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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476460" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Amazing As The Stars In The Darkness My Eyes</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Amazing as the stars in the darkness, my eyes, <br>though I've never seen them directly, only <br>as a reflection I take at its word they're blue.<br>And when I look a little deeper, there's <br>no part of me that isn't eventually invisible.<br>Everything's like that, the seer and the seen, <br>so wholly absorbed in each other, <br>there's no sign of either of them, just the seeing, <br>the heart and its feeling, the mind and its thought, <br>the flower and the eye, crocus, turk's cap, tiger lily, lilac<br>all one spontaneous happening without distinction, <br>one infinitely collaborative creative event flashing <br>out of the dark resources of the plenum-void <br>to give it a name for the sake of rendering experience <br>communicable through a delirium of form. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you've ever walked by a mirror and the mirror's disappeared, <br>mercury into mercury, water into water, fire into fire, <br>a mother into her child, an unsuccessful lover into his longing, <br>that's something like it. You're everything <br>and in that everything you're nothing, you're selfless <br>to the point of not even knowing what that means anymore<br>except it's of no significance whatsoever. There's just <br>this star flashing out of a night it's surrounded by, <br>just these dark hills where the dead buried themselves <br>as they did their children, as they had lived, secretly <br>under the leaves that covered their gravestones, <br>lichens, moss, growing hundreds of wild columbine <br>on a modest rock of ages with the sensibilities of a butterfly. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you stand by a gate that doesn't latch by itself anymore, <br>and the garden's been left to its own inner resources, <br>because no one lives there any longer, as, perhaps, even you once did, <br>o in a dream, how long ago was that? And watch the moon rise, <br>as if the healer and the wound were remembering <br>an old love affair that's gone well beyond the inseparable <br>because there never was a time, a prelude to seeing, <br>they were ever apart. You'll understand passing <br>as a perpetually new approach to things, you'll see birth in why <br>the flowers fall, and death, in why they rise again. <br>The simultaneity of the life and death of all things. <br>How present you are in the midst of your longing. <br>How clear in the absence of everything you're missing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've spent much of my life preparing gardens for planting.<br>Shaking out roots, rocking fields. Wondering <br>whose house of life the bones I dig up once belonged to, <br>cornerstones and rafters in arrears <br>to the temples they once upheld to themselves. <br>And come nightfall, my work finished for the day, <br>I've paused and looked to see if I could identify <br>through the trees, the whole of a constellation <br>from a single star. As if gazing in wonder at it<br>in the mutual solitude and hugeness <br>of the unknown immmensities that surround us both, <br>and bind us to a weary body and a still heart <br>leaning on a shovel in a garden, as if the silence <br>could look up or down, either way, were made sacred <br>by the poignancy of a momentary insight <br>that penetrated both our hearts as if time and space <br>were mere bubbles of awareness in a dream.<br>And in a differentiated union of not-two, <br>I saw myself shining through the eyes of a star<br>as it laboured over what flowers it intended to grow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Without a thought or a feeling I could call my own<br>I was a desert of stars without a mirage<br>to keep up appearances. I was a single point of light<br>with infinite distances in it, and even the word, one, <br>had gaps in it I learned to jump like a star. <br>And I saw with the certainty of water, that <br>when one was a wave, the other was an ocean <br>and separation was simply the blindfold we put on <br>at midnight in front of an imaginary firing squad, <br>as if our whole life depended upon it, to watch <br>the stars shoot flowers at the sun like blanks<br>I seeded the garden with like constellations<br>breaking ground through the tree tops like Vega in Lyra.<br>Astro-flowers. The Pleiades approaching <br>the larkspur like bees. Honey in a new hive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Light years of perceptions in a garden of starmud<br>encompassing strangers only an insight away from home.<br>It's an immensely intimate universe. Go out. <br>Get down on your knees in the soil. Plant flowers. <br>And when you go in look at your hands, at the stars <br>shining under your fingernails as a sign <br>of some honest cosmic work well done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476460" data-title="Amazing As The Stars In The Darkness My Eyes de Patrick White" data-description="Amazing as the stars in the darkness, my eyes, 
though I've never seen them directly, only 
as a reflection I take at its word they're blue.
And when I look a little deeper, there's 
no part of me that isn't eventually invisible.
Everything's like..."></div>
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