RUMO À ORION

12/06/2008


DEDICATÓRIA À VÊNUS URÂNIA


“AQUILO QUE ESTÁ EM SEU CAMINHO

VEM COMO UMA NUVEM QUE ENCOBRE O SOL;

MAS OCULTO POR TRÁS DESSA NUVEM DE IMANÊNCIA

ESTÁ O AMOR...

SOBRE A TERRA... É O AMOR

NO CÉU – É O AMOR

O AMOR QUE FEZ NOVAS TODAS AS COISAS

DEVE SER REVELADO. . .

ESTE É O PROPÓSITO POR TRÁS

DE TODOS OS ATOS

DESTE GRANDE SENHOR DO CONHECIMENTO”

Alice A. Bailey (Psicologia Esotérica)




“Vênus é o alter ego da Terra;

Vênus é para a Terra

O que o Eu Superior é para o homem”


Alice A. Bailey (Um Tratado sobre o Fogo Cósmico)


Inaugurado a 08/08/08


terça-feira, 31 de maio de 2016

"THE RAVEN"



When I first read this famous poem by
Edgar Allan Poe, I was stricken with sadness...,
and the word "Nevermore" stayed within my mind
 like a cruel virus, destroying my hopes and dreams....
then came the transition of the Beloved, and the 
constant visits of the "grim, ungainly,
ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore",
 repeating over and over the years the same
fatal word "Nevermore".......

Well, when he departed from this Earth.....
suddenly, so suddenly....
the awful cry of the Raven became a reality!  

Daniel John Pitre

But fourty-six years went by - and as I gained
knowledge and wisdom,
as well as direct experiences with the occult
yet ever present Plutonian energies,
I felt inclined to review the poem and update 
according to my new vision of reality,
 giving my personal testimony of Life Abundant,
Love Eternal, and Light Supernal.


This is what Love can do to us -
 transform our views as well as our reality -
create new possibilities - establish new paradigms
of thoughts - since our mind is a continuum
of energy and it cognizes....
Thus, I got the courage to paraphrase
this brilliant poet, asking the loving-kindness
 of my readers  for this poetic attempt.


THE RAVEN - BY EDGAR ALLAN POE  
       (Paraphrased by Tania Belfort)   

Once upon a midnight dreary, 
while I pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious
 volume of forgotten lore— 
    While I nodded, nearly napping,
 suddenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, 
rapping at my chamber door. 
“’It is some visitor,” I muttered,
 “tapping at my chamber door— 
 Only this and nothing more.” 

    Ah, distinctly I remember 
it was in the bleak September; 
And each separate dying ember
 wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;
—vainly I had sought to borrow 
    From my books surcease of sorrow
—sorrow for the lost Daniel— 
For the rare, radiant and brave page
 whom the angels name Daniel— 
   Nameless here for evermore. 

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling
 of each purple curtain thrilled me -
Filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, 
I stood repeating: “’It is some visitor 
entreating entrance at my chamber door— 
Some late visitor entreating entrance 
at my chamber door;— 
This it is and nothing more.” 

    Presently my soul grew stronger;
 hesitating then no longer, 
“Sir,” said I, “or Friend, 
truly your forgiveness I implore; 
    But the fact is I was napping, 
and so gently you came rapping, 
    And so faintly you came tapping,
 tapping at my chamber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—
here I opened wide the door;— 
Darkness there and nothing more. 

    Deep into that darkness peering, 
long I stood there wondering, fearing, 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal 
ever dared to dream before; 
    But the silence was unbroken, 
and the stillness gave no token, 
    And the only word there spoken
 was the whispered word, “Daniel?” 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured
 back the word, “Daniel!”—
    Merely this and nothing more. 

    Back into the chamber turning, 
all my soul within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping 
somewhat louder than before. 
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is 
something at my window lattice; 
      Let me see, then, what is there, 
and this mystery explore— 
Let my heart be still a moment 
and this mystery explore;— 
    It´s the wind and nothing more!” 



    Open here I flung the shutter, when, 
with many a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately Raven 
of the saintly days of yore; 
    Not the least obeisance made he; 
    not a minute stopped or stayed he; 
    But, with mien of lord or kin,
 perched above my chamber door— 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas Athena
just above my chamber door— 
  Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 


Then this ebony bird beguiling 
my sad fancy into smiling, 
By the grave and stern decorum 
of the countenance it wore, 
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,
 thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, 
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven 
wandering from the Nightly shore— 
Tell me what thy lordly name 
is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” 
          Said the Raven “Forevermore.” 

    Much I marvelled this ungainly
 fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning—
little relevancy bore; 
    For we cannot help agreeing
 that no living human being 
    Ever yet was blessed with 
seeing bird above his chamber door— 
Bird or angel upon the sculptured
 bust above his chamber door, 
 With such name as “Forevermore.” 

    But the Raven, sitting lonely 
on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul 
in that one word he did outpour. 
    Nothing farther then he uttered—
not a feather then he fluttered— 
    Till I scarcely more than muttered 
“Other friends have flown before— 
On the morrow he will leave me, 
as my Hopes have flown before.” 
 Then the bird said “Forevermore.” 

    Startled at the stillness broken 
by reply so aptly spoken, 
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters 
is its only stock and store 
    Caught from some happy master
 whom merciful disaster 
    Followed fast and followed faster 
till his songs one burden bore— 
Till the dirges of his Hope 
that melancholy burden bore 
     Of ‘Ever - forevermore’.” 

    But the Raven still transforming
 all my fancy into smiling; 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned 
seat in front of the bird, bust and door; 
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, 
I betook myself to linking 
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what
 this familiar bird of yore— 
What this firm, gainly, lovingly, 
gauzy, and auspicious bird of yore 
  Meant in whispering “Forevermore”. 


    Then I sat engaged in guessing, 
but no syllable expressing 
To the bird whose fiery eyes 
now burned into my bosom’s core; 
    This and more I sat divining, 
with my head at ease reclining 
    On the cushion’s velvet lining
 that the lamp-light gloated over, 
But whose velvet-violet mouth´ 
lining with lamps lighting over, 
He shall insist: ah - Forevermore! 


    Then, I thought, the air grew denser, 
perfumed from an unseen incense 
Swung by a Seraphim whose foot-falls
 tinkled on the tufted floor. 
    “My love,” I cried, “thy God hath sent thee—
by these angels He hath sent thee 
    May I rest my heart now –
 and stay in Peace, living by thy memories, 
oh Daniel! 
Let me drink this heavenly amrita 
and forget not my sweetheart!” 
    Said the Raven “Forevermore.” 


    “Prophet!” said I, “your eyes have 
the flame from heavens! Bird or angel!— 
Whether a dweller sent you, 
or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 
    Desolate yet all undaunted, 
but making this desert land enchanted— 
    On this home by Sadness stricken—
tell me truly, I implore— 
“Is there life and balm in Heaven above?”
 With a triumphant cry,
  Said the Raven “Forevermore.” 

   
 “Prophet!” said I, “Bird of Wisdom —
prophet still, if bird or deva! 
By that Heaven that bends above us—
by that God we both adore— 
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden, 
 if within the distant firmament, 
    It shall host a sainted and holy page
 whom the angels named Daniel— 
Embrace this rare and radiant page 
whom the angels named Daniel.” 
Said the Raven “Forevermore.” 

   
 “May this word be your sign of parting,
 bird or friend!” I cried, shaken by grief - 
“Return to your distant starry lands
 in the Night’s Plutonian shore! 
    Leave me a black plume as a token of that 
promise  thy soul hath spoken! 
    Leave my solitude unbroken! –
 detach from the bust above my door! 
Kiss with thy beak my broken heart, 
and leave thy form within my memory!” 
     Said the Raven “Forevermore.” 

    
And the Raven, never moving,
 still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas
 just above my chamber door; 
    And his eyes have all the seeming
 of a deva that is dreaming, 
    And the lamp-light over him streaming 
throws his shadow on the floor; 
And my soul restored from the light 
that shines in the room 
someday shall be lifted—
Forevermore!

 

For Beloved DANIEL, on your birthday
May 31, 2016      

   

  





   


   


    




    


  



   


    




                                       

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