Sunday, August 7, 2011

here inside my heart


This morning we skipped church in favor of more sleep and marriage upkeep. On the way to the bakery we saw our neighbor squatting down by a tree with his camera. He was busily photographing a cicada emerging from his shell. In the early stages yet, the cicada looked like a little green shrimp back-bending his way into adulthood. About a foot away the lovely creature above had fully emerged and was drying his lacy wings. My grandmother used to keep the shells and send them to us in film canisters, but I'd never seen the miracle I saw today.

The first day of rehearsal I had a beautiful chat with a couple of my fellows about religion. It's rare under most circumstances to have a beautiful chat about religion with anyone, let alone actors, but we chatted our hearts full. I talked a bit about how moved I get by the glory of nature and my new friend sent me this gorgeous poem.

I feel truly blessed today. By everything.

+++

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking out in my heart.
Along which secret aqueduct, Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life that I have never drunk?

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive, here, inside my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
and sweet honey from my old failures.

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had here inside my heart.

Antonio Machado

5 comments:

  1. Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem and your beautiful day! This is definitely a poem I will pass along!

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  2. This is beautiful. In El Salvador, the chicharras (cicadas) come out in late February and stick around for a couple of months, singing. Since this timeline generally overlaps with Lent and the anniversary of Oscar Romero's assassination (and because it's pretty hard to ignore their wonderful chorus!), they become a really important part of the rural wildlife early in the year. Their songs accompany the people's songs of commemoration and resistance.

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  3. My God, what a stunning image. I've always loved their singing. Lilacs, day lilies and cicada song are my Minneapolis summer.

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  4. I loved this poem years ago and had forgotten all about it. Thank you! It's gorgeous.

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