takings from T.S. Eliot’s, Little Gidding

chère douce Paris, je reviendrai un jour

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We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

 

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make and end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.

For last words belong to last years language

And next years words await another voice.

 

But the passage now presents no hindrance

To the spirit unappeased and peregrine.

Between two worlds become much like each other.

So i find words i never thought to speak.

the journey

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice—

though the whole house began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

‘Mend my life!’

each voice cried.

But you didn’t stop.

 

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations—

through their melancholy

was terrible.It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

 

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

though the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice,

which you slowly

recognised as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do–determined to save

the only life you could save.

 

-Mary Oliver