The Whales are crying out,
O ~ the flocks, the flocks of
seagulls gather, while high
above the clouds are darkening
The Whales are crying out,
it is the rain and not the Sun
that’s driving them away from
their homeland in the Deep Blue
Sea
The Whales are crying out,
their songs echo the craving for
that long forgotten melody
from Stars only to dream about.
The whales are crying out
while I am walking all those
beaches that mingled with the
blood of ages, and I freeze
[O tune, O healing tune I need You]
The Whales are crying out,
but faintly through their pain,
they know one silent sunray
shall suffice to lit their eye,
remebrance of a distant echo,
that distant murmur of horizons dear
the echo of the Promised Land
that Paradise where all in tune
are One
Listen, Listen: that’s why
the Whales are crying out.
Returning from my Summer Course on “Coincidence, Synchronicity, Toeval” in Dordogne, August 2012 see Antillia I got lost on the roads of Normandy (France). I had a look on the roadmap and saw this funny village name: “Risquetout” (= “risk everything”), so I put that in my GPS. Then I noticed it took me to Route Départementale 242 (D242), and since I found out that this number is a powerful Coincidence generator (read the story here in Dutch: “242 Poëzie van het Toeval“) I decided to drive this road from beginning to end, starting in Le Sap and finishing in Trun, 26 km further on. Soon I found out that this road was the scene of a heavy battle during World War 2, remembered as “The Battle of Hill 262” read about what happened here, how many lives were lost: Hill 262
To illustrate how devastating this fight was and how much blood colored this hill a quote from General Eisenhower: “no other battlefield presented such a horrible sight of death, hell, and total destruction…”.
At the moment I was driving along this road, I wasn’t aware of its history. Nevertheless, during this 26 km, I took pictures of all road signs. I can imagine for the soldiers back then they were more than that: such a sign could mean the road to heaven or hell. Driving along the road I suddenly noticed that my car’s odometer showed 46,242km, see at 02:42 so I stopped, a little later I arrived at the “Couloir De La Mort” (“Corridor Of Death”) see at 03:00 . At 01:45 I found a rememberance sign, showing the birthday of my mother: at the time of the Flagofficer’s death she turned 25.
To accompany the pictures I chose a song from the Frisian (Netherlands) singer/songwriter Nynke Laverman: “De Ûntdekker” (= “the explorer, discoverer, pioneer”) because I thought rhythm, composition & lyrics fitted the images and the history of this location.
Nynke’s site: Nynke Laverman
That afternoon will stay with me, as if it were that all who fought here, all who died, all who were wounded, all who survived cried out: NO MORE…. and that’s what I hear too in Nynke’s powerful, yet vulnerable song. Ave. Pax Tibi.
Here the English version of Lynke’s lyrics (from her site)
THE DISCOVERER
my blackened feet are marching
along the rim of the crater
my blackened feet are marching
along the rim of the world
my blackened feet are marching
along the rim of the crater
my blackened feet are marching
and I won’t go home just yet
I do not know where I am
I do not know what’s coming
but my feet thump onwards
along the rim of the crater
I want to know who I am
in every corner of the world
I won’t go home just yet
I want to know
I am the discoverer
of the great unknown in me
I am the discoverer
my tracks are fresh
each day I am new
my blackened feet are marching
along the rim of the crater
my blackened feet are marching
along the rim of the world
I change with the landscape
I merge with the climates
I blend in with each colour
strike a chord in every speech
I churn with the rivers
I side with metropolises
let myself be slain by the sun
let myself be filled by the rain
my blackened feet are marching
along the rim of the crater
my blackened feet are marching
and I won’t go home just yet
in deserts I boil sand
and drink tea with scorpions
I swim as supple as snakes
passing under cool rocks
in the icescape I am bride
and sleep in a white suite
on the biggest four-poster bed
I sing songs of crystal
The children come home,
and morning sun is weeping,
the children come home,
their hopes and dreams are sleeping
The children come home,
no drivers for this flock
the children come home
no lead, just silent shock
The children come home,
and Mother Earth is crying,
the children come home,
Spring is not meant to die in
The children come home,
blue skies are turning red,
the children come home,
this Summer’s breath is dead
The children come home,
how barren their aligning,
the children come home,
the clouds wear silver lining
The children come home,
the future now bereft,
the children come home,
no wishing stars are left
The children come home,
and Winter far off calling
the children come home,
no snow for them to crawl in
My child is coming home,
there is no room to fill
my child is coming home,
no cure, no wonder pill
My child, my love, my dear,
where is it you are roaming?
O Mommy, Daddy, hear:
your heartbeat’s my soul’s homing
The children fly home,
embrace their broken wing,
the children are home,
their song the church bells sing
The children stay home,
now morning sun is sleeping
the children rest home,
their dreams in our safekeeping.
(Music: Eric Satie ~ “Gnosienne” performed by Wayne McEvilly ~ check out his website for his inspiring work to bring classical music to children: http://www.waynemcevilly.com )
And silence now is overwhelming… #buscrash #Sierre
And silence now is overwhelming, still I am carried,
and to my wings your breath is life supporting,
even in deepest darkness your lighthouse penetrates
and should it be the sun revoked its rays,
or oceans’ waves were nevermore to kiss the sandy beach,
I know a harbour there, the homeland of my soul ~
beyond all words there is your kingdom,
beyond my grief there is your answer:
Seasons ~ Ebb ~ Flow
Bride and Groom
Ocean ~ Desert
Star and Moon
Life ~ Death ~ Man ~Beast
Day of Doom
All Are Mastered by
The Womb
“Every midwife knows that not until a mother’s womb softens in the pain of labor will a way unfold and the infant find that opening through which it can be born. O my friend, there is treasure in your heart, and it is heavy with child. Listen! All the awakened ones, like trusted midwives are saying to you, Welcome this pain. Let it open the dark passageway of grace.”
(italics:) Rumi
(I found the Rumi poem @ Diane Walker’s blog, pay a visit there!)
Boutman 