" Desde la antigüedad , el hilo de oro es el símbolo del conocimiento que proviene de la experiencia personal , y que está libre de las restricciones institucionales . Es un hilo porque representa la continuidad de una experiencia siempre antigua y siempre nueva , . es delgada debido a que en cada generación esta toma de conciencia es mantenida por una minoría de individuos este cable es de oro , ya que es restos inmortales , incluso en los periodos más oscuros y caóticos , a veces más evidente , a veces más oculto " .
Kathleen Raine
MENSAJE DESDE CASA
¿Recuerdas, cuando fuiste niño,
que nada en el mundo te parecía extraño?
Percibías, por vez primera, formas ya familiares,
y viendo, te percatabas de que siempre habías conocido
el liquen en la roca, las hojas del helecho, la flor del tomillo,
como si los elementos se juntaran nuevamente en tu cuerpo,
atrapados en el torbellino momentáneo de tu vida
que todavía mantenía el conocimiento de un estado primigenio;
en ti recuerdo retenido de nube y océano,
la enramada del árbol, la lengua de fuego.
Ahora, cuando la oscuridad de la naturaleza se te hace extraña,
y vagas, forastero, por las calles de la ciudad,
recuerda que la tierra te acogió en su seno con el aire, con los rayos del sol,
te posó en sus aguas dormidas, a que compartieras el sueño
de la trucha entre las raíces de la milenrama,
de sustancia de estrella y océano te formó,
en el mismo origen que sol y follaje, pez y arroyo
te concibió.
De todas las criaturas uno sólo es el origen,
simple, singular como el amor; recuerda
la célula y la semilla de la vida, la esfera
que es, de niño, blanco pájaro, o breve libélula azul
del helecho verde, o de la dorada tormentila con sus cuatro pétalos
la postrer memoria.
Cada célula latente disemina un futuro,
despliega su inimitable complejidad
como un árbol hace brotar hojas, y urde un destino que teje
peciolo de helecho, plumaje de pájaro, escamas de pez.
El musgo expande su verdosa membrana sobre la turba empapada,
el germen de la libélula cobra ánima y levanta el vuelo
del mismo modo que el nenúfar del barro asciende sobre su tallo viscoso
para abrir un dulce, albo cáliz al cielo.
El hombre, con más largo trecho que recorrer de su simplicidad,
del arcaico musgo, pez y lirio se separa,
y en el exilio hace su largo camino.
Cuando dejes atrás Edén, recuerda tu casa,
porque trayendo a la memoria la esencia de tu ser
no estarás solo; los primeros en saludarte
serán esos niños que juegan a la orilla del arroyo,
las nutrias nadarán hasta ti en el remanso,
el ciervo salvaje correrá a tu lado por el páramo.
Adéntrate más en la espesura, y vendrán las aves,
los peces se alzan para verte en sus enjambres plateados,
y más oscuras, más extrañas, vidas más misteriosas
vendrán a ti en tropel al manantial
donde las raíces más profundas del árbol beben del abismo.
Nada en ese abismo te es extraño.
Duerme sobre la raíz del árbol, donde se urde la noche
para formar la materia del universo, escucha los vientos,
las mareas, las armonías de la noche, y sabe
todo lo que sabías antes de empezar a olvidar,
antes de que te convirtieras en un extraño de ti mismo,
antes de que te hubieras alejado demasiado de esos otros
niños del origen, que han permanecido en casa,
en pradera, isla y bosque, en mar y río.
La Tierra envía amor materno tras su hijo exiliado,
confiando su mensaje a la luz y al aire,
al viento y a las olas que llevan tu barco, a la lluvia que cae,
al pájaro que te convoca, y a todas las miríadas de peces
que nadan en las aguas natales de su océano.
MESSAGE FROM HOME
Do you remember, when you were first a child,
Nothing in the world seemed strange to you?
You perceived, for the first time, shapes already familiar,
And seeing, you knew that you had always known
The lichen on the rock, fern-leaves, the flowers of thyme,
As if the elements newly met in your body,
Caught up into the momentary vortex of your living
Still kept the knowledge of a former state,
In you retained recollection of cloud and ocean,
The branching tree, the dancing flame.
Now when nature’s darkness seems strange to you,
And you walk, an alien, in the streets of cities,
Remember earth breathed you into her with the air,
with the sun’s rays,
Laid you in her waters asleep, to dream
With the brown trout among the milfoil roots,
From substance of star and ocean fashioned you,
At the same source conceived you
As sun and foliage, fish and stream.
Of all created things the source is one,
Simple, single as love; remember
The cell and the seed of life, the sphere
That is, of child, white bird, and small blue dragon-fly
Green fern, and the gold four-petalled tormentilla
The ultimate memory.
Each latent cell puts out a future,
Unfolds its differing complexity
As a tree puts forth leaves, and spins a fate
Fern-traced, bird-feathered, or fish-scaled.
Moss spreads its green film on the moist peat,
The germ of dragon-fly pulses into animation
and takes wing
As the water-lily from the mud ascends on its ropy stem
To open a sweet white calyx to the sky.
Man, with farther to travel from his simplicity,
From the archaic moss, fish, and lily parts,
And into exile travels his long way.
As you leave Eden behind you, remember your home,
For as you remember back into your own being
You will not be alone; the first to greet you
Will be those children playing by the burn,
The otters will swim up to you in the bay,
The wild deer on the moor will run beside you.
Recollect more deeply, and the birds will come,
Fish rise to meet you in their silver shoals,
And darker, stranger, more mysterious lives
Will throng about you at the source
Where the tree’s deepest roots drink from the abyss.
Nothing in that abyss is alien to you.
Sleep at the tree’s root, where the night is spun
Into the stuff of worlds, listen to the winds,
The tides, and the night’s harmonies, and know
All that you knew before you began to forget,
Before you became estranged from you own being,
Before you had too long parted from those other
More simple children, who have stayed at home
In meadow and island and forest, in sea and river.
Earth sends a mother’s love after her exiled son,
Entrusting her message to the light and the air,
The wind and waves that carry your ship, the rain that falls,
The birds that call to you, and all the shoals
That swim in the natal waters of her ocean.
(De The Year One (1952), p. 99)
Nothing in the world seemed strange to you?
You perceived, for the first time, shapes already familiar,
And seeing, you knew that you had always known
The lichen on the rock, fern-leaves, the flowers of thyme,
As if the elements newly met in your body,
Caught up into the momentary vortex of your living
Still kept the knowledge of a former state,
In you retained recollection of cloud and ocean,
The branching tree, the dancing flame.
Now when nature’s darkness seems strange to you,
And you walk, an alien, in the streets of cities,
Remember earth breathed you into her with the air,
with the sun’s rays,
Laid you in her waters asleep, to dream
With the brown trout among the milfoil roots,
From substance of star and ocean fashioned you,
At the same source conceived you
As sun and foliage, fish and stream.
Of all created things the source is one,
Simple, single as love; remember
The cell and the seed of life, the sphere
That is, of child, white bird, and small blue dragon-fly
Green fern, and the gold four-petalled tormentilla
The ultimate memory.
Each latent cell puts out a future,
Unfolds its differing complexity
As a tree puts forth leaves, and spins a fate
Fern-traced, bird-feathered, or fish-scaled.
Moss spreads its green film on the moist peat,
The germ of dragon-fly pulses into animation
and takes wing
As the water-lily from the mud ascends on its ropy stem
To open a sweet white calyx to the sky.
Man, with farther to travel from his simplicity,
From the archaic moss, fish, and lily parts,
And into exile travels his long way.
As you leave Eden behind you, remember your home,
For as you remember back into your own being
You will not be alone; the first to greet you
Will be those children playing by the burn,
The otters will swim up to you in the bay,
The wild deer on the moor will run beside you.
Recollect more deeply, and the birds will come,
Fish rise to meet you in their silver shoals,
And darker, stranger, more mysterious lives
Will throng about you at the source
Where the tree’s deepest roots drink from the abyss.
Nothing in that abyss is alien to you.
Sleep at the tree’s root, where the night is spun
Into the stuff of worlds, listen to the winds,
The tides, and the night’s harmonies, and know
All that you knew before you began to forget,
Before you became estranged from you own being,
Before you had too long parted from those other
More simple children, who have stayed at home
In meadow and island and forest, in sea and river.
Earth sends a mother’s love after her exiled son,
Entrusting her message to the light and the air,
The wind and waves that carry your ship, the rain that falls,
The birds that call to you, and all the shoals
That swim in the natal waters of her ocean.
(De The Year One (1952), p. 99)
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