I am as a spirit who has dwelt
Within his heart of hearts, and I have felt
His feelings, and have thought his thoughts, and known
The inmost converse of his soul, the tone
Unheard but in the silence of his blood,
When all the pulses in their multitude
Image the trembling calm of summer seas.
I have unlocked the golden melodies
of his deep soul, as with a master key,
and loosened them and bathed myself therein-
Even as an eagle in a thunder-mist
Clothing his wings with lightning.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley
like winged moments….making themselves known through the whoosh of sky and heart……may it be so…….
What does it take to make a journey? A place to start from, something to leave behind. A road, a trail, or a river. Companions, and something like a destination: a camp, an inn, or another shore. We might imagine a journey with no destination, nothing but the act of going, and with never an arrival. But I think we would always hope to find something or someone, however unexpected and unprepared for. Seen from a distance or taken part in, all journeys may be the same, and we arrive exactly where we are. . . .
There is the dream journey and the actual life.
He himself loved all natural sounds in the bush and the desert, but he had to admit none equaled the sounds of birds. It was as if the sky made music in their throats and one could hear the sun rise and set, the night fall and the first stars come out in their voices. Other animals were condemned to make only such noises as they must, but birds seemed free to utter the sounds they wanted to, to shape them at will and invent new ones to express all the emotions of living matter released on wings from its own dead weight.
~Laurens Van Der Post