"… only perchance remembrance breaks the heart"

You won’t find that phrase in any Internet search engine – at least not until I post this page. You won’t find it in a book in the library, or on a video clip; buried, maybe, in a tattered notebook in some out-of-the-way cottage, hidden in an attic box or gathering dust under a bed, with pages as weathered as last season’s leaves. Probably the ink will have faded, if that notebook exists, or the pencil-line will have by friction and time been dissipated, so the words once alive in thought will have been undone, like a whisper in the wind.

I was introduced to my first second language in seventh grade, at a particularly progressive time in a particularly progressive school district in Minnesota, where our monoglot heritage – an assortment of Northern European languages cast off, to be replaced by a new, common identity – had begun to feel uncomfortably small against the backdrop of a the rapidly expanding world. Since my parents and older siblings had already studied German, I of course chose Spanish, one year, two (Estaba Susana en casa? Sí, estaba, para la gran parte de mil novecientos setenta-y-seis, en la cocina…) before a change in district, a change of heart. Later, there would be German in High School and at University, then accelerated French, a dash of Greek, a dose of Indonesian, a dousing of Portuguese… but that first ear-opening and tongue-thrilling experience, that was the seed from which all the other flowers bloomed.

There is an assumption that we hold as we approach relationship. Or: an assumption that holds us, often so deep inside that it seems to be the fabric of our lives, woven into us, inextricable. Perhaps it arises from our earliest days after birth, when what we need is provided for us: our food, our shelter, our warmth and clothing - for most of us, all provided, after some fashion or another, by our mother and our father. Being nurtured is a “given”.

By heaven and the night star!  And what shall teach thee which is the night star?  The piercing star.  Over every soul there is a watcher…

We find ourselves through an effort of discovery. That we are all born into this life, with years of uncovering to follow, is simple, and fact. The events in which we play part or which come upon us are the mirror, and our senses and our eyes, through the effort of discovery, open to all that is being reflected. Until we find the strength to open and see the good and the bad, until we look and see our failures and our graces, the glass is blank; the name is unwritten; and the night star, your night star, is for you invisible.

Mrs. Rat

Mrs. Rat was a good business woman. She ran a successful vegetable stall by the roadside. It was called “Cosmic Vegetables”. Sometimes she would take the day off, and then hang up a somewhat curious sign which read:

Closed.

We have no mistakes today. This is due to the absence of mismanagement. If you must have mistakes, please go elsewhere. Here no mistakes or mishaps.

For the Cosmos – Amrita Rat.

I find in my readings that many of the experiences I have had, many of the thoughts to which I have been exposed – to which I have exposed myself – along my seeking path, have been spoken before. Some of them in ancient texts, whose context and imagery demand a certain patience and quiet of mind to embrace; others whose proponents are recent, almost contemporaries. These voices have of course fed many seekers and writers, and the most current theories and practices usually owe a great debt to a long lineage of similar travelers, each one standing on the well-lit path of someone who had spoken before.