30 April, 2021

III. A Treasure Trove of Wisdom

To think is not beautiful, to think is relevatory,
what is beautiful is to feel – even with all the pain,
as there are no correct or incorrect answers, all those possible interpretations of possibilities...
It is like a dwelling
on the edge of a cliff
with a murmuring surf beneath;
a question
whether I fall or fly, rise or climb, walk or stumble, speak or silence with thoughts.
And who is the sage, a treasure trove of wisdom – not that of nonsense,
who is the real, genuine bearer of the truth?
I was a child, and who will be a child of mine?
I was a thought, and who will be a thought of mine?
I was a trembling feeling, a flitting shadow, and who was it whose imprint was left in me?
And whom will I imprint myself in?
In a mozaic of correlations
all is intertwined, united we stand – strangers or not,
or else all falls apart.
There is no need to say anything to one another, we can just stand by and look on inactively 
but still all will flow on – it is irreversible, unstoppable, indestructible – 
like time, an eternal thought...
Whence does the source of that power spring? At what does it aim?
What role do we play?
Who are we?
Who am I?

III. A Treasure Trove of Wisdom © Ladanseuse
Trans. "Pokladnice moudrosti", written on 7. 4. 2006

No comments:

My Very First Post!

Enchanted Woe