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=476565" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Every Morning Of The Moment, A New Creation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Every morning of the moment, a new creation, <br>the distillation of the dreams of the night before <br>when the moon was as fertile as the dew we were born from.<br>I start out each day with a new face. By nightfall<br>it's just another phase of the same old ageless deathmask, <br>heavier than a bell that's been talking through my mouth<br>for more light years than I've got tears to measure in mirrors. <br>That's usually when I start thinking like a potato about stars.<br>Blood sugars in my mindstream ripening me like a vision <br>I'll only ever get to see backstage like a forlorn clown <br>trying to hang on to his faith in laughter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You can pursue happiness, but it will only <br>run from you like the light, or you can cover your eyes <br>and try to avoid it for fear of losing it like the last time, <br>but when you turn around, it's right behind you, <br>flirting with your shadow. Better to let it come and go <br>of its own accord, like a waterbird in a moonrise <br>reflected on a lake. Then when you speak of things <br>you increasingly know less about the more <br>you're intimate with them, your voice isn't <br>a bird net trying to cage words on the fly <br>but an aviary as open as the sky when <br>Cygnus and Aquila are up, and the Lyre's<br>a larynx for the asking. And you're free<br>to sing your heart out as if no one were listening <br>but you and the trees and the stars you hit like high-notes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or shriek like a rabbit seized by the coydogs <br>if you run out of lucky feet and that's what comes up <br>like snake eyes. Lap the experience out of the bone<br>until there's nothing left to eat but your appetite itself <br>and among the myriad flavours of life you've exhausted <br>that will taste the sweetest of all to that emptiness<br>that harvests the world like a blue moon that's never full.<br>Is the moon not the equal of its waxing and waning alike? <br>Is it trying to enlighten its dark side? <br>When the candle goes out, does the light have any trouble <br>handling it? Fear returns to what it knows the best. <br>It hugs the shore like a tidal pool beside the sea, <br>a dead starfish or two it can get its arms around <br>like a worm's-eye view of the galaxy, and the shell <br>of a red sunset in the morning on the carapace <br>of a crab that left its hovel for a house in <br>a more upwardly mobile zodiac. Sometimes<br>it comes down to that. Quantum level gravity. <br>A gravitational eye with myopia that bends the light<br>like a stick in the water, a mirage of sand in an hourglass <br>that's afraid of being swept out to sea <br>with nothing to hold onto but the lifeboat <br>of a shucked clam Venus just stepped out of onto land<br>to have sex in a new medium like an artist <br>who's just switched from water colours to oils. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You've got to accept the down times as all part <br>of the same wavelength you've been riding <br>like a snake scaled in white caps of light <br>that break on shore in a turmoil of kelp. <br>The cosmos doesn't need to be put in order <br>and chaos doesn't need any help. Listen to your sorrows.<br>Summon them to a seance of yourself <br>and apologize to their ghosts for not having the voice <br>to let them speak through you about <br>learning to swim with the stars further out of your depths <br>than you've ever been before. First you drown <br>in the fathomless immensities of even the smallest detail, <br>and then you bubble back up to the surface<br>of a multiverse with an oceanic awareness <br>of what's been hiding under every eyelid of a wave <br>like a overturned lifeboat that's waking up<br>to the fact that everything floats like the moon <br>in the reflection of its own mindstream. <br>And whatever sail you spot coming up over <br>your event horizon, whatever constellation <br>or black hole you take for a sign of salvation <br>or salvage, it first had to sink <br>before it could rise to the rescue.</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=476565" data-title="Every Morning Of The Moment, A New Creation de Patrick White" data-description="Every morning of the moment, a new creation, 
the distillation of the dreams of the night before 
when the moon was as fertile as the dew we were born from.
I start out each day with a new face. By nightfall
it's just another phase of the same old..."></div>
</div>
</div>