"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The Soul that riseth with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And rises from afar.
Not in entire firgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing coulds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!...
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive...
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the children sport upon the shower,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore."
William Wordsworth, England (1770-1850)
This is the first entry in the book The Soul Aflame, a modern book of hours. I have often tried to meditate on this collection of poems and quotations, insights into the wisdom of ages collected in this book. Sometimes it takes me a little while to wrap my mind around the underlying works in the pages of this book.
I open the conversation up to you...