Category Archives: love

The Moon and the Sea.

Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

Last week I happened to be sitting at the computer when my friend Rosemary sent me a beautiful photo of the copper-colored moon. It was a picture her son had just then taken in Idaho, with the aid of a telescope, of the partial eclipse. I had not known about the eclipse until that moment, so I headed out the front door to see what I could see. I think there was a little cloud cover — or maybe it was just the distance making the image a bit foggy. In any case I could definitely see that the moon was leaving the umbra. That was fun!

This poem is about more common lunar events, and their effect on the ocean. It is one that has been waiting in my drafts folder for some time; after my viewing of that “relationship drama” in the sky, it seems a good time to publish it. I want to make some further comment, because the poem moves me so deeply. But — it seems that’s all I can tell you. It is a whole and complete thing, in every way.

A SONNET OF THE MOON

Look how the pale Queen of the silent night
Doth cause the Ocean to attend upon her,
And he, as long as she is in his sight,
With his full tide is ready her to honor.

But when the silver waggon of the Moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are the sovereign of my heart
Have all my joys attending on your will,
My joys low-ebbing when you do depart,
When you return their tide my heart doth fill.

So as you come, and as you do depart,
Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.

-Charles Best

Winslow Homer, Moonlight

 

 

Not the earthquake, but the earth.

The world will never starve for want of wonders, but for want of wonder. We should always endeavor to wonder at the permanent thing, not at the mere exception. We should be startled by the sun, and not by the eclipse. We should wonder less at the earthquake, and wonder more at the earth. What was wonderful about childhood is that anything in it was a wonder. It was not merely a world full of miracles; it was a miraculous world. Somehow we must love the world without being worldly.

-G.K. Chesterton, Tremendous Trifles

Camille Pissarro, Woman Digging

I have nothing belonging to me.

“What do I need? I need nothing on earth, except for the indispensable. What do I need? I need the Lord, I need His grace, His kingdom within me. On earth, the place of my pilgrimage, my temporary instruction, I have nothing belonging to me: everything is God’s, everything is transitory, indicated for temporary use. Whatever I have in excess belongs not to me, but to my poorer brothers.

“What do I need? I need true, Christian, living, active love. I need a loving heart, compassion for my neighbors, I need to feel joy at their happiness and well-being, sorrow during their sorrows and sicknesses, compassion for their sins, infirmities, disorders, deficiencies, misfortunes, poverty. I need warm, sincere sympathy for them in all the circumstances of their lives, to rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep.”

My Life in Christ: The Spiritual Journals of St John of Kronstadt by Ivan Ilyich Sergiev

St. John of Kronstadt was a beloved priest and spiritual father in the latter half of the 19th century, and into the 20th. His pastoral care and guidance in the spiritual life did much to prepare his flock for the sufferings they were to endure in the coming decades. He was born in 1829 and died in 1909. If you want to read more about him, here is a long article with his life story and many more quotes revealing his ministry of charity and encouragement: “Saint John of Kronstadt.”

Here is one paragraph from the article, to give you a glimpse of the character of this pastor:

“How did he manage to do it all? He had the ability – acquired, no doubt, by prayer and patience – to snatch a short period of deep sleep wherever and whenever he got the chance; and he had a great love of the early morning hours for prayer and meditation, but his early morning walks in his garden were soon discovered, and then – farewell to solitude! Often, indeed, he could barely save half-an-hour for his own prayers. On the rare occasions when he was able to pass a whole day in Kronstadt he liked to walk in the streets toward midnight, praying and meditating: if he saw a light, however, he would knock – often to comfort someone ill or dying, but just as ready to join in laughter and cheerful conversation, if that should be what he found. It is not surprising that he had moments of depression through sheer fatigue; he had been beset in the same way in his student days, then later he overcame them, as he overcame all, as he achieved all, by prayer and, above all, by devout reception of the holy communion.”

Cathedral of St Andrew in Kronstadt – destroyed in Soviet times.

 

As though they wished to stay.

WE HAVE NOT LONG TO LOVE

We have not long to love.
Light does not stay.
The tender things are those
we fold away.
Coarse fabrics are the ones
for common wear.
In silence I have watched you
comb your hair.
Intimate the silence,
dim and warm.
I could but did not, reach
to touch your arm.
I could, but do not, break
that which is still.
(Almost the faintest whisper
would be shrill.)
So moments pass as though
they wished to stay.
We have not long to love.
A night. A day….

-Tennessee Williams

Edgar Degas, Woman Combing Her Hair