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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 4:46 am 
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The House Of Dust

Quote:
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
But we know that we rose and walked, that after a while
We shall lie down again.

One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;
The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.

He sings of a house he lived in long ago.

It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;
The house you lived in, the house that all of us know.
_Conrad AikenImage

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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 5:38 am 
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Quote:
And we recall, with a gleaming stab of sadness,
Vaguely and incoherently, some dream
Of a world we came from, a world of sun-blue hills . . .
A black wood whispers around us, green eyes gleam;
Someone cries in the forest, and someone kills.

And, growing tired, we turn aside at last,
Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers,
Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb;
Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream
Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.

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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 5:41 am 
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Quote:
The wind shrieks, the wind grieves;
It dashes the leaves on walls, it whirls then again;
And the enormous sleeper vaguely and stupidly dreams
And desires to stir, to resist a ghost of pain.

We reach vague-gesturing hands, we lift our heads,
Hear sounds far off,—and dream, with quivering breath,
Our curious separate ways through life and death.

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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 5:43 am 
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Quote:
I walk in a cloud of wonder; I am glad.
I mingle among the crowds; my heart is pounding;
You do not guess the adventure I have had! . . .
Yet you, too, all have had your dark adventures,
Your sudden adventures, or strange, or sweet . . .
My peril goes out from me, is blown among you.
We loiter, dreaming together, along the street.

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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 5:45 am 
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Quote:
Time is a dream, he thinks, a destroying dream;
It lays great cities in dust, it fills the seas;
It covers the face of beauty, and tumbles walls.

What was this dream we had, a dream of music,
Music that rose from the opening earth like magic
And shook its beauty upon us and died away?

The long cold streets extend once more before us.
The red sun drops, the walls grow grey.
The days, the nights, flow one by one above us,
The hours go silently over our lifted faces,
We are like dreamers who walk beneath a sea.

Beneath high walls we flow in the sun together.
We sleep, we wake, we laugh, we pursue, we flee.

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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 5:47 am 
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The young boy whistles, hurrying down the street,
The young girl hums beneath her breath.
One goes out to beauty, and does not know it.
And one goes out to death.

Quote:
As darkness falls
The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls
Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving,
Moving like music, secret and rich and warm.
How shall we live tonight? Where shall we turn?
To what new light or darkness yearn?

A thousand winding stairs lead down before us;
And one by one in myriads we descend
By lamplit flowered walls, long balustrades,
Through half-lit halls which reach no end.

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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 5:52 am 
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Quote:
Through soundless labyrinths of dream you pass,
Through many doors to the one door of all.
Soon as it's opened we shall hear a music:
Or see a skeleton fall . . .

The music ends. The screen grows dark. We hurry
To go our devious secret ways, forgetting
Those many lives . . . We loved, we laughed, we killed,
We danced in fire, we drowned in a whirl of sea-waves.
The flutes are stilled, and a thousand dreams are stilled.


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PostPosted: Sun Jul 13, 2014 5:48 am 
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I fall asleep and I dream. But part of me is always awake and I watch myself dreaming.

The sun sets at the horizon, night is returning. In my old house darkness is born from objects everywhere; plants, furniture, tapestry. Slowly the shadows lengthen creating a thousand new figures that unite one to the other, as if a part of a diabolic plan.

Not even an hour and the shadows have eaten the entire house, leaving me _ my old house and darkness to keep us company…as in being born the same hour.

In the dark, echo is the master. Every single step I take multiplies to get lost in the endless corridors of the house, creating a sonorous inexistent life. A house too big for only one person.

Even as a child playing hide and seek …when my school friends would come to visit, I would bet of not finding all the nooks and crannies.

I walk through the kitchen out into my playroom, down the main corridor and into the radio room. Attracted by a red glow. There are burning logs in the fireplace.

Getting there I stare at a large framed photo of my parents on the wall. As I look it seems as they come alive and begin to interact with me.

In the picture, for certain they are reflected in great smiles…but the eyes, the mirror of the soul, seem to cry with me.

There is a shadowy figure in front of the burning fireplace and but for the voice I have difficulty recognizing. The crackling of the fire keeps us company.

"I know well that you are no longer a child, and I apologize for worrying about you" He says.

"Don't worry, I know what I am doing" I reply. We look at each other for an instant, and then I break the ice "you know the house is really empty now"

"Well, no, it is you that wants it empty" he says in sadness.

"But you cannot understand…"

"I understand very well…this house, this emptiness…this darkness…is nothing more than a representation of what is inside of you. If you were to bring light within the soul, then all, even this old house, will repurchase life."

I lower my head and try to keep calm. With one hand I lean against the cold walls…doubts…too many doubts…I feel that a part of the emotional chaos inside does not want to leave clinging to my soul.

I leave the radio room slamming the door and head for the rear rooms in rapid steps.

Then a soft voice "So long Dad"

A strong wind begins to blow from the west over the train station making me shiver…in the distance… lightning flashes presage the arrival of a storm…probably one of the many to expect this summer.

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PostPosted: Wed Jul 23, 2014 1:38 pm 
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And my good friend writes me about the train of life
Quote:
At birth we boarded the train and met our parents, and we believe they will always travel on our side.

However, at some station our parents will step down from the train, leaving us on this journey alone.
As time goes by, other people will board the train; and they will be significant i.e. our siblings, friends, children, and even the love of your life.

Many will step down and leave a permanent vacuum. Others will go so unnoticed that we don't realize they vacated their seats.

This train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy, expectations, hellos, goodbyes, and farewells. Success consists of having a good relationship with all passengers requiring that we give the best of ourselves.


The mystery to everyone is: We do not know at which station we ourselves will step down?

So, we must live in the best way, love, forgive, and offer the best of who we are.

It is important to do this because when the time comes for us to step down and leave our seat empty we should leave behind beautiful memories for those who will continue to travel on the train of life.


I wish you a joyful journey on the train of life. Reap success and give lots of love. More importantly, thank God for the journey. Lastly, I thank you for being one of the passengers on my train.

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PostPosted: Fri Aug 15, 2014 4:15 pm 
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“So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion;respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours.

Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life.Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people.Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.

Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend,even a stranger, when in a lonely place.

Show respect to all people and grovel to none. When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living.If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself.

Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision.

When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weepand pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way.Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.”
― Chief Tecumseh

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PostPosted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 1:59 pm 
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"For Sale This Old House" is a great piece of writing. Van nailed the emotion and reality of that situation many years ago. I have been a friend of Van Canna's for over 50 years. I have always known him as a strong fighter and loyal friend. His writing ability is another aspect of his life that is jumping out at us. There is a movie in there I think. When reading "This Old House", my memory of my childhood swept over me. It made me realize what a good childhood I had. Van's early years are quite interesting. Some tough times, but that is when family becomes so important. A mans love of family and friends is of the utmost importance in life. Any man that does not feel that way, isn't much of a man. BEST Art Rabesa

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PostPosted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 2:56 pm 
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Thank you Arthur my good friend.

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PostPosted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 8:55 pm 
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And so in one of the dreams I see my old house as never been sold or renovated after I left it….but as that sacred personal space between the walls of my childhood, mute of any modern sounds yet empty and humid with tears of time …still faithful to the family heir…left behind to age and die…strangely quiet in the darkness of the night …but rich of memories shadows reflected and intertwined upon the walls and ceilings by any glimmer of light intruding from the reveries.

I feel a light summer wind across my face…" Oh, my beloved ones_ how could I have not known that our time together would come and go so quickly" I whispered to the wind. "I have so many questions and no one to ask."

The stars above began to glimmer, the full moon suddenly out from behind dark clouds… providing me with enough 'chiaroscuro' to see where I was going.

I was attracted by delicate sounds from my old garden and decided to pay it a visit.

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PostPosted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 8:59 pm 
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The stairs down from the heavy Iron Gate to the left of my front entrance door, and leading first to the wall of the beloved railroad and next down into the garden was a shambles of broken wood and fallen brick. My breath stopped. I swallowed hard.

A black dog started to bark behind me …. He was pacing nervously back and forth outside the gate I had drawn shut…but he was strangely familiar and friendly…I was not afraid of him…I spoke to him in a soothing voice…his eyes locked into mine he began to whimper….and roll on his back.

A protector of the dead?

The stairs down the garden looked crumbling and sad.

"It looks like you've been empty and neglected a long time," I said, reaching down to run my hand over one of the loose bricks that lay beside the cracked boards on the stairs.

The thought came to me…"maybe I should once more scale the wall of the railroad by grasping the natural stone 'handles' and putting my feet into 'step holes' of the wall carved by my ancestry children as well as I …over time…no what am I doing? I will fall and break my neck"

But, taking a left on the landing, I descended into my old playground. It was filled with tall, green grass. I ran my hand across the top of the thin blades. Then breathed in the sweet smell.

Slowly I stepped to the center of the garden and saw the old remnants of physical workout equipment, tarnished, chipped, rusted. There was a soft creaking from the rusted pile… as in speaking to me softly.

In its time this equipment had produced superb heavy muscled athletes of my father and his brothers…one had become a wrestler, a gymnast and mountain climber, the other a gymnasts and rower.

The youngest of my uncles had been the most promising with Olympic possibilities in gymnastics….but he was cut down by fate at the young age of 18.

I closed my eyes real tight, like I always did when trying to make something come true, and beamed my wish upon a star.

"Make this trip last forever." It was now sunrise…I had been huddled on the crumbling steps and dozed off…

The cawing of a crow jolted me awake…flying out from one of the trees nearby, in the land beyond the palisade on my right just behind the nut tree, the garden still in the heart of the early morning penumbra.

Once I had read in one of my father's books in his library…. that Crows gather together, like family.

That they continue to meet on the same tree limb for generations. My eyes followed the flight of the Crow.

At the far end of the garden ….down below the open sided, covered, long balcony we used as a porch that overlooked the garden and the railroad station far into distance something started to move. Shadows of light and dark shimmered through the air like waves of electricity.

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PostPosted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 9:00 pm 
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It was . . . my long gone family. Gramma, my aunts_ one of whom had died in my bedroom when I was a child and could not understand death…my uncles and some others I didn't even know.

I stood frozen. Unable to move. Watching. Listening. Wondering what this was about. Why is all this happening?

Light drops of rain started to fall from the sky. I could see them gently making their way from the clouds, down to Earth. In the sudden chill coming over me_it finally came…the answer….like crackling thunder.

The voice spoke softly…

"You're right. A part of you has been stuck here. A part of you is us. All of us who settled this land long before you were born. All of us who came after. We've been holding the only part we knew of you, the ten year old, and waiting for you to come back."

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