Thursday, 28 March 2013

now









It's entirely conceivable that life's splendour surrounds us all, and always in it's complete fullness, accessible but veiled, beneath the surface, invisible, far away. But there it lies - not hostile, not reluctant, not deaf. If we call it by the right word, by the right name, then it comes. This is the essence of magic, which doesn't create but calls.

Kafka











Es ist sehr gut denkbar, daß die Herrlichkeit des Lebens um jeden und immer in ihrer ganzen Fülle bereit liegt, aber verhängt, in der Tiefe, unsichtbar, sehr weit. Aber sie liegt dort, nicht feindselig, nicht widerwillig, nicht taub. Ruft man sie mit dem richtigen Wort, beim richtigen Namen, dann kommt sie. Das ist das Wesen der Zauberei, die nicht schafft, sondern ruft.



22 comments:

  1. i will go back to your wonderful comments on the last post - i simply needed to show you what is outside my window these days. instead of spring, and despite all my colourful magic spells (you'll remember! :-), the snow has returned, and with terrible power. and yet, this is splendour, calling.

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  2. What a wonderful quote! (almost as wonderful as the photos) Where among Kafka's oeuvre is it from?

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    1. i'm glad you like the post! it's from his diaries. and there is a fictional biography focusing on his relationship with Dora, in his last years of life, which is entitled "the splendour of life", taken from this quote. it has very good reviews, i'd like to read it.

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    2. thanks, i suspected it was from the Diaries. quite the nifty new comment format you have here.

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  3. These are ecstatically beautiful, Roxana...and now i look for a word that will call you, but there is only silence. Perhaps this was the only word between us.

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    1. thank you, b, what high praise, coming from you!!!
      i see you are in a poetic mood :-) what is this with "silence" as the only word? maybe you are too deeply under the influence of that lovely Burnside-poem you posted the other day, is that it?

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  4. this is snow? i thought it might be blossoms. might it be? if this is snow then i have been a fool to ask for spring.

    grace indeed:)))

    xo
    erin

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    1. actually, erin, it is snow upon young leaves and buds, which, i am sure, had they been able to think, would have thought themselves equally foolish to come out in search for spring. but today there is sun and blue sky and i think they have started to enfold :-)

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  5. This is beautiful my friend, the bewitching white buds of glory that blossom into tomorrows exotic cherished flowers of victory.our most cherished die Habseligkeiten,
    sending you flowered snow kisses haha we still have them here in the spring of our thoughts.


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    1. "the spring of our thoughts", how lovely you put that, Madeleine!

      thank you and warm bises :-)

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  6. White magic, brought into being by breath upon a window pane. Gentle snow blossoms taunting the buds of spring.

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    1. Lynne, the day will come, hang in there :-)
      (somehow i can't stop teasing you with snow :-)

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  7. Here, with spring beginning to pop, we often get a bitter cold spell...we call it Dogwood Winter because it seems to appear while the Dogwoods are in bloom.

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    1. i love dogwood, myth! how lovely to imagine a dogwood winter...

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  8. yes, the everlasting winter... "You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.” —Pablo Neruda - this is the hope I'm clinging to

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    1. haaa Marion thank you for sharing this hope here, we all need it, i think :-)

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  9. this is a magic call, and i think the spring cannot fail to respond and come to you :-)

    but this sense that the reality of the world is there, just beyond touch, a splendour just under perception, but not within our power to unveil fully -- i have always felt this, deep and close to my being, as a certainty ...

    an old poet whom no one reads anymore, Lascelles Abercrombie, Mary and the Bramble ... somehow, just as much magic as any other call, he wrote of you;

    Now she
    Beheld, with eyes like the rain-shadowed sea,
    Of late an urgency disturb the world;
    Her thought that, like a curtain wide unfurl’d
    With stir of a hurrying throng against it prest,
    Seen things fluttere’d with spiritual haste
    Behind them, as a rush of wingéd zeal
    Made with its gusty passage shiver and reel.
    Like a loose weaving, all the work of sense.


    .

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    1. i know, James, i know you also have often felt this, maybe there is a hidden affinity wave connecting all those to whom this feeling is familiar, and separating them from the rest of the world :-) for sure, it is both a blessing and a reason for much suffering.

      and Lascelles Abercrombie!!! what a name, i would have thought it invented :-) the lines are beautiful, indeed - and i also loved these:
      Ay, see this morning trembling like a sail !
      Can it still hold the strain ? must it not fail
      Even now ?
      (i managed to find the entire poem online!!!)

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  10. Sharing....
    Big and warm hugs***

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  11. hugs to you as well, Ofelia...

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  12. Ah, this is the real spring!

    It is colorless splendor.

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  13. If we call it by the right word, by the right name, then it comes. yes!
    but the nomad in me would add to that, from the right place also.
    i smile . . .

    spring is coming, no two ways about it! much love,

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