A Red, Red RoseI
O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June.
O, my luve is like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Take a’the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!
Archive for May, 2008|Monthly archive page
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
“One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII”
by Pablo Neruda
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
For the warrior, there is no such thing as impossible love. He does not let himself be intimidated by silence, indifference or rejection. He knows that behind the mask of ice that people wear there exists a heart of fire.
That is why the warrior risks more than others. He seeks tirelessly for someone’s love – even if this means often hearing the word “no”, returning home defeated and feeling rejected in both body and soul.
A warrior does not let himself become scared when he seeks what he needs. Without love he is nothing.
“Every Warror of Light has hurt someone he loved. That is why he is a Warrior of Light, because he has been through all this and yet has never lost hope of being better than he is.”
Every Warrior of the Light has felt afraid of going into battle.
Every Warrior of the Light has, at some time in the past, lied or betrayed someone.
Every Warrior of the Light has trodden a path that was not his.
Every Warrior of the Light has suffered for the most trivial of reasons. Every Warrior of the Light has, at least once, believed he was not a Warrior of the Light.
Every Warrior of the Light has failed in his spiritual duties.
Every Warrior of the Light has said ‘yes’ when he wanted to say ‘no.’
Every Warrior of the Light has hurt someone he loved.
That is why he is a Warrior of the Light, because he has been through all this and yet has never lost hope of being better than he is.
Some are kissing mothers and some are scolding
mothers, but it is love just the same, and
most mothers kiss and scold together.
~Pearl S. Buck.
All that I am or ever hope to be,
I owe to my angel Mother…
~Abraham Lincoln. .
mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.
Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs… since the payment is pure love.
~Mildred B. Vermont