IF thou came by water Now, virgin, thou go by land. That despite my sin God for thee wipes away and dries. Conversations, dances, song. All, virgin celebrate thee that though they feel thy ire, with thy visit they rejoice. Everyone joyfully crying They follow thee, sacred Queen, Making many promises to the sun to make it halt... Good journey my lady.
Our lady Guadalupe known as The liberator of waters, they began to call her having a special relationship with that special creature, water... No one better than her to calm the fury of this element... excerpt from Guadalupe by Carla Zarebska
THE THATCHED HOUSE UNROOFED BY AN AUTUMN GALE
BY TU FU
IT is the Eighth Month, the very height of Autumn.
The wind rages and roars.
It tears off three layers of my grass-roof.
The thatch flies – it crosses the river – it is scattered about in the open spaces by the river.
High-flying, it hangs, tangled and floating, from the tops of forest trees;
Low-flying, it whirls – turns – and sinks into the hollows of the marsh.
The swarm of small boys from the South Village laugh at me because I am old and feeble.
How dare they act like thieves and robbers before my face,
Openly seizing my thatch and running into my bamboo grove?
My lips are scorched, my mouth dry, I scream at them, but to no purpose.
I return, leaning on my staff. I sigh and breathe heavily.
Presently, of a sudden, the wind ceases. The clouds are the colour of ink.
The Autumn sky is endless – endless – stretching toward dusk and night.
My old cotton quilt is as cold as iron;
My restless son sleeps a troubled sleep, his moving foot tears the quilt.
Over the head of the bed is a leak. Not a place is dry.
The rain streams and stands like hemp – there is no break in its falling.
Since this misery and confusion, I have scarcely slept or dozed.
All the long night, I am soaking wet. When will the light begin to sift in?
If one could have a great house of one thousand, ten thousand rooms –
A great shelter where all the Empire's shivering scholars could have happy faces –
Not moved by wind or rain, solid as a mountain –
Alas! When shall I see that house standing before my eyes?
Then, although my own hut were destroyed, although I might freeze and die, I should be satisfied.
Tinkers quarrel I went down
With my horse, my soul.
I cried, ‘Who will bid me half a crown?’
From their rowdy bargaining
Not one turned. ‘Soul,’ I prayed,
‘I have hawked you through the world
Of Church and State and meanest trade.
But this evening, halter off,
Never again will it go on.
On the south side of ditches
There is grazing of the sun.
No more haggling with the world….’
As I said these words he grew
Wings upon his back. Now I may ride him
Every land my imagination knew.
From Pegasus , by Patrick Kavanaugh
THE World is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, 5
The winds that will be howling at all hours
And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
"As I contemplate the blue sky I am not set over against it as an acosmic subject: I do not possess it in thought, or spread out toward it some idea of blue... I abandon myself to it and plunge into this mystery, it thinks itself within me,"I am the sky itself... drawn together and unified... my consciousness is saturated with the limitless blue."
from Alchemical Psychology, James Hillman