miércoles, 12 de noviembre de 2014



‘I know of no other Christianity, and of no other gospel, than the liberty, both of body and mind, to exercise the divine arts of imagination, the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow, and in which we shall live in our eternal or imaginative bodies when these vegetable mortal bodies are no more. The Apostles knew of no other gospel. What are all their spiritual gifts? What is the divine spirit? Is the Holy Ghost any other than an intellectual fountain? What is the harvest of the gospel and its labours? What is the talent which it is a curse to hide? What are the treasures of heaven which we are to lay up for ourselves? Are they any other than mental studies and performances? What are all the gifts of the gospel, are they not all mental gifts? Is God a spirit who must be worshipped in spirit and truth? Are not the gifts of the spirit everything to man? O ye religious! discountenance every one among you who shall pretend to despise art and science. I call upon you in the name of Jesus! What is the life of man but art and science? Is it meat and drink? Is not the body more than raiment? What is mortality but the things relating to the body which dies? What is immortality but the things relating to the spirit which lives immortally? What is the joy of Heaven but improvement in the things of the spirit? What are the pains of Hell but ignorance, idleness, bodily lust, and the devastation of the things of the spirit? Answer this for yourselves, and expel from amongst you those who pretend to despise the labours of art and science, which alone are the labours of the gospel. Is not this plain and manifest to the thought? Can you think at all, and not pronounce heartily that to labour in knowledge is to build Jerusalem, and to despise knowledge is to despise Jerusalem and her builders? And remember, he who despises and mocks a mental gift in another, calling it pride, and selfishness, and sin, mocks Jesus, the giver of every mental gift, which always appear to the ignorance-loving hypocrites as sins. But that which is sin in the sight of cruel man is not sin in the sight of our kind God. Let every Christian as much as in him lies engage himself openly and publicly before all the world in some mental pursuit for the building of Jerusalem.’

(William Blake)


“And his seventy disciples sent
Against religion and government.”

(William Blake)


“The historical Christ was indeed no more than the supreme symbol of the artistic imagination, in which, with every passion wrought to perfect beauty by art and poetry, we shall live, when the body has passed away for the last time; but before that hour man must labour through many lives and many deaths.

‘Men are admitted into heaven not because they have curbed and governed their passions, but because they have cultivated their understandings. The treasures of heaven are not negations of passion but realities of intellect from which the passions emanate uncurbed in their eternal glory. The fool shall not enter into heaven, let him be ever so holy. Holiness is not the price of entering into heaven. Those who are cast out are all those who, having no passions of their own, because no intellect, have spent their lives in curbing and governing other people’s lives by the various arts of poverty and cruelty of all kinds. The modern Church crucifies Christ with the head downwards. Woe, woe, woe to you hypocrites.’ ”

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“Mere sympathy for living things is not enough because we must learn to separate their ‘infected’ from their eternal, their satanic from their divine part; and this can only be done by desiring always beauty, the one mask through which can be seen the unveiled eyes of eternity. We must then be artists in all things, and understand that love and old age and death are first among the arts. In this sense he insists that ‘Christ’s apostles were artists,’ that ‘Christianity is Art,’ and that ‘the whole business of man is the arts.’”


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"He had learned from Jacob Boehme and from old alchemist writers that imagination was the
 first emanation of divinity, ‘the body of God,’ ‘the Divine members,’ and he drew the deduction, which they did not draw, that the imaginative arts were therefore the greatest of Divine revelations, and that the sympathy  with all living things, sinful and righteous alike, which the imaginative arts awaken, is that  forgiveness of sins commanded by Christ." 
(about William Blake)

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"The reason, and by the reason he meant deductions from the observations of the senses, binds us to mortality because it binds us to the senses, and divides us from each other by showing us our clashing interests; but imagination divides us from mortality by the immortality of beauty, and binds us to each other by opening the secret doors of all hearts. He cried again and again that every thing that lives is holy, and that nothing is unholy except things that do not live—lethargies, and cruelties, and timidities, and that denial of imagination which is the root they grew from in old times. Passions, because most living, are most holy—and this was a scandalous paradox in his time—and man shall enter eternity borne upon their wings."


(“Ideas of Good and Evil. William Blake and his Illustrations to The Divine Comedy”)
http://hermetic.com/yeats/ideas-of-good-and-evil/william-blake-and-the-imagination.html




sábado, 11 de octubre de 2014

Novalis "VII. Hymne"



"Wenige wissen
Das Geheimnis der Liebe,
Fühlen Unersättlichkeit
Und ewigen Durst.
Des Abendmahls 
Göttliche Bedeutung
Ist den irdischen Sinnen Rätsel;
Aber wer jemals
Von heissen, geliebten Lippen
Atem des Lebens sog,
Wem heilige Glut
In zitternde Wellen das Herz schmolz,
Wem das Auge aufging,
Dass er des Himmels
Unergründliche Tiefe mass,
Wird essen von seinem Leibe
Und trinken von seinem Blute
Ewiglich.

Wer hat des irdischen Leibes 
Hohen Sinn erraten?
Wer kann sagen,
Dass er das Blut versteht?
Einst ist alles Leib,
Ein Leib,
In himmlischem Blute
Schwimmt das selige Paar.-

O! dass das Weltmeer
Schon errötete,
Und in duftiges Fleisch 
Aufquölle der Fels!
Nie endet das süsse Mahl,
Nie sättigt die Liebe sich.
Nicht innig, nicht eigen genug
Kann sie haben den Geliebten.
Von immer zärteren Lippen
Verwandelt wird das Genossene
Inniglicher und näher.
Heissere Wollust
Durchbebt die Seele.
Durstiger und hungriger
Wird das Herz:
Und so währet der Liebe Genuss
Von Ewigkeit zu Ewigkeit.
Hätten die Nüchternen
Einmal gekostet,
Alles verliessen sie,
Und setzten sich zu uns
An den Tisch der Sehnsucht,
Der nie leer wird.
Sie erkennten der Liebe
Unendliche Fülle,
Und priesen die Nahrung
Von Leib und Blut."

(Novalis "Geistliche Lieder, VII. Hymne") 


viernes, 19 de septiembre de 2014

lunes, 4 de agosto de 2014

Novalis "Die Lehrlinge zu Saïs"



"Höchst merkwürdig ist es, dass der Mensch erst in diesem Spiele seine Eigentümlichkeit, seine spezifische Freiheit recht gewahr wird und dass es ihm vorkommt, als erwache er aus einem tiefen Schlafe, als sei er nun erst in der Welt zu Hause und verbreite jetzt erst das Licht des Tages über seine innere Welt."

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"Noch ist dieses Gebiet ein unbekanntes, ein heiliges Feld. Nur göttliche Gesandte haben einzelne Worte dieser höchsten Wissenschaft fallen lassen, und es ist zu verwundern, dass die ahndungsvollen Geister sich dieser Ahndung haben entgehen lassen und die Natur zur einförmigen Maschine, ohne Vorzeit und Zukunft, erniedrigt haben. Alles Göttliche hat eine Geschichte, und die Natur, diese einzige Ganze, womit der Mensch sich vergleichen kann, sollte nicht so gut wie der Mensch in einer Geschichte begriffen sein oder, welches eins ist, einen Geist haben?. Die Natur wäre nicht die Natur, wenn sie keinen Geist hätte, nicht jenes einzige Gegenbild der Menschheit, nicht die unentbehrliche Antwort dieser geheimnissvollen Frage oder die Frage zu dieser unendlichen Antwort."

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"Nur die Dichter haben es gefühlt, was die Natur den Menschen sein kann."

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(Novalis, "Die Lehrlinge zu Saïs")    







jueves, 12 de junio de 2014

"Caballos" (Pablo Neruda)



CABALLOS


Vi desde la ventana los caballos.

Fue en Berlin, en invierno. La luz
era sin luz, sin cielo el cielo.

El aire blanco como pan mojado.

Y desde mi ventana un solitario circo
mordido por los dientes del invierno.

De pronto, conducidos por un hombre,
diez caballos salieron a la niebla.
Apenas ondularon al salir, como el fuego,
pero para mis ojos ocuparon el mundo
vacío hasta esa hora. Perfectos, encendidos,
eran como diez dioses de largas patas puras,
de crines parecidas al sueño de la sal.

Sus grupas eran mundos y naranjas.

Su color era miel, ámbar, incendio.

Sus cuellos eran torres
cortadas en la piedra del orgullo.

Y a los ojos furiosos se asomaba
como una prisionera, la energía.

Y allí en silencio, en medio
del día, del invierno sucio y desordenado,
los caballos intensos eran la sangre,
el ritmo, el incitante tesoro de la vida.

Miré, miré y entonces reviví: sin saberlo
allí estaba la fuente, la danza de oro, el cielo,
el fuego que vivía en la belleza.

He olvidado el invierno de aquel Berlín oscuro.

No olvidaré la luz de los caballos.

(Pablo Neruda, "Caballos")