Maps of little altars
DAREST thou now, O Soul,
Walk out with me toward the Unknown Region,
Where neither ground is for the feet, nor any path to follow?
No map, there, nor guide,
Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.
I know it not, O Soul;
Nor dost thou--all is a blank before us;
All waits, undream'd of, in that region--that inaccessible land.
Till, when the ties loosen, 10
All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,
Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds, bound us.
Then we burst forth--we float,
In Time and Space, O Soul--prepared for them;
Equal, equipt at last--(O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfil, O Soul.
Written by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
beauty
and then i cry
because it'sone of those moments
when the universe is open
and you see it
before it is ripped away
and that is why great artists are mad
because they've seen the face of god too much
and after you see the face of god
maybe you start to see little beauty everywhere
little altars everywhere
that show you
that just because there is bad(and there is bad)
just because there are bombs,and hunger and lonely moments
they are not the point
the point is to follow the bread crumbs
the maps of little altars
till you reach your final destination
and then you can lie on the blades of grass
and breath in the dew
and know
that life is enough
that your life was exactly what it should be
and you can become
a little altar of your own
Walk out with me toward the Unknown Region,
Where neither ground is for the feet, nor any path to follow?
No map, there, nor guide,
Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.
I know it not, O Soul;
Nor dost thou--all is a blank before us;
All waits, undream'd of, in that region--that inaccessible land.
Till, when the ties loosen, 10
All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,
Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds, bound us.
Then we burst forth--we float,
In Time and Space, O Soul--prepared for them;
Equal, equipt at last--(O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfil, O Soul.
Written by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
beauty
and then i cry
because it'sone of those moments
when the universe is open
and you see it
before it is ripped away
and that is why great artists are mad
because they've seen the face of god too much
and after you see the face of god
maybe you start to see little beauty everywhere
little altars everywhere
that show you
that just because there is bad(and there is bad)
just because there are bombs,and hunger and lonely moments
they are not the point
the point is to follow the bread crumbs
the maps of little altars
till you reach your final destination
and then you can lie on the blades of grass
and breath in the dew
and know
that life is enough
that your life was exactly what it should be
and you can become
a little altar of your own