House on a Cliff at the Oregon Coast

 
House on a Cliff by Louis MacNeice

Indoors the tang of a tiny oil lamp. Outdoors
The winking signal on the waste of sea.
Indoors the sound of the wind. Outdoors the wind.
Indoors the locked heart and the lost key.

Outdoors the chill, the void, the siren. Indoors
The strong man pained to find his red blood cools,
While the blind clock grows louder, faster. Outdoors
The silent moon, the garrulous tides she rules.

Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing. Outdoors
The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.
Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross
Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.

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I will probably share a few more photos from my solo weekend at the Oregon coast, but here is one for today. The poem is of a much darker mood than the emotions I felt when absorbed in the scene. I was driving the old Otter Crest Loop road and stopped at this viewpoint to think. It was such a great spot that I stayed awhile and read a chapter of the book I am currently reading. 


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Sobriety: 24 years

Image via Pinterest



Ich komme aus meinen Schwingen heim

- by Rainier Maria Rilke

I come home from the soaring in which I lost myself.
I was song, and the refrain which is God
is still roaring in my ears.

Now I am still
and plain:
no more words.

To the others I was like a wind:
I made them shake.
I’d gone very far, as far as the angels,
and high, where light thins into nothing.

But deep in the darkness is God.

-from Rilke's Book of Hours – Love Poems to God

The Rilke poem may look familiar to those of you who remember my post for my 23rd sobriety anniversary. It is the same. I can't imagine ever finding a poem that describes coming to sobriety better than this one does, so I'll probably publish it again for my 25th, and on. The photograph is a change from last year's art, and I may not change it in years ahead. It's perfect.

I'll be keeping to my tradition of taking a few days and nights in October to be at the Oregon coast alone, and will drive over this afternoon. What began in 2001 as a spiritual trip in my mother's memory (she died on October 27, 2000 and we scattered her ashes at sea from a boat out of Depoe Bay) has in more recent years become that and more: my time to connect with my Self.

This will be my first time coordinating the trip on my sobriety anniversary, and I think it will start a trend for the future.  It seems fitting.

When I made my room reservations on Tuesday afternoon the inn clerk said the weather at the coast is indeed what has been predicted: stormy, rainy, windy -- making another first in my October solo trips there. But bring on the storms. I'll be in a beautiful room with private beach access and a book, lots of memories, and maybe some new insights. I'm going unplugged and will look forward to responding to your comments when I return home.

cloud clipart via A Perfect World

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