Striding up the Nietzche path to Eze, I tend to inquire the spirit. What else?
Answers pour out from the stones I pass and cross.
The shades of trees oxygenate my brain.
Thoughts mingle and flow, emotions growl.
A dog barks wild, there is no house to find, reason heards in fear.
Pouncing my heart wilde, numbing my love and awe of life.
Beauty lost luster, birds their voice, all fogged in my mind.
Being a human, I must survive for I am one of a kind.
Thinking inserts reason back into my fear.
What have I done to my heart to beat so near my skin?
Is that dog controlling me?
I give up as fast as I speak, to myself of course.
For in solitude one has plenty of time to preoccupy the mind with thoughts.
Nature has answers, and it seems that most wise men seek them out there in her devouring womb.
The sages use stillness as their tool, attracting insight (and mosquitos to those too sweet) into plein thoughts.
My mind hopes – in vain or just being a fool – will my soul lead me to eternal salvation?
Can I purify myself so I can follow its lead towards the heaven’s door?
Empty fullness, perhaps is what I seek, to merge with opposites I defy Earthly laws and God’s creeds.
~ For now a poem satisfies my spirit’s needs and questions — busying the mind with lightness I seek, and usually find in nature ~
FULL EMPTINESS OF HOPE
We call Emptiness dull, yet its potential is yet to become full
Vast ocean, a mirage of blue, a vessel of life hiding, but true
Only once we named what is deep under the azure sheet
Like with human psyche, we thought it just a spirit’s quip
Unless we dare to dive in for the filling yet empty soul
Clock working unwound, an answering machine accepts your call
Perhaps God knows much more, while hope and space cue behind
Our desires and ephemeral needs fill our Eden with weeds
Unlimited is only hope, the future holding on its rope
The foggy perception of Western thought and reason on hope is best illustrated through poetry. Reasoning about this psychological aid in adversity will not fully capture its entire purpose. Why do we humans need and employ hope?
My favorite poem of the late American poetess Emily Dickinson, starts with this wonderful line:
Hope is that thing with feathers…
But I love it all
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune without words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
This is one of the most famous poems of this solitary lady who published very little during her lifetime. It was her sister, who collected the scraps of paper and letter envelopes inscribed with her precious poetry, in order to publish them posthumously. There is something nostalgic about the future-aimed hope. Its effect belongs to the present moment when hope alleviates any pain present in one’s spirit or any bodily suffering. It is like a placebo that heals our present melancholy or sadness through a timeline of the past-present-future string of hope.