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.


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  

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