While Éshu’s shrine yet ran with blood, the Gods,
Unknowing, sat alone in their abasement,
And Ógun said: “We scorned our upstart son;
Scorned him and let him be—nor bore in mind
The wisdom of the Past, ‘A little snake
Is yet a snake.’ See now the end has come:
Swift from the sight of mocking men we must
Depart. The sage Osányi will lay wide
The door of our deliverance: come then—
For naked of dominion what are we Gods?”
And one by one Osányi gave his charms
To the lorn Gods. . Orísha could but moan
“Children I made you—who but I?” and sank
Beneath the soil he loved. And Óshun threw
Her body down—but never ceased: a stream
Gushed up, the sacred stream that flows for ever.
Olókun fell; ‘neath the wide Earth she flowed
To the broad spaces of her troubled realm. . .
So went the Gods.

Myths of Ífè

Book 2, XII


These two things therefore thou must remember. First, that all things in the world from all eternity, by a perpetual revolution of the same times and things ever continued and renewed, are of one kind and nature; so that whether for a hundred or two hundred years only, or for an infinite space of time, a man see those things which are still the same, it can be no matter of great moment. And secondly, that that life which any the longest liver, or the shortest liver parts with, is for length and duration the very same, for that only which is present, is that, which either of them can lose, as being that only which they have; for that which he hath not, no man can truly be said to lose.

Meditations by Marcus Aurelius

The wind of change for ever blows
Across the tumult of our way,
To-morrow’s unborn griefs depose
The sorrows of our yesterday.
Dream yields to dream, strife follows strife,
And Death unweaves the webs of Life.

Sarojini Naidu

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January 20, 2017