Mind, Motion & Matter

Running, Essentially . . .

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Chariots of Fire

I am feeling inspired today, my heart warmed by the generosity of those who have been able to support our efforts to raise funds for a sponsorship program for AIDS orphans in Ethiopia, knowing that there are so many good causes out there calling on us all.  I was reminded today that the phrase Chariots of Fire is from William Blake, a favourite poet of mine and many.

Primary Series Blue, 2008 (oil on paper mounted on wood with resin 12" x 12" x 2") Value $400

One special contribution comes from artist Frank Caracciolo who lives in Montreal but hails from New York.  He is donating a resin-coated oil drawing to our Silent Auction.  In my blog on The Urban Landscape I had posted a photograph of a work I had seen at Propeller Gallery on Queen Street.  I decided to contact Frank and he replied immediately to say he he was willing to donate the piece shown here.  I hope he doesn’t mind me saying this but the photo doesn’t quite do justice to the beautiful patina and tactile surface of his drawing technique.  CLICK HERE to link to his website.

I leave you with the words of William Blake as well as a link to the hymn Jerusalem that was composed to this poem.


William Blake

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.

JERUSALEM sung at the end of the film, CHARIOTS OF FIRE

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Christmas eve greeting

Cradle Song

Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child!

Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes!
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.

Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:

Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!

Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

William Blake

I dedicate this favourite poem for a Christmas Eve to newest nephew Zack, little Henry and nine year old Tigist Dallesa who lives in Ethiopia. You can read more about Henry on his mom’s blog Fit ‘n’Frugal and check out the recipe for carrot cake oatmeal.

Sweet dreams all!

Henry's first Christmas!