Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476532" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Crazy Man Dancing With Fireflies</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Crazy man dancing with fireflies. <br>Another one trying to shoot out the stars. <br>I hear the woman next door weeping again tonight.<br>I don't know what for. <br>Desire's a phoenix in love with water <br>if that's what it is. <br>The torch is plunged into the wound <br>to stop the bleeding <br>and the ashes get carried away.<br>I've loved nine women for years <br>and they've all buried me in a different place. <br>Or saved my skull to consult the dead <br>about a future that wasn't living up to the moment.<br>The white poppy of the moon <br>bats her eyelashs through the pines. <br>I've never been as innocent as a cynic <br>nor quite as susceptible <br>but I remember the pain of separation <br>like the mirror of the lake remembers lightning<br>as the most brutal of all its revelations. <br>And how you can walk in and out of some doors <br>all your life like faces <br>without ever opening them<br>or knowing whose they are. <br>Everybody longs for the threshold they haven't crossed.<br>Poor stars trying to live up to their radiance. <br>Wondering why it's always behind them.<br>Why the dreamcatchers never get finished<br>and love ends up like some kind of cold fish <br>swimming through endless windows.<br>Music from far across town <br>this late at night <br>like a ghost answering a seance.<br>It rises above the trees like smoke <br>and disappears into the moonlight.<br>Someone's trying to bloom in fire. <br>It happens but it's rare. <br>I take a firewalk down memory lane <br>but all my cremations seem no more to me now <br>than the shadows of candles <br>and though I feel intimately removed<br>this afterlife of mine is not scar tissue<br>whether things got over me <br>or I got over them <br>no matter. <br>Attachment too is a Buddha activity<br>and though passions that once<br>made even the trivial sacred <br>and the impossible slight<br>have transformed <br>the hot blue flame of their hydrogen <br>into the carbon and oxygen <br>of more sustainable intensities<br>the selflessness of my impersonality <br>is not aloofness or indifference or exemption<br>or the consolation of wisdom won by acclamation.<br>Time distills the spirit out of all things human <br>and you can delight in your past <br>as if it were the future of someone else <br>who lives it like the unfolding <br>of leaves in the spring<br>that shadow the ripening apple<br>until it tastes like the tears of the autumn sun.<br>Joy and compassion<br>and the lucid spontaneity<br>of staying improbably ageless<br>again and again and again and again <br>as the years rejoice in the young and old alike<br>climbing the ladder of the tree <br>from so far down in the dark earth <br>they're beyond the reach of its ancient roots <br>and the utmost of its aspirant branchs<br>scratching at the windows of heaven.<br>And then most amazing of all<br>someone comes to the window <br>and parts the veils<br>and like the last line of the last act<br>just before the curtain call<br>you fall.<br>You fall toward paradise <br>as if you'd failed <br>and had to do it all over again. <br>But if your heart needs healing <br>offer your love up like a transplant<br>to anyone who can use it <br>and your mystic eyes to the stars <br>that want to see through them<br>what their light looks like <br>from deep inside<br>the expanding vastness within you<br>that can hold all that shining<br>like the sky or the sea embraces <br>all kinds of its own weather <br>without ever overflowing the brim.<br>The skull you drink from<br>like a wishing well<br>in the desert watersheds of the dead <br>is a cup without a horizon.<br>A real mirage with imaginary water.<br>A seabed of shadows on the moon.<br>Low-tide at noon. <br>Providential midnights when it's full. <br>But if you don't like <br>what you've been hearing about yourself lately<br>when you stop to listen <br>to what your saying <br>and don't recognize the voice<br>you're speaking in as your own<br>hold your ears up like conch shells to the oceans <br>that have never heard a recording of themselves<br>and carefully watch their faces.<br>And if you make the same stupid mistake <br>you swore not to make again <br>learn to recycle your ignorance <br>so you can save a bit of wisdom <br>for the rest of the world<br>to remember what it was like once<br>to be alone in Eden <br>with no one else to rely upon<br>and all you had to add <br>to the conversation of the rivers<br>that flowed out of it<br>all you had to share with your solitude<br>and boundless emptiness <br>was your unanswerable longing <br>even as it was being shaped <br>by their waters <br>into the form of the unimaginable. <br>Into the form of a woman<br>who tasted then<br>and tastes forever now<br>of the original light<br>of spontaneous creation<br>however many worlds <br>and lives and years and nights had to pass<br>before you first saw her<br>and felt your afterlife condense into a star.<br>Crazy man dancing with fireflies. <br>Crazy man dancing with fireflies. <br>And it doesn't matter <br>there's no one here <br>to understand my delight. <br>Crazy man dancing with fireflies.<br>It's hard to read me in so little light<br>but when you fall asleep <br>it's the world that dreams <br>and though I feather the wind<br>with firebirds of desire<br>and write loveletters <br>long into the night <br>that grow like the graceful tendrils <br>of ink dissolving in water<br>whatever the sign of the season<br>there's no bitterness in the vine<br>and no departure in the reason.<br>Though I'm a leaf with the wingspan of autumn<br>even in the dead of winter <br>the phoenix is green<br>and by late summer<br>there's a crazy man out dancing with fireflies<br>down by the Tay River<br>who is too carried away <br>by the picture-music<br>of what he hears with his eyes <br>and sees with his ears<br>of all that he's been and will be<br>alone together with everyone forever<br>in love and out <br>full cup and empty <br>eclipsed and forgotten <br>or charged with the radiant urgency<br>of fireflies after the rain <br>to care what any of it might mean<br>when they fire the valley up for a moment<br>like blasting caps in a beaver dam <br>that's flooded the road.<br>And everything's so nimble with light<br>so vital and effusive with joy<br>so mysteriously near and always<br>all darkness all pain all sorrow<br>all that's lost and weary<br>and fearful of ever being found again <br>of being loved or despised <br>is absorbed blameless into bliss<br>like a tender intimacy <br>into a great vastness<br>that lives within us all<br>even as we disappear into it <br>like the sky in the heart of a bird.<br>Or just before the soft flare of moonrise<br>through the leafless veils <br>of the glowing birchgroves<br>on that far hilltop <br>where the pioneers <br>used to bury their boys with a view <br>a night just like this<br>as illusory as it is real <br>suffused with a spirit of water <br>that heals the wounded swords <br>the bruised flowers<br>the fevered promises <br>that are offered to it from the bridge<br>between this shoreless delirium <br>and the next. <br>A presence that's always flowing away <br>like a mindstream among the stars and fireflies<br>with the power of time <br>and the effortless wisdom of change<br>that makes the going stay<br>and the perishing persist.<br>A night just like this.<br>A momentary kiss <br>that keeps faith <br>with the eternal flames of the fireflies<br>that adorn the darkness and waters of life <br>with indefinable joy <br>in the exuberance of the mystery<br>and unspeakable trust in the onceness of forever<br>and an abiding intuition <br>that even the fiercest thorns of pain<br>that have tasted first blood<br>and greyed the hearts of their lovers<br>can never be estranged <br>from the beauty of the rose.<br>A night like this<br>The great abyss<br>lucidly alive with its own shining <br>and a woman's eyes<br>and a crazy man dancing with fireflies.</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=476532" data-title="Crazy Man Dancing With Fireflies de Patrick White" data-description="Crazy man dancing with fireflies. 
Another one trying to shoot out the stars. 
I hear the woman next door weeping again tonight.
I don't know what for. 
Desire's a phoenix in love with water 
if that's what it is. 
The torch is plunged into the wo..."></div>
</div>
</div>