All things pass

Surreal_Paintings_by_Vladimir_Kush_142

All  things  pass

Everything passes, all things seem
As insubstantial as a dream.
Time’s shimmering cities rise and fall
Like passing shadows on a wall.

See the world golden at high prime,
Suns and moons of the olden time!
Swallowed in darkness, lost forever
Love and the loved one and the lover.

Whirled away by time’s chill wind
Holy saints and all who sinned—
The laugh, the kiss, the shining eye,
Friend and foe and passer-by.

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Lasha Darkmoon

Dr Lasha Darkmoon (b.1978) is an Anglo-American ex-academic with higher degrees in Classics whose political articles and poems have been translated into several languages. Most of her political essays can be found at The Occidental Observer and The TruthSeeker. Her own website, Darkmoon.me, is now within the top 1 percent of websites in the world according to the Alexa ranking system.

5 thoughts on “All things pass

  1. Very nice photo.
    so much to see in such a compact expression!

    As I slowed my mind to see, the following arose, as it often does..

    “Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, while the birds sang around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time. I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been. They were not time subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance. I realized what the Orientals mean by contemplation and the forsaking of works.”

    “Depend upon it that, rude and careless as I am, I would fain practice the yoga faithfully . . . ‘The yogi, absorbed in contemplation, contributes in his degree to creation: he breathes a divine perfume, he hears wonderful things. Divine forms traverse him without tearing him, and, united to the nature which is proper to him, he goes, he acts as animating original matter.’ To some extent, and at rare intervals even I am a yogi.”

    -Thoreau

    “united to the nature which is proper to him”

    How profound is this simple truth?

    1. Many thanks for your kind words. I wrote that poem for my mother on her death bed, many years ago, slipping it into her prayer book when she wasn’t looking. I think she was asleep. After her death, my brother sent me her prayer book as a memento. My poem was still there, tucked between the pages. It was stained with her tears.

  2. How very poetic you are, dear Lady.

    Always evinced through your play and jest, measured passion and soft heart.

    Thank you for sharing with me this precious memory..
    All the worlds in all the universes in all of creation are contained in our tears.

    Best of health and all success to you!

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