Forever Young : Meeting the Spirit of our Youth

 

My 75-year-old self and my 12-year-old self

have decided to come together in this guy,

who says "Call me Yogananda"

Rudolf Steiner:  "For when a man is face to face with the Spirit of his own Youth — and such a thing is always possible — then he gives something of his riper understanding to the childlike ideas of the Spirit of his Youth, and at the same time the Spirit of his Youth gives something of his freshness, his childlikeness, to what the man of older years possesses."

"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine."
— Proverbs 17:22

Goethe:  "To what avail is all expenditure and labor of suns and planets and moons, of stars and galaxies, of comets and of nebulae, and of completed and still growing worlds, if not at last a happy man rejoices in his existence?”

Happy 81st, Bob!

"If one observes how karma works itself out, it may be said from the human side that this living out of karma can only be described as a kind of hunger and its satisfaction."  — Rudolf Steiner

Every morning in my mind's eye I meet with my 12-year-old self. Together we view our life: the unfolding glory of the rose of expiation; together, as one, we swoon in gratitude. 

"You should be leading lives of joy —  deep inner joy in the truth! There is nothing in the world more delightful, nothing more fascinating, than the experience of truth."  — Rudolf Steiner

"Rejoice in the Lord always: and again I say, Rejoice."  — Philippians 4:4

"Rejoice, and be exceeding glad"  — Matthew 5:12

"A noiseless patient spider" by Walt Whitman

A noiseless patient spider,

I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,

Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,

It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,

Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,

Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,

Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,

Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,

Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

 

"All things were made by him" — John 1:3

"Es ist Ich"

"The light of the body is the eye:

if therefore thine eye be single,

thy whole body shall be full of light."

— Matthew 6:22

Rudolf Steiner: "In older languages the self was not specifically designated, for it was contained within the verb. The ‘I’ was not directly mentioned. The verb was used to show what one was doing, and this was what indicated that one was speaking about oneself. There was no name for the self. It only came about in later times that the human being gave his self a name, and in our German language that name [ich] contains the initials of Jesus Christ, which is an important symbolic fact." [Iesus CHristus: ICH]

At-one-ment

Washed in the Blood of the Lamb are We

Awash in a Sonburst Sea

You—Love—and I—Love—and Love Divine:

We are the Trinity

You—Love—and I—We are One-Two-Three

Twining Eternally

Two—Yes—and One—Yes—and also Three:

One Dual Trinity

Radiant Calvary

Ultimate Mystery

Related posts:

https://martyrion.blogspot.com/2022/05/life-is-unfolding-glory-of-rose-of.html

https://martyrion.blogspot.com/2022/05/anthroposophy-elixir-of-life_24.html

https://martyrion.blogspot.com/2019/06/a-merry-heart-doeth-good-like-medicine.html

Source of the first Steiner quote: 1/5/1924, Rosicrucianism and Modern Initiation, p. 31 GA 233a

My Lost Youth

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

Often I think of the beautiful town

      That is seated by the sea;

Often in thought go up and down

The pleasant streets of that dear old town,

      And my youth comes back to me.

            And a verse of a Lapland song

            Is haunting my memory still:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,

      And catch, in sudden gleams,

The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,

And islands that were the Hesperides

      Of all my boyish dreams.

            And the burden of that old song,

            It murmurs and whispers still:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the slips,

      And the sea-tides tossing free;

And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,

And the beauty and mystery of the ships,

      And the magic of the sea.

            And the voice of that wayward song

            Is singing and saying still:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

      And the fort upon the hill;

The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,

The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,

      And the bugle wild and shrill.

            And the music of that old song

            Throbs in my memory still:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea-fight far away,

      How it thundered o'er the tide!

And the dead captains, as they lay

In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay,

      Where they in battle died.

            And the sound of that mournful song

            Goes through me with a thrill:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,

      The shadows of Deering's Woods;

And the friendships old and the early loves

Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves

      In quiet neighborhoods.

            And the verse of that sweet old song,

            It flutters and murmurs still:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart

      Across the school-boy's brain;

The song and the silence in the heart,

That in part are prophecies, and in part

      Are longings wild and vain.

            And the voice of that fitful song

            Sings on, and is never still:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;

      There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

      And a mist before the eye.

            And the words of that fatal song

            Come over me like a chill:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

      When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,

      As they balance up and down,

            Are singing the beautiful song,

            Are sighing and whispering still:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,

      And with joy that is almost pain

My heart goes back to wander there,

And among the dreams of the days that were,

      I find my lost youth again.

            And the strange and beautiful song,

            The groves are repeating it still:

      "A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

 

and he walks with me and he talks with me

and he tells me I am his own

and the joy we share

as we tarry there

none other has ever known