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“How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.”
― W.B. Yeats
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Every time I look…
beyond my self,
at that which lies around what sometimes feels like an island…
at the view from behind,
this house…
this place where I stand now…
I wasn’t always standing here,
I didn’t always see what I see now…
how quickly what is new becomes what is not so new and soon won’t perhaps be seen at all because it has been seen too many times and the eyes no longer see it.
But once in awhile the eyes see what is old anew…
perhaps that’s why we repeat ourselves,
we’re waiting for that moment when we view the past from the perspective of a present which has given us lenses to see more than we saw before…
and maybe this time when we tell the same old story, it won’t be the same anymore.
I don’t think it ever is… 😉
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The only thing which stays the same is the word ‘same’… and that will probably change too eventually 😉
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How beautiful!! Both the photo and the text. I found it very poetic and inspiring. I have had some thoughts about myself lately, can I be someone new, do I have to be this old self, or can I see myself with new eyes? So this really touched me…. Thanks for sharing! 🙂
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Thank you 🙂
I’m in a contemplative place, both physically and otherwise 🙂
We can always become someone new, but I think we have to pay homage to the old self before we can shift from the old way of being to a new way of being. It’s only by understanding the way that we are that we can see beyond the way that we are to a possible new way of being ourselves as we are. Or something like that.
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This is a beautiful post. 🙂 It somehow reminds me of those rare moments when I’m totally outside of myself, when there’s no ego to interpret for me, when there’s no interfering stuff. It’s just what’s there.
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Thank you 🙂
It’s lovely when all the internal and external noise just stops for awhile and you can just take things in without needing to interpret them based on noise.
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A poetic meditation on perspective, i love your writing style.
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Grazie and Merci ❤
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