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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476542" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Does The Eye Of The Rain</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Does the eye of the rain know it's a tear? <br>Does that ray of light know <br>that even at night <br>it's a revolutionary among flowers? <br>Between the giver and the given <br>between a human and his god<br>between a human and her void <br>the gift of a gift of a gift. <br>And the gifts aren't hidden <br>even when you cover your eyes. <br>I saw a baglady the other day<br>who hadn't given it all away yet <br>who was positively beatific<br>in an atmosphere <br>that only she could breathe<br>but the shining under her rags <br>told me she lived on light.<br>She was a waterlily in a swamp. <br>And I wondered if she knew it. <br>What I don't know I intuit <br>so even if she did<br>how could that add <br>one dropp of bliss<br>to an abyss that was already full? <br>Experience makes a gift of a school.<br>The blossom grants the apple its absence. <br>The wind is Johnny Appleseed.<br>Or the mad old farmer at the end of his life <br>that was seen hanging on to the tail <br>of a black bull<br>in the backwoods of Westport <br>sowing the groves with grain. <br>So the birches had bread<br>he gave away his brain.<br>So the dead know <br>we haven't departed <br>we leave them our pain <br>in the company of flowers.<br>Things don't have origins. <br>They have givers. <br>Even in math <br>giving is an axiomatic fact.<br>Does the sumac know it's a phoenix in the fall? <br>The lifework of a universe <br>in every eyelash <br>in every bud on the locust tree <br>in every branch of coral on the moon.<br>If the all were not whole in the least of us <br>all things would cease to exist. <br>Life wouldn't be possible <br>if it ever short-changed itself, <br>watered a gram, <br>diluted the whiskey<br>thinned our blood like a mosquito. <br>Life would be an also-ran <br>that didn't quite make it to the moon. <br>Does the stone<br>that forged it out of fire and iron<br>know it's giving Excalibur <br>back to the water? <br>Or the magician his wand? <br>The diviner his witching rod? <br>The poet his computer? <br>Giving isn't a moral vow <br>you make to the universe. <br>It's the way we survive. <br>Say one word truly in any language <br>and you've endowed the gift of speech<br>on inanimate things that were mute <br>about all the things they had to tell you <br>in your own voice. <br>This is not mysticism. <br>This is not science. <br>This is not the Uncertainty Principle<br>of some random atomic spiritual life.<br>I'm not drinking my reflection <br>from the wellspring of a mirror.<br>It's as clear as a chandelier. <br>You can't keep <br>what you won't give away.<br>And it isn't the giver.<br>It isn't the given. <br>It's the giving that's crucial. <br>The Buddha gave Ananda a rose. <br>I don't know what kind of flower it was for sure <br>but let's suppose.<br>It isn't the rose that's famous <br>it's the giving that has come down to us <br>through the years <br>thorns and all <br>heart to heart <br>hand to hand <br>human to human<br>rose petals on the mindstream.<br>The enlightened dreams <br>of an unattainable man. <br>If you're cosmic ice, <br>absolute Kelvin, <br>dispassionate as entropy, <br>profound as blue glass <br>to an ancient Roman<br>you're still not sublime <br>until you learn to give it all away.<br>Empty the urns of the fireflies<br>like the ghosts of earthbound insights<br>and scatter their ashes on the wind <br>and they'll tell you how<br>to light the night up <br>and play like water<br>that doesn't know how to live any other way.<br>Giving took water for a body <br>as soon as it saw how beautiful <br>the wild iris and blue narcissus were. <br>Wisdom is water.<br>Compassion is water. <br>And there's no end of the modes of it. <br>Water is the light's favourite mirror. <br>And the most fun.<br>And what are we <br>if not clouds <br>if not wombs<br>cut off from the sea like kites, <br>if not sacks of water, <br>fruit that leaks like a crucified pear <br>hoping if we've got to be poured out of ourselves<br>like pitchers <br>it's over a garden.<br>Chandeliers of rain when we cry, <br>even the windows have learned <br>to weep along with us, <br>glaciers and glass, <br>slow inexorable tears <br>that like to linger on the past <br>as if their futures weren't the past<br>just gone on ahead of them <br>to greet them when they come. <br>Like a garden in the fall <br>that gives what it's got left to the birds, <br>However you think <br>you've emptied the cup of the moon, <br>such is the generosity of water <br>there's always one last <br>unfathomable watershed of a dropp left <br>to give back to the water-giver.<br>And when you do <br>pour it away from you <br>like Dogen Zenji<br>or someone who has drunk their fill <br>in a single gulp of the bowl of their skull <br>as a sign of respect for the river.</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=476542" data-title="Does The Eye Of The Rain de Patrick White" data-description="Does the eye of the rain know it's a tear? 
Does that ray of light know 
that even at night 
it's a revolutionary among flowers? 
Between the giver and the given 
between a human and his god
between a human and her void 
the gift of a gift of a gi..."></div>
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