Claded in Sky

Love said to me; "Be transparent for Me,

        Live a life of My transparancy

    For with this style, you are a witness,

        My glow will sparkle from you."

   

    From me, "Oh! I wish I could,

       But how could I survive?

    Don't you see; my sins I must hide,

        Let others see, Oh, no!

    My human nature says; hide in my house,

       Hide in my clothes and speech."

   

     Love says, "Know you not,

        On the cross before all,

    I was naked, whipped and left to die,   

        How transparent is that?

    Can you not be

        As transparent as I?

    

    Remember it is my spiritual nature

        That will glow,

    Not your human nature."

        From me, "Oh, show me

    The way to sparkle

        A transparent beacon for you to others."

 

    By Frank E. Henrich



There is a time for everything??!

The Phiolosopher is mistaken to say "there is a time for everything." This time our spring tree is full of flowers in winter. We have managed to upside down even the wisdom of the seer through global warming and climatic changes.

***
A man in his Life
by Yehuda Amichai

A man doesn't have time in his life
to have time for everything.
He doesn't have seasons enough to have
a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes
Was wrong about that.

A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment,
to laugh and cry with the same eyes,
with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them,
to make love in war and war in love.
And to hate and forgive and remember and forget,
to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest
what history
takes years and years to do.

A man doesn't have time.
When he loses he seeks, when he finds
he forgets, when he forgets he loves, when he loves
he begins to forget.

And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur. It tries and it misses,
gets muddled, doesn't learn a thing,
drunk and blind in its pleasures
and its pains.

He will die as figs die in autumn,
Shriveled and full of himself and sweet,
the leaves growing dry on the ground,
the bare branches pointing to the place
where there's time for everything.