limits of human possibilities, describe the boundaries of human existence. ”  ******* Milan Kundera (Brno, Czechoslovakia, April 1, 1929). ◙ Jan Brueghel the Elder. Aeneas and the Sibyl in the Underworld (ca. 1600).  *******   “Una pregunta que no tiene respuesta es una barrera que no puede ser atravesada. Dicho de otro modo, precisamente aquellas preguntas que no tienen respuesta son las que determinan las posibilidades del ser humano, trazan las fronteras de la existencia humana." ~ Milan Kundera   G M T Detect language Afrikaans Albanian Arabic Armenian Azerbaijani Basque Belarusian Bengali Bosnian Bulgarian Catalan Cebuano Chichewa Chinese (Simplified) Chinese (Traditional) Croatian Czech Danish Dutch English Esperanto Estonian Filipino Finnish French Galician Georgian German Greek Gujarat...

He offered me a leaf like a hand with fingers. I offered him a hand like a leaf with teeth. He offered me a branch like an arm. I offered him my arm like a branch. He tipped his trunk towards me like a shoulder. I tipped my shoulder to him like a knotted trunk. I could hear his sap quicken, beating like blood. He could hear my blood slacken like rising sap. I passed through him. He passed through me. I remained a solitary tree. He a solitary man. ******* Nichita Stãnescu (Ploieşti, Romania, March 31, 1933 ~  Bucharest, Romania, December 13, 1983) ◙ Artwork: Vincent Van Gogh.

The greatest good is like water:       it benefits all life without being noticed. It flows even to the lowliest places       where no one chooses to be       and so it is very close to the Tao. It settles only in quiet locations. Its deepest heart is always clear. It offers itself with great goodness. It keeps its rhythm as it keeps its promises. It governs tributaries as it governs its people. It adapts to all necessities. It moves at the right moment. It never flaunts its goodness       and so it never attracts any blame. ******* 'Tao Te Ching'. Lao Tzu. Translation by Chao-Hsiu Chen. ◙ Rafał Borcz

Yo quiero ser llorando el hortelano de la tierra que ocupas y estercolas, compañero del alma, tan temprano. Alimentando lluvias, caracolas  y órganos mi dolor sin instrumento, a las desalentadas amapolas daré tu corazón por alimento. Tanto dolor se agrupa en mi costado, que por doler me duele hasta el aliento. Un manotazo duro, un golpe helado, un hachazo invisible y homicida, un empujón brutal te ha derribado. No hay extensión más grande que mi herida, lloro mi desventura y sus conjuntos y siento más tu muerte que mi vida. Ando sobre rastrojos de difuntos,  y sin calor de nadie y sin consuelo voy de mi corazón a mis asuntos. Temprano levantó la muerte el vuelo,  temprano madrugó la madrugada, temprano estás rodando por el suelo. No perdono a la muerte enamorada,  no perdono a la vida desatenta, no perdono a la tierra ni a la nada. En mis manos levanto una tormenta de piedras, rayos y hachas estridentes sedienta de catástrofes y hambrienta. Quiero escar...

"For he is immortal and eternal. Now he is eternal, having no birth; for everyone who has birth will perish. He is unbegotten, having no beginning; for everyone who has a beginning has an end. Since no one rules over him, he has no name; for whoever has a name is the creation of another." ******* The Sophia of Jesus Christ (Nag Hammadi Codices). ◙ George Richmond, "The Creation of Light" (1826).   ******* "Porque él es inmortal y eterno. Y dado que él es eterno, no ha tenido nacimiento, porque todo aquel que ha nacido perecerá. Él es ingénito, no ha tenido un principio; porque todo aquel que ha tenido un principio, tiene también un final. Dado que nadie tiene autoridad sobre él, él no tiene nombre, porque todo aquel que tiene un nombre es la creación de otro." ******* Códices de Nag Hammadi. Códice III:"La Sabiduría de Jesucristo".   ◙ William Blake, "Elohim Creating Adam" (1795-c....

What is to be done, O men of piety? For I do not recognize myself I am neither a Moslem nor a Hindu I am not Christian, Zoroastrian, nor Jew I am neither of the West nor the East Not of the ocean, nor an earthly beast I am neither a natural wonder Nor from the stars yonder Neither flesh of dust, nor wind inspire Nor water in veins, nor made of fire I am neither an earthly carpet, nor gems terrestrial Nor am I confined to Creation, nor the Throne Celestial Not of ancient promises, nor of future prophecy Not of hellish anguish, nor of paradisiacal ecstasy Neither the progeny of Adam, nor Eve Nor of the world of heavenly make-believe My place is the no-place My image is without face Neither of body nor the soul I am of the Divine Whole. *******   ✍ Yalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi (1207-1273): Poems from the Divan-I Shams-I Tabriz, c. 1270 CE ◙ Frede rick Goodall  

“You are alive right this second. That is an amazing thing,”  they told me. When you consider the nearly infinite number of forks in the road that lead to any single person being born, they said, you must be grateful that you’re you at this very second. Think of the enormous number of potential alternate universes where, for example, your great-great-grandparents never meet and you never come to be. Moreover, you have the pleasure of living on a planet where you have evolved to breathe the air, drink the water, and love the warmth of the closest star. You’re connected to the generations through DNA — and, even farther back, to the universe, because every cell in your body was cooked in the hearts of stars. We are star stuff, my dad famously said, and he made me feel that way." ******* Excerpt from "Lessons of Immortality and Mortality From My Father, Carl Sagan" By Sasha Sagan.

“ {...} Acabó de decirlo, cuando Fernanda sintió que un delicado viento de luz le arrancó las sábanas de las manos y las desplegó en toda su amplitud. Amaranta sintió un temblor misterioso en los encajes de sus pollerinas y trató de agarrarse de la sábana para no caer, en el instante en que Remedios, la bella, empezaba a elevarse. Úrsula, ya casi ciega, fue la única que tuvo la serenidad para identificar la naturaleza de aquel viento irreparable, y dejó  las sábanas a merced de la luz, viendo a Remedios, la bella, que le decía adiós con la mano, entre el deslumbrante aleteo de las sábanas que subían con ella, que abandonaban con ella el aire de los escarabajos y las dalias, y que pasaban con ella a través del aire donde terminaban las cuatro de la tarde, y se perdieron con ella para siempre en los altos aires donde no podían alcanzarla ni los más altos pájaros de la memoria”. *******   "Cien años de soledad". Gabriel García Márquez (Aracata, 6 de Marzo de 1927 ~ Mé...

"You may have noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that is because the Power of the World always works in circles, and everything tries to be round. In the old days when we were a strong and happy people, all our power came to us from the sacred hoop of the nation, and so long as the hoop was unbroken, the people flourished. The flowering tree was the living center of the hoop, and the circle of the four quarters nourished it. The east gave peace and light, the south gave warmth, the west gave rain, and the north with its cold and mighty wind gave strength and endurance. This knowledge came to us from the outer world with our religion. Everything the Power of the World does is done in a circle. The sky is round, and I have heard that the earth is round like a ball, and so are all the stars. The wind, in its greatest power, whirls. Birds make their nests in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours. The sun comes forth and goes down again in a c...

Larga charla con Traveler sobre la locura. Hablando de los sueños, nos dimos cuenta casi al mismo tiempo que ciertas estructuras soñadas serían formas corrientes de locura a poco que continuaran en la vigilia. Soñando nos es dado ejercitar gratis nuestra aptitud para la locura. Sospechamos al mismo tiempo que toda locura es un sueño que se fija. Sabiduría del pueblo: "Es un pobre loco, un soñador..." ******* Julio Cortázar ~ Rayuela, Cap. 80. ◙ Henry Fuseli. "The Shepherd's Dream".

Out, Out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. ******* Macbeth, Act V, Scene 5. William Shakespeare. ◙ Jan Mandijn.

"Master.." a disciple asked Chuang Tzu one day,  "Where did the universe come from? Is there a God? What is the purpose of life? Why is there pain and injustice and suffering? Where do we go after we die?" Chuang Tzu responded: “The true master of life does not labor over life. The true master of fate does not question fate. Use understanding to understand what can be understood with understanding, and then stop.” ******* ◙ Artwork: Zhang Weimin.                                                                                                                                            ******* Verdadero Entendimiento "Maestro....