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Song of the Rain

Kahlil Gibran

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        I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven by the gods.

Nature then takes me, to adorn her fields and valleys.

I am beautiful pearls,

Plucked from the crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn to embellish the gardens.

When I cry the hills laugh;

When I humble myself the flowers rejoice;

When I bow, all things are elated.

The field and the cloud are lovers

And between them I am a messenger of mercy.

I quench the thirst of one;

I cure the ailment of the other.

The voice of thunder declares my arrival;

The rainbow announces my departure.

I am like earthly life,

Which begins at the feet of the mad elements

And ends under the upraised wings of death.

I emerge from the heard of the sea

Soar with the breeze.

When I see a field in need,

I descend and embrace the flowers and the trees in a million little ways.

I touch gently at the windows with my soft fingers,

And my announcement is a welcome song all can hear

But only the sensitive can understand.

The heat in the air gives birth to me,

But in turn I kill it,

As woman overcomes man with the strength she takes from him.

I am the sigh of the sea;

The laughter of the field;

The tears of heaven.

So with love –

Sighs from the deep sea of affection;

Laughter from the colourful field of the spirit;

Tears from the endless heaven of memories.

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Joan of Arc

I know this now. Every man gives his life for what he believes. Every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing yet they give their lives to that little or nothing. One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. And then it is gone. But to sacrifice what you are and live without belief, that's more terrible than dying.--

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Beannacht

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

John O'Donohue, Echoes of Memory