Inspiration 2.8.17

THE SONG MT. TAMALPAIS SINGS
Lew Welch

This is the last place. There is nowhere else to go.


Human movements,

but for a few,

are Westerly.

Man follows the Sun.


This is the last place. There is nowhere else to go.


Or follows what he thinks to be the

movement of the Sun.

It is hard to feel it, as a rider,

on a spinning ball.


This is the last place. There is nowhere else to go.


Centuries and hordes of us,

from every quarter of the earth,

now piling up,

and each wave going back

to get some more.

 
This is the last place. There is nowhere else to go.


"My face is the map of the Steppes,"

she said, on this mountain, looking West.

 

My blood set singing by it,

to the old tunes,

Irish,

among these Oaks.
 

This is the last place. There is nowhere else to go.

 
Once again we celebrate the great Spring Tides.

Beaches are strewn again with Jasper,

Agate, and Jade.

The Mussel-rocks stand clear.



This is the last place. There is nowhere else to go.


Once again we celebrate the

Headland's huge, carin-studded fall

into the Sea.


This is the last place. There is nowhere else to go.

 
For we have walked the jeweled beaches

at the feet of the final cliffs

of all Man's wanderings.



This is the last place

There is nowhere else to go.


mttam
 
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Inspirations 2.6.17

Cold, Wendell Berry

How exactly good it is
to know myself
in the solitude of winter,

my body containing its own
warmth, divided from all
by the cold; and to go

separate and sure
among the trees cleanly
divided, thinking of you

perfect too in your solitude,
your life withdrawn into
your own keeping

–to be clear, poised
in perfect self-suspension
toward you, as though frozen.

And having known fully the
goodness of that, it will be
good also to melt.

***

“have I told you how I like to see a man submit to ecstasy with all his inhibitions free and moaning like his mother close his eyes and float from me ecstatic in his buoyancy cut loose and warm as he can be adrift in beatless wonder…”