brilliance

The most beautiful people are the seekers of truth. Interesting, often melancholy, worth being friends with, I believe. I’d dare say the best kind are the seekers, who haven’t found yet. Because they will keep seeking and on their way, they find many treasures. To know them means you’ll get to catch glimpses once in a while. Glimpses that inspire to also be a seeker. The seekers suffer, because they struggle to find rest. Yet suffering brings beauty, the way a pearl is formed from the irritation inside a shell and the way a diamond is cut in shape to be perfected.

I came to these thoughts after checking out the Space of Herman van Veen, a great Dutch artist.

a drop (part of the thought)

One drop
Meaningless
Can it make the ocean more wet?

One tear
In your eye
Means you haven't forgotten how to cry

One touch
Meaningless
Not to one lost in loneliness

One word
Spoken in love
Means you were not forgotten

een druppel

Een druppel

Op een hete plaat

Niet de moeite waard

Verdampt

Een druppel

In een bewogen oog

Wordt een stille traan

Ontroerd

Een druppel

Op een droge wang

Voor ’t eerst weer aangeraakt

Ontmoet

Een druppel

Begint een regenvloed

Watert woestijnen

Opgebloeid

Zoals een druppel bloed van ‘t kruis

Die druppel gaf nieuw leven

the bliss of solitude (such a mellow post!)

Daffodils
By William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

It had to happen one day, that this poem would make an appearance on my blog. My brother, Luke, will understand why. We were forced to memorize the entire thing at school on board Logos 2 when we were something like 13 and 11 years old. I'm glad though.

We have since made our own variations to this poem, combined with poetry from "The Scarlet Pimpernel". Our variation had little to do with daffodils, but Luke had a way of proclaiming it in a very Wordsworth-like manner (I think so anyway, even though we do not have recordings of Wordsworth reading any of his poems).

The only line I've always remembered from this poem is: "For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood". I like the pensive moods when these memories of our poetry sessions flash upon my inward eye.

The boy (my bro) is getting married soon and the time is long gone when we had the chance to hang out and write rediculous poetry. We are the same people though and it's good to know that we'll have opportunity to watch each other go through life. I'm proud of him as I watch him from a distance. I look forward to meeting up and reminiscing. It's good to know, after a great many goodbyes, that some people are yours to keep.

THAT my heart with pleasure fills...