blink and you'll miss it
Dec. 18th, 2003 11:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
incandescensSo . . . off tomorrow to Guernsey, back Sunday evening. Do they have any cybercafes on Guernsey? We shall see. Probably.
Lalin, a friend from work, came round this evening and had a look at my dvd/tv/video set. Everything is now working very smoothly indeed. (Okay, a couple of points are a little fuzzy, but the television is an old one.) Whee! Now I just have to leave it all alone (or the DVD part, at least) till Christmas. Behold my conscious virtue.
My sister is home, and has just finished decorating the Christmas tree. (Excellent; better her than me.) It's next to the wall directly between the doorways to the study where I'm now sitting and typing, and to my bedroom. Imagine, if you will, me taking a careful step out round said highly decorated tree. Every year I have nightmares that this time I'm going to bump into it and knock it over, which would be . . . bad.
(It's odd to hear my sister's voice through the wall. I'm not used to voices other than my parents' at this time of night.)
---
The Rabbi’s Song
(2 Samuel xiv, 14.)
IF THOUGHT can reach to Heaven,
On Heaven let it dwell,
For fear thy Thought be given
Like power to reach to Hell.
For fear the desolation
And darkness of thy mind
Perplex an habitation
Which thou hast left behind.
Let nothing linger after—
No whimpering ghost remain,
In wall, or beam, or rafter,
Of any hate or pain.
Cleanse and call home thy spirit,
Deny her leave to cast,
On aught thy heirs inherit,
The shadow of her past.
For think, in all thy sadness,
What road our griefs may take;
Whose brain reflect our madness,
Or whom our terrors shake:
For think, lest any languish
By cause of thy distress—
The arrows of our anguish
Fly farther than we guess.
Our lives, our tears, as water,
Are spilled upon the ground;
God giveth no man quarter,
Yet God a means hath found,
Though faith and hope have vanished,
And even love grows dim—
A means whereby His banished
Be not expelled from Him!
-- Rudyard Kipling
Lalin, a friend from work, came round this evening and had a look at my dvd/tv/video set. Everything is now working very smoothly indeed. (Okay, a couple of points are a little fuzzy, but the television is an old one.) Whee! Now I just have to leave it all alone (or the DVD part, at least) till Christmas. Behold my conscious virtue.
My sister is home, and has just finished decorating the Christmas tree. (Excellent; better her than me.) It's next to the wall directly between the doorways to the study where I'm now sitting and typing, and to my bedroom. Imagine, if you will, me taking a careful step out round said highly decorated tree. Every year I have nightmares that this time I'm going to bump into it and knock it over, which would be . . . bad.
(It's odd to hear my sister's voice through the wall. I'm not used to voices other than my parents' at this time of night.)
---
The Rabbi’s Song
(2 Samuel xiv, 14.)
IF THOUGHT can reach to Heaven,
On Heaven let it dwell,
For fear thy Thought be given
Like power to reach to Hell.
For fear the desolation
And darkness of thy mind
Perplex an habitation
Which thou hast left behind.
Let nothing linger after—
No whimpering ghost remain,
In wall, or beam, or rafter,
Of any hate or pain.
Cleanse and call home thy spirit,
Deny her leave to cast,
On aught thy heirs inherit,
The shadow of her past.
For think, in all thy sadness,
What road our griefs may take;
Whose brain reflect our madness,
Or whom our terrors shake:
For think, lest any languish
By cause of thy distress—
The arrows of our anguish
Fly farther than we guess.
Our lives, our tears, as water,
Are spilled upon the ground;
God giveth no man quarter,
Yet God a means hath found,
Though faith and hope have vanished,
And even love grows dim—
A means whereby His banished
Be not expelled from Him!
-- Rudyard Kipling
