Friday, October 01, 2004

in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.

A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth-- that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world may still know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when a man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way-- an honorable way-- in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life, I was able to understand the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory."

[Viktor Frankl]

beautiful, almost melodious prose, part of my daily bread.

4 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

the anonymous commentator returns... sorry to barge right into your daily bread, but perhaps all this prose and poetry is too romanticised? check out post-modernism... it is the red pill that precedes the bread.

12:14 AM  
Blogger happypill said...

erm welcome back? haha i just happen to enjoy romantic poetry and prose. pity there. :) and no i didn't quite get that matrix reference. i haven't watched any of the matrix movies. unless it isn't a matrix reference. you still haven't dropped me clues on who you are!

5:52 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

And my contribution to romantic poetry and prose... :D

The More Loving One

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

W. H. Auden

8:32 PM  
Blogger happypill said...

i like auden. love william butler yeats too! :) haha what happened to post-modernism? beat poetry can be quite interesting too.

11:05 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home