Debra Darvick

enhance your now in word and image

WISDOM

BEFORE NOW

Opinions — Marcus Aurelius

You always own the option of having no opinion. There is never any need to get worked up or to trouble your soul about things you can’t control. These things are not asking to be judged by you. Leave them alone.  Marcus Aurelius, 121 – 180

 

 

Light in the Darkness — Hannah Arendt

Even in the darkest of times we have the right to expect some illumination… Such illumination may well come less from theories and concepts than from the uncertain, flickering, and often weak light that some men and women, in their lives and works, will kindle under almost all circumstances and shed over the time-span that was given them on earth.          Hannah Arendt, 1906 – 1975

source: First Light Meditation

 

 

Strange Jewels — Elizabeth Gilbert

Surely something wonderful is sheltered inside you. I say this with all confidence, because I happen to believe we are all walking repositories of buried treasure. I believe this is one of the oldest and most generous tricks the universe plays on us human beings, both for its own amusement and for ours: The universe buries strange jewels deep within us all, and then stands back to see if we can find them.
Elizabeth Gilbert, b. 1969
“Blue Purple Red: Amethyst Crystals” by cobalt123 is licensed under Creative Commons.

 

A Poem by Eugenio Montale

This verse from Eugenio  Montale’s poem Low Tide was carved into a wall in Monterossa, one of the five villages that comprise Cinque Terra. Kate, our contact at Firebird Tours, kindly found for me the entire poem in translation.  The verse in bold is the one in the photograph.

 

LOW TIDE

 

Evenings of cries, when the swing
rocks in the summerhouse of other days
and a dark vapor barely veils
the sea’s stillness.

Those days, no more. Now swift slanting

flights pass across the wall, the downward plunge
of everything goes on and on, the sheer coast
swallows even the reef that first lifted
you above the waves.
                                                   
With the breath of spring comes
a mournful undertow of lives
engulfed and in the evening,
black bindweed, your memory only
writhes and resists.
It lifts over the embankments, the faraway tunnel
where the train, entering, slowly crawls.
Then, unseen, a lunar flock shows up
and browses on the hills.

 

Translated from Italian by William Arrowsmith
photo credit from about-cinqueterre.com