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Happy Valentine's Day

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Tao Bums,


In a few hours it will be Valentine's Day.


I'd like to wish you all a happy one, and if you don't yet have a valentine, this will remind you that spring is coming and it'd be good to start looking for someone!!



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As much as I loath the materialism and the hypocracy that surrounds St Valentine's Day, I cannot deny that love is something to be celebrated and, Scotty, I applaud you for your intention.


Love is extraordinary. That which enables compassion, that which frees us from our imprisonment to the ego(s), that which makes us truly human.


"Love is the summum of wisdom. Love nourishes itself with love. The Eternal Youth is love." Venerable Master Samael.


And a strange something from the beautiful country of Scotland:


A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns


O my luve's like a red, red rose.

That's newly sprung in June;

O my luve's like a melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.


As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will love thee still, my Dear,

Till a'the seas gang dry.


Till a'the seas gang dry, my Dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

I will luve thee still, my Dear,

While the sands o'life shall run.


And fare thee weel my only Luve!

And fare thee weel a while!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile!


Love, light and happiness to you all,


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To communicate with Mars, converse with spirits,

To report the behaviour of the sea monster,

Describe the horoscope, haruspicate or scry,

Observe disease in signatures, evoke

Biography from the wrinkles of the palm

And tragedy from fingers; release omens

By sortilege, or tea leaves, riddle the inevitable

With playing cards, fiddle with pentagrams

Or barbituric acids, or dissect

The recurrent image into pre-conscious terrors—

To explore the womb, or tomb, or dreams; all these are usual

Pastimes and drugs, and features of the press:

And always will be, some of them especially

When there is distress of nations and perplexity

Whether on the shores of Asia, or in the Edgware Road.

Men's curiosity searches past and future

And clings to that dimension. But to apprehend

The point of intersection of the timeless

With time, is an occupation for the saint—

No occupation either, but something given

And taken, in a lifetime's death in love,

Ardour and selflessness and self-surrender.

For most of us, there is only the unattended

Moment, the moment in and out of time,

The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,

The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning

Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply

That it is not heard at all, but you are the music

While the music lasts. These are only hints and guesses,

Hints followed by guesses; and the rest

Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.

The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.



(TS Eliot, a section from the dry salvages from the four quartets)




Edited by cat

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