A friend back home took this picture today, and I would like to be meditating like that man. In winter the ocean looks golden when the sun is low.
Here is Chapman’s Homer, upon looking into which Keats felt like Balboa or as he said, stout Cortez upon first staring at the Pacific, “Silent, upon a peak in Darien.”
The man, O Muse, inform, that many a way
Wound with his wisdom to his wished stay;
That wandered wondrous far, when he the town
Of sacred Troy had sack’d and shivered down;
The cities of a world of nations,
With all their manners, minds, and fashions,
He saw and knew; at sea felt many woes,
Much care sustained, to save from overthrows
Himself and friends in their retreat for home;
But so their fates he could not overcome,
Though much he thirsted it. O men unwise,
They perish’d by their own impieties,
That in their hunger’s rapine would not shun
The oxen of the lofty-going Sun,
Who therefore from their eyes the day bereft
Of safe return. These acts, in some part left,
Tell us, as others, deified Seed of Jove.–1857.
Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 