Land of Noor: 04/23/23

Sunday, April 23, 2023

Angel Olsen - Chance (Live on KEXP)

What is it you think I need?Maybe it's too hard to seeI don't want it allI've had enoughI don't want it allI've had a loveWorst feeling I've had is goneIt's goneI know how it all comes backI know too wellNow I'm done

I'm leaving once againMakin' my own planI'm not looking for the answerOr anything that lastsI just want to see some beautyTry and understandIf we got to know each otherHow rare is that?

All that space in between where we standCould be our chanceCould be our chance

I'm walking through the scenesI'm sayin' all the linesI wish I could un-see some things that gave me lifeI wish I could un-know some things that taught me soI wish I could believe all that's been promised me

It's hard to say forever loveForever's just so farIt's hard to say forever loveForever's just so farIt's hard to say forever loveForever's just so farWhy don't you say you're with me nowWith all of your heart?With all of your heart?With all of your heart?

When All Feels Lost (by Christine Valters Paintner)

The map is not the territory
—Alfred Korzybski

All the old signposts have fallen,
wood cracked and rotted,
atlases crumble, a pile of maps
flutter and dart like hummingbird
wings, the GPS signal is out of range.

Her compass slips from her hand,
the only thing she knows is that
she walks in circles now,
the trees ahead familiar
but really nothing is the same.
She wanders for hours, days,
weeks, loses track of the nights
as one tumbles into another.

Finally, she stops, builds
a bonfire from all the old maps
still in her pack, invites others
who wander by to gather,
each of them savors warmth
from flame and kindness,
laughs while they tell stories
of how they once knew the way.

Her eyes meet another,
hand outstretched, together
their breath rises in white spirals
into cold air and they
stay still long enough
to learn to love the quiet ache,
the old longing to be sure,
to see the country of certainty
as a memory receding
like an evening horizon until
there is only the black bowl of sky.

They begin to hear the whisper
of breezes, the secrets of birds,
follow the underground stream
that runs through each of them,
and they no longer ask
which way to go,
but sit and savor this
together, under night sky
illumined by fire and stars.

from "Love Holds You: Poems and Devotions for Times of Uncertainty"