I am a story with no beginning, and no end. I am our story continually untold. Seen sleightly. History objectively pronounced. Widthless I, emergent reality we.
Histoires, eglantine entwine. Tsunami of becoming.
Mine und dein. Aller Seelen. Gilt mesh, braided golden vine in guiltless compassion wound.
Electric pain imprison’d, refracted joy enprism’d. Fire and Rose.
Infinitely time divides, bounds and binds – differentiating an all-embracing integration.
We are mystery with no beginning, and no end.
Though as we flow – we shine.
Strong brown God is the river
Reiver of sods and odds thrown
Our brownian drownian motion a-quiver
Deep pooling in currents its own
Still life flowering river
Our silver shiver of life
A gurgling-guddling quick’ning sliver
Wrangling-tangle of strife
All we be is water-taught
Aught but water our withal
A tumbling jumbling ripple of thought
Pride before a waterfall
Day the rose-garden lifetime
Wild thyme and strawberry day
And infinitely nightly tight-coiled our lifeline
Running through death and decay
Well the still point of the world
Whirled without end to be well
For waving and curling dimensions unfurled
Love and its ocean-tide swell
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always –
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less that everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.”
TS Eliot, Four Quartets; Little Gidding (extract)