Water is H2O, hydrogen two parts, oxygen one, but there is also a third thing that makes water,
and nobody knows what that is.

–D. H. Lawrence



Monday, December 31, 2012

the prayer of the little ducks




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Dear God,
give us a flood of water.
 
Let it rain tomorrow and always.
 
Give us plenty of little slugs
and other luscious things to eat.
 
Protect all folk who quack
and everyone who knows how to swim.
 
Amen.


Carmen De Gasztold
Prayers from the Ark trans. by R. Godden




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Sunday, December 30, 2012





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In one drop of water are found all the secrets of the oceans.

–Kahlil Gibran 



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via vivre !



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Saturday, December 29, 2012

to drink




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I want to gather your darkness
in my hands, to cup it like water

and drink.


I want this in the same way
as I want to touch your cheek -

it is the same -


the way a moth will come
to the bedroom window in late September,

beating and beating its wings against cold glass,


the way a horse will lower
his long head to water, and drink,

and pause to lift his head and look,

and drink again,


taking everything in with the water,
everything.



Jane Hirshfield








 


 

Friday, December 28, 2012



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There is, one knows not what sweet mystery
about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seems to speak
of some hidden soul beneath; 
like those fabled undulations of the Ephesian sod
over the buried Evangelist St. John. 

And meet it is, that over these sea-pastures,
wide-rolling watery prairies and Potters’ Fields of all four continents,
the waves should rise and fall, and ebb and flow unceasingly; 

for here, millions of mixed shades and shadows,
drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; 

all that we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, dreaming, still; 
tossing like slumberers in their beds; 
the ever-rolling waves but made so by their restlessness.


Herman Melville
Moby-Dick, 1851






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Wednesday, December 26, 2012


willow branches touching water are reflecting in it Stock Photo - 14003592
 

i.


when I was a Willow, I wanted to know
Wind, so I bent close
to you, River,

I shivered with delight,
and now the passage of time
marks our return
and we are humans,

I tremble with your touch,
You are water inside my earth,
breath upon my skin,

your lips speaking and parting
this silence
with poems.


Anna Ruiz
excerpt, 1 of 3





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Monday, December 24, 2012

sonnet


 


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What I have given you,
will never be a burden,
because
what I gave you
was always yours,
the flower or the wood,
the word or walls,
food of fleeting
love, resting or burning
in our hands.
But all
I gave you,
all I give you,
all I extend to you,
will contain this secret
voice
of
water.


–Pablo Neruda



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Sunday, December 23, 2012




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I have been thinking of the difference between
water and the waves on it. 

Rising, water's still water,
falling back, it is water,
will you give me a hint how to tell them apart?

Because someone has made up the word
"wave,"
do I have to distinguish it from water?

There is a Secret One inside us;
the planets in all the galaxies pass through
his hands like beads.

That is a string of beads one should look at
with luminous eyes.


–Kabir





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Saturday, December 22, 2012


 

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Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. 

The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the
basement of time. 


On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. 

Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. 

I am haunted by waters.


Norman Maclean



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Friday, December 21, 2012


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Water has no taste, no color, no odor;
it cannot be defined, 
art relished while ever mysterious. 
Not necessary to life, but rather life itself. 

It fills us with a gratification that exceeds
the delight of the senses.

 
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Wind, Sand, and Stars, 1939




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Thursday, December 20, 2012





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In every glass of water we drink,
some of the water has already passed through fishes,
trees, bacteria, worms in the soil,
and many other organisms,
including people.



Elliot A. Norse
Animal Extinctions





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Tuesday, December 18, 2012

twigs







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And so
it has taken me

all of sixty years

to understand

that water is the finest drink, 
and bread the most delicious food,
and that art is worthless
unless it plants

a measure of splendor in people's hearts.


 
Taha Muhammad Ali

So What: New and Selected Poems

translated by Peter Cole, Yahya Hijazi, and Gabriel Levin




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image via deja vu



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Monday, December 17, 2012


 http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p1fDpt0cNCI/TMMXiWHdisI/AAAAAAAADjg/Pu8QIWHxMo0/s1600/rain_clouds.jpg



1.

The cloud is free only
to go with the wind.

The rain is free
only in falling.

The water is free only
in its gathering together,

in its downward courses,
in its rising into the air.

2.

In law is rest
if you love the law,

if you enter, singing, into it
as water in its descent.


3.
Or song is truest law,
and you must enter singing;
it has no other entrance.

It is the great chorus
of parts. The only outlawry
is in division.

4.
Whatever is singing
is found, awaiting the return
of whatever is lost.

5.
Meet us in the air
over the water,
sing the swallows.

Meet me, meet me,
the redbird sings,
here here here here.


–Wendell Berry




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Sunday, December 16, 2012

water is another matter


mpdrolet:

   João Miranda
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Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble
pricked and the green thread
nibbled away, the petal fell, falling
until the only flower was the falling itself.

Water is another matter,
has no direction but its own bright grace,
runs through all imaginable colors,
takes limpid lessons
from stone,
and in those functionings plays out
the unrealized ambitions of the foam.


Pablo Neruda







image via vivre !



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Saturday, December 15, 2012

her head


 

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Near Ekuvukeni,
in Natal, South Africa,
a woman carries water on her head.
After a year of drought,
when one child in three is at risk of death,
she returns from a distant well,
carrying water on her head.
The pumpkins are gone,
the tomatoes withered,
yet the woman carries water on her head.
The cattle kraals are empty,
the goats gaunt-
no milk now for children,
but she is carrying water on her head.
 
The engineers have reversed the river:
those with power can keep their power,
but one woman is carrying water on her head.
In the homelands, where the dusty crowds
watch the empty roads for water trucks,
one woman trusts herself with treasure,
and carries water on her head.
 
The sun does not dissuade her,
not the dried earth that blows against her,
as she carries the water on her head.
In a huge and dirty pail,
with an idle handle,
resting on a narrow can,
this woman is carrying water on her head.
 
This woman, who girds her neck
with safety pins, this one
who carries water on her head,
trusts her own head to bring to her people
what they need now
between life and death:
She is carrying them water on her head. 

Joan Murray


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Friday, December 14, 2012

listen




 

 

 


 



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via deja vu




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Monday, December 10, 2012





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You are a digital bioholographic precipitation, crystallization,
miraculous manifestation, of Divine frequency vibrations,
coming out of Water. 
Get it? 

You are the music, echoing universally and eternally
hydrosonically!  


Dr. Leonard Horowitz




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Sunday, December 9, 2012

The Truth




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There is no water in oxygen, no water in hydrogen:
it comes bubbling fresh from the imagination of the living God,
rushing from under the great white throne of the glacier. 
The very thought of it makes one gasp with an elemental
joy no metaphysician can analyse. 
The water itself, that dances, and sings, and slakes
the wonderful thirst--
symbol and picture of that draught for
which the woman of Samaria made her prayer to Jesus--
 
this lovely thing itself, whose very wetness
is a delight to every inch of the human body in its embrace-- 
this live thing which, if I might, I would have running through
my room, yea, babbling along my table--
 
this water is its own self, its own truth,
and is therein a truth of God.
 

George Macdonald (1824-1905)
Unspoken Sermons, Third Series


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image via deja vu



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Wednesday, December 5, 2012

fluent



 


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I would love to live
Like a river flows

Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.

John O'Donohue 


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© John O'Donohue
image: Gregory Colbert



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Sunday, December 2, 2012

Tide of Voices




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Water must flood

the mind, as in certain diseases, the walls
between the cells of memory dissolve, blur
into a single stream of voices and faces. 
I don’t know any more about this river or if

it can be cleaned of its tender and broken histories—
a tide of voices.

And this is how the dead
rise to us, transformed: wet and singing,
the tide of voices pearling in our hands.

 

Lynda Hull


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image via deja vu




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Thursday, November 29, 2012



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Rivers are roads which move, 
and which carry us whither we desire to go.


 
Blaise Pascal (1623-1662)
 





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Tuesday, November 27, 2012




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Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy?
 
Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove?
 
Surely all this is not without meaning.
 
And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus,
who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned.
 
But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans.
 
It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life;
and this is the key to it all.


Herman Melville
Moby-Dick, 1851



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Monday, November 26, 2012





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There are different wells within your heart.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far too deep for that.


In one well
You have just a few precious cups of water.


That “love” is literally something of yourself.
It can grow as slow as a diamond
If it is lost.


Your love
Should never be offered to the mouth of a
Stranger,

Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.


There are different wells within us.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far, far too deep
For that.


–Hafiz
translated by Daniel Ladinsky




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image via larger loves




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Sunday, November 25, 2012




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I want to be like water. 

I want to slip through fingers,
but hold up a ship.



Michelle Williams



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image via deja vu



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Thursday, November 22, 2012

free




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From birth, man carries the weight of
gravity on his shoulders.

He is bolted to earth.

But man has only to sink beneath the surface
and he is free.


–Jacques Cousteau



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