as i wend to the shores i know not,
as i list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck'd,
as i inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me,
as the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer,
i, too, but signify, at the utmost, a little wash'd-up drift,
a few sands and dead leaves to gather,
gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.
having been born in england i still carry allegiance to some of the customs and traditions that accrue to that privilege. one of those is my acknowledgement of st. george's day. in england, st. george's day also marks its national day. it is celebrated on april 23rd, as that is the traditionally accepted date of saint george's death back in 303 a.d.
now why is george so famous. well it's something to do with him slaying the dragon. i checked into this and the wikipedia entry suggests that this extraordinary event took place in libya.
here's a jolly george giving a bit of stick to a diminutive dragon . . .
this is more like it . . . notice the remains of previous victims, the mightily chuffed female onlooker . . .
time was, st. george's day in england was celebrated to almost the same degree as christmas with feasting and jolly frolicking and whatever else fit the day. unfortunately, it has now faded into the mists of simple recognition. there has been a fair bit of rumbling and grumbling around george's fade into obscurity with some people clamouring for the return of the day on a grand scale and others asking the (to me) more reasonable question, why would england celebrate the death of a guy who had very little connection with the country. others such as edmund, cuthbert, and alban really have much more merit as a national saint in my own view.
anyhow, to all my english visitors. happy st. george's day!
i am drawn to the random assortment of flotsam and jetsam on beaches. each object has a history. a history that is still unfolding. these twigs, pebbles and pieces of wood will be - well what in one hundred, one thousand years?!
the trees have gathered together for a chat. it's a little warmer than usual, the wind is howling across the front and back porches, and the squirrels are corkscrewing up and down the tree trunks in search of food, friends, some place where there is no wind perhaps. there are great negotatiations going on between the wind and the clouds and the trees and the ground, negotiations mediated by big brother sun who is occasionally peering in to see what the commotion is all about . . . . hi brother!
a life without love is a waste. “should i look for spiritual love, or material, or physical love?”, don’t ask yourself this question. discrimination leads to discrimination. Love doesn’t need any name, category or definition. Love is a world itself. either you are in, at the center…