Time present and time past...

All time is eternally present [yet] All time is unredeemable / What might have been is an Abstraction [and, at times, a distraction]

"Burnt Norton" poem by T.S.Eliot and a manor  located near the village of Aston Subedge

Cotswold district of Gloucestershire, England

Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves / I do not know.

Footfalls echo in the memory / Down the passage which we did not take/ Towards the door we never opened/ Into the rose-garden

Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children... Go, go, go, said the bird: 

Hidden excitedly, containing laughter... Humankind / Cannot bear very much reality.

Into our first world, shall we follow / The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.

the stillness, as a Chinese Jar still / Moves perpetually in its stillness.

Kate: my search on the line above, and then a click on "images" revealed this image, and I thought of you: 

Love is itself unmoving / Only the cause and end of movement / Timeless, and undesiring / Except in the aspect of time / Caught in the form of limitation / Between un-being and being.

My words echo / Thus, in your mind / But to what purpose?

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is ...Where past and future are gathered. / Neither movement from nor towards / Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point / There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

Other echoes / Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?

Perpetual Possibility... in a world of speculation...What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always Present

Quietly. Quietly...Quick now, here, now, always—
Ridiculous the waste sad time

Stretching before and after / the Surface glittered out of heart of light / And they were behind us / reflected in the pool.

Unheard music hidden in the shrubbery / And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses / Had the look of flowers that are looked at.

Voices of temptation / The crying shadow in the funeral dance / The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

 What might have been and what has been / Point to one end, which is always present.

Garlic and sapphires in the mud / Clot the bedded aXle-tree.

Yet the enchainment of past and future / Woven in the weakness of the changing body / Protects mankind from heaven and damnation / Which flesh cannot endure.
Zinnia in the garden...