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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535739" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Distance From The Sea</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Ernest Brace</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And when the seven thunders had uttered their voices, I was<br>about to write: and I heard a voice from heaven saying unto<br>me, Seal up those things which the seven thunders uttered, and<br>write them not.&quot;  --REVELATIONS, x, 4.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That raft we rigged up, under the water,<br>Was just the item: when he walked,<br>With his robes blowing, dark against the sky,<br>It was as though the unsubstantial waves held up<br>His slender and inviolate feet. The gulls flew over,<br>Dropping, crying alone; thin ragged lengths of cloud<br>Drifted in bars across the sun. There on the shore<br>The crowd's response was instantaneous. He<br>Handled it well, I thought--the gait, the tilt of the head, just right.<br>Long streaks of light were blinding on the waves.<br>And then we knew our work well worth the time:<br>The days of sawing, fitting, all those nails,<br>The tiresome rehearsals, considerations of execution.<br>But if you want a miracle, you have to work for it,<br>Lay your plans carefully and keep one jump<br>Ahead of the crowd. To report a miracle<br>Is a pleasure unalloyed; but staging one requires<br>Tact, imagination, a special knack for the job<br>Not everyone possesses. A miracle, in fact, means work.<br>--And now there are those who have come saying<br>That miracles were not what we were after. But what else<br>Is there? What other hope does life hold out<br>But the miraculous, the skilled and patient<br>Execution, the teamwork, all the pain and worry every miracle involves?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Visionaries tossing in their beds, haunted and racked<br>By questions of Messiahship and eschatology,<br>Are like the mist rising at nightfall, and come,<br>Perhaps to even less. Grave supernaturalists, devoted worshippers<br>Experience the ecstasy (such as it is), but not<br>Our ecstasy. It was our making. Yet sometimes<br>When the torrent of that time<br>Comes pouring back, I wonder at our courage<br>And our enterprise. It was as though the world<br>Had been one darkening, abandoned hall<br>Where rows of unlit candles stood; and we<br>Not out of love, so much, or hope, or even worship, but<br>Out of the fear of death, came with our lights<br>And watched the candles, one by one, take fire, flames<br>Against the long night of our fear. We thought<br>That we could never die. Now I am less convinced.<br>--The traveller on the plain makes out the mountains<br>At a distance; then he loses sight. His way<br>Winds through the valleys; then, at a sudden turning of a path,<br>The peaks stand nakedly before him: they are something else<br>Than what he saw below. I think now of the raft<br>(For me, somehow, the summit of the whole experience)<br>And all the expectations of that day, but also of the cave<br>We stocked with bread, the secret meetings<br>In the hills, the fake assassins hired for the last pursuit,<br>The careful staging of the cures, the bribed officials,<br>The angels' garments, tailored faultlessly,<br>The medicines administered behind the stone,<br>That ultimate cloud, so perfect, and so opportune.<br>Who managed all that blood I never knew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The days get longer. It was a long time ago.<br>And I have come to that point in the turning of the path<br>Where peaks are infinite--horn-shaped and scaly, choked with </div><div style="margin:10px 0">thorns.<br>But even here, I know our work was worth the cost.<br>What we have brought to pass, no one can take away.<br>Life offers up no miracles, unfortunately, and needs assistance.<br>Nothing will be the same as once it was,<br>I tell myself.--It's dark here on the peak, and keeps on getting <br>darker.<br>It seems I am experiencing a kind of ecstasy.<br>Was it sunlight on the waves that day? The night comes down.<br>And now the water seems remote, unreal, and perhaps it is.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Weldon+Kees">Weldon Kees</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=535739" data-title="A Distance From The Sea de Weldon Kees" data-description="To Ernest Brace

&quot;And when the seven thunders had uttered their voices, I was
about to write: and I heard a voice from heaven saying unto
me, Seal up those things which the seven thunders uttered, and
write them not.&quot;  --REVELATIONS, x, ..."></div>
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