Dear Maestro of
the four quartets,
In my beginning
is my end. I am here or there or elsewhere is my beginning.
All is always
now. Desire is movement and love is unmoving. The poetry does not matter and
wisdom is of humility. Humility is endless.
I see between two worlds streets I never
thought I should revisit. The river is within us, the sea is all about us and
between two waves of the sea, a distant shore. That is where we/I start.
We die with
the dying and we are born with the dead. Life is a pattern of timeless moments:
every moment is new and shocking. Love is the unfamiliar name and that is where
we start from. We descend lower into the world of perpetual solitude an
abstraction. Shall we follow into our first world? The turning world?
At the still
point of the turning world, time past and time future allow but a little
consciousness. All time is unredeemable. There is a time for building and a
time for living but, as we grow older, the world becomes stranger. As one
becomes older, the past has another pattern and ceases to be a mere pattern.
The future is a faded song and the time of death is every moment - the moment
in and out of time.
Only through
time is time conquered.
There is yet
faith. There is only the trying, so each venture is a new beginning. We must go
through the way in which we are not. There is no end but only addition. The
future is a faded song and the right action is freedom.
All shall be
well because we have gone on trying. The end is where we start from.
My dear maestro,
in my end is my beginning.
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