Thursday, February 28, 2008



He who binds to himself a joy
Does the wingéd life destroy
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sunrise.

William Blake, 1800

It is only natural, I suppose, to wish to grab hold of the joyous moments of our lives. The shining hours seem all too brief when laid against the everyday hours, the darker hours. We wish to make the most of the golden moments and the first instinct is to grasp at it, just as an infant grasps at an outstretched finger. But the act of grabbing, binding, only disperses the joy. It slips through our fingers like smoke, and swirls and disperses. So we must fight that first instinct, and allow the joy to come into our lives and pass out of our lives on its own schedule. Relish it, cherish it, never take it for granted. For that way, we can keep the memory within us, pure and radiant, without regret, without shame. And the memory of the joy is enough to sustain us until the next shining hour is upon us again.

1 comment:

lizardrinking said...

very Buddhist of you and Blake. I like that poem, but Blake was able to live his very many visions, I think.