THE MUSIC OF YOUR THOUGHT

“Immortality is to live your life doing good things, and leaving your mark behind.” - Brandon Lee

Coming back to the New What's Going On blog this week. I have gone into the woodwork the last few weeks as there have been many things happening to me and around me: Illnesses, a death, some friends leaving Australia, and I have been busy preparing for a couple of art exhibitions that I had committed to some months earlier.

I’m sharing a French song I’ve written with you today. I’ll give you the lyrics and the translation if your French is a little rusty.

This song and all my music you can find in my “Otidorchestre”  channel or listen to it on YouTube,  Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

La Musique de Ta Pensée

« De tous les chiffres de l'alphabet,
C’est le cramoisi que j'adore… », dit-elle ;
Et je la regardai, déconcerté,
Amusé aussi par sa propension à colorer
Jusqu’au plus terne des sujets.

« La mer, elle vole si bien, chassant les rochers
Tandis qu'ils s'élèvent vers le fond… »
Je lui ai souri, me prélavant dans le soleil
De ses hyperboles, m'approchant au plus près de son étoile
En ce court instant d'un périhélie hyperbolique.

« De ton toucher, j'aime la musique et le miel, »

Murmura-t-elle, sous un souffle de ciel ;
Et j'ai chanté l'onde de ma main, trace de soie,
Sillon de sucre où mon âme se noie.

« Mes pensées secrètes vivent dans un tiroir fermé à clé dans mon ventre… »
J'acquiesçai, en caressant son nombril,
Voulant ouvrir ses cachettes les plus intimes
Pour m'y perdre tout entier.

« J'apprécie l'honnêteté des pégases
Qui, en période de mue, avouent ne plus savoir voler… »
Remarqua-t-elle pensivement, caressant mon omoplate,
Et à cet instant, je sus... oui, je le sus pertinemment...

« De ton toucher, j'aime la musique et le miel, »
Murmura-t-elle, sous un souffle de ciel ;
Et j'ai chanté l'onde de ma main, trace de soie,
Sillon de sucre où mon âme se noie.

Alors que je me préparais à un aphélie perpétuel,
Que je l'avais perdue, à jamais...
Dernière lettre muette d'un alphabet désormais sans chiffres.

The Music of Your Thought

“Of all the numbers of the alphabet
I adore crimson…”, she said;
And I looked at her bemused,
Amused too, by her propensity to add colour
To even the dullest topic.

“The sea, she flies so well, chasing rocks
As they rise up to the bottom…”
I smiled at her, basking in the sunshine
Of her hyperboles, approaching nearest to her star
In that single moment of a hyperbolic perihelion.

Of all the music of your touch,
I love sweetness…”, she added;
And I sang with my hand,
Leaving a trace of honey, treacly, sticky,
On her smooth skin.

“My secret thoughts live in a locked drawer

In my belly…”
I nodded, as I caressed her navel,
Wanting to open up her innermost
Secret hiding places to lose myself into.

“I appreciate the honesty of pegasi
Who in their moulting season admit they cannot fly…”
She pensively remarked, stroking my shoulder blade,
And at that moment I knew,
As I prepared for a perpetual aphelion,
That I had lost her, evermore.

MACHINATIONS

“Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Walk beside me, just be my friend” ― Albert Camus

The New What’s Going On blog has set this theme this week: “Let's challenge ourselves to write about "women" or "a woman" in a new way, a way we have not done before.”, which celebrates March as Women’s History Month. My poem is rather complex as it looks at stereotypes in relationships, a perspective that is still widespread, despite the feminist activism paradigms, the attempts at promoting equality of the sexes, and even legislation that attempts to correct inequalities and give the same rights and opportunities to both sexes.

Machinations

I try to find a way around your secret machinations
A road that will lead me to your hidden stations;
Disarm your ploys and ways you betray my trust,
Regain control and again master my fate — I must.

Your clever plans, your covert sly manipulations
Your false sweet words your fervent declarations;
I need to show up your lies, expose your treachery,
Reveal your useless pretence, and your lechery.

And yet I love you, mindlessly, with all my heart,
My reason lost and only pure emotion taking part;
I know you’re bad and want to leave you, go away,
But my heart dictates what I do, and so I stay…

How well you set your crafty traps and hunt me down,
I fall into your murky waters and each time I die, I drown;
I know that following you, I’ll cry and suffer pain
And yet I bind myself each time to your iron chain.

I try to open the door, walk out, and from you escape,
My strength I lose, when I see your image take shape;
I need to build defences, close my eyes, stop my ears,
But always your presence I abide, I smile through my tears.

I love you doggedly, with all the pieces of my broken heart,
Despite your cold indifference I cannot go, cannot depart.
I know you’re bad and want to leave you, go away,
But my heart dictates what I do and so I stay…

I stay and as my soul will one day wither and expire,
My love will turn to coldness and will burn you with a frigid fire.
I’ll leave you and will efface all bearing your semblance,
Forget you and destroy every trace of your remembrance.

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” Instagram channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note there is delay between uploading the song onto the digital music platforms, so persist in hunting it down if you wish to listen to it.

THIS, TOO, SHALL PASS...

“It is right to endure with resignation what the gods send, and to face one's enemies with courage.” - Pericles

The New What’s Going on Blog has sent as its theme this week “The Days we Stayed Apart”, a reflection on how the COVID pandemic affected us. For me personally this was a difficult time as death due to COVID claimed a victim within my own family. However, I had to find the strength to hold on and deal with life and all its vicissitudes. Resignation, tolerance, moderation, self-control, assisting others, coping with numerous restrictions and delving into what is the purpose of life, are all topics that I think of when I remember that dark time. Here is my poem:

This, Too, Shall Pass…

This fleeting moment
Of our time in the sun,
This, too, shall pass –
Remember; for the happy man shall be made sad,
And the sad man made happy.

This mortal coil,
All of our suffering,
This, too, shall pass –
Remember; for the pain shall be made joy,
And the joyful made melancholy.

This grand love,
Our all-consuming passion,
This, too, shall pass –
Remember; for the flame shall be made ash,
And the dust made into fire.

This glorious fame,
The greatness, this prestige,
This, too, shall pass –
Remember; for the renowned shall be made unknown,
And the obscure will be celebrated.

All is fleeting, all is vain;
Life, youth, love, beauty,
Riches, luxury, your bed of roses;
These, too, shall all pass –
Remember; for the last will be first,
And the first will be last…

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note that there is delay between my uploading the music and your being able to access it. YouTube is generally the fastest to release the song.

LOVE MISBEGOTTEN

“People do incredible things for love, particularly for unrequited love.” - Daniel Radcliffe

This week, the New What’s Going On blog has given the theme of “Rift” as its inspiration for our literary offerings. Lost love is of course a universal theme and much ink has been used writing of thwarted, unrequited, misplaced, duplicitous and otherwise frustrated love. Here is my offering (just reminding you, that April in the Southern Hemisphere is the middle month of Autumn, corresponding to October in the Northern Hemisphere).

Love,  Misbegotten…

I loved you, lost you, forgave you,
Love lost I gave you…

The end of April soon to come
And Autumn ripens like a juicy plum,
While moon fills, calm and silver,
The night cold, bright quicksilver.

I loved you, lost you, now all but forgotten
A love aborted, dead, misbegotten.

The end of April is so sweet
As memories, of foot so fleet,
That run by and disappear too quick –
Candle all burnt out with black wick.

I gave my heart, and lost it; as an apple rotten.
A love aborted, dead, misbegotten.

The end of April, and once again
Entices, binds with golden chain.
The moon gazes on, dispassionate
While dark of night, once passionate –
Now makes me feel the weight of many years.

I loved you, lost you, now all but forgotten
A love aborted, dead, misbegotten.

The end of April covers, seals,
And ultimately time passing, heals.
From apple seed, from rotting fruit
A new tree sprouts, takes root.

My heart regenerates, and love again dries tears.
No more heartache, no sadness, fears.

This poem is set to music, and you can find all references to my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel, or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

TOGETHER

“You are my best friend as well as my lover, and I do not know which side of you I enjoy the most. I treasure each side, just as I have treasured our life together.” - Nicholas Sparks

The New What’s Going On Blog has set a theme of “Friendship” this week, one that I covered last week in my poem. I don’t think I am too much off-topic if I present a poem on a special kind of relationship: The one that begins between two people who have a lot in common and where the special closeness and bond of friendship develops. As the relationship progresses, love enters the equation and the two become a couple. This to me is more preferable than the “love at first sight” situation, a relationship that is often like an exploding firework that fizzles out.

Together

I saw you, you saw me, we clicked:
We chatted, we laughed, time ticked.
Love at first sight? 
No, just good fun.
The night was so bright,
Something had begun.

I called you, you called me,
You spoke, you enthralled me.
We went out and dined,
Was all so civilised.
Your mind a great find,
Your company prized.

And then love stepped in slowly,
It overwhelmed us wholly;
You kissed me, I kissed you,
How could I resist you?
We watched the stars rise,
In each other’s eyes.

You stayed over, I stayed over
With breakfast moreover;
Became an odd couple
To never decouple.
With days so exciting,
And nights like lightning.

I moved in, and we both thrived,
Our house a calm, serene haven
Our lives renewed and revived,
You are at love a great maven.
We are together, to part never
You and I, a couple forever.

This poem is set to music, and you can find all references to my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel, or listen to it on YouTube,  Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

A SMALL THING

“All relationships change the brain - but most important are the intimate bonds that foster or fail us, altering the delicate circuits that shape memories, emotions and that ultimate souvenir, the self.” - Diane Ackerman

This week, Poets and Storytellers United has given the theme of “Stubborn About the Small Things”. My poem was triggered by the trifles we have kept as mementos in some unopened drawer or closed cupboard. We look at those as we one day come across them and they awaken memories. Here is a poem on that theme:

A Small Thing

I clutch it tightly in my hand

A small thing, a bagatelle, a trifle -

And yet for me it’s special, grand,

Worthy enough my breath to stifle.

I feel its smoothness, and its metal -

More precious than pure, fine gold,

More delicate than a flower’s petal,

More rare than something choice and old…

“Love me”, you’d said and gave it me,

Feeling your soul were given to me also.

I took it looking at the wide blue sea,

Capturing sun, sky, your face - all I saw.

“I love you”, I’d whispered to you softly

And I grasped your gift so very tightly;

The tiny trifle was for me dear, costly,

Its dullness sparkling, shining brightly…

I look at it again, so many years later

And I feel a pleasure so much greater,

Than what a rusty metal fairground token

Would give, or our words then spoken.

“I love you”, you had said so tenderly,

“I love you”, I had said so slenderly.

And then goodbyes were uttered

Our hearts were closed and shuttered

And now a token is all that’s left

Once our union’s bonds were cleft.

I clutch it tightly in my hand

A small thing, a bagatelle, a trifle -

And yet for me it’s special, grand,

Worthy enough my breath to stifle.

POETS UNITED - MONEY

“It’s good to have money and the things that money can buy, but it’s good, too, to check up once in a while and make sure that you haven’t lost the things that money can’t buy.” - George Lorimer 

The topic for this week’s Midweek Motif at Poets United is “money”. Here is my contribution: 

The Will 

And finally the will was read,
At the appointed time,
To all interested parties
As stipulated to the solicitor
By the testator. 

“I give all my tangible personal property
And all policies and proceeds of insurance covering such property,
To my son…”
How odd, that he only called me “son” after his death,
While when he lived he simply ignored my existence.

So I have my “father’s” money,
Making his other relatives sour,
Their eyes dripping poison, choosing for me a slow painful death
(Had their eyes been daggers
I would have succumbed to multiple wounds and an easy death).

The stranger who on his deathbed acknowledged me
As his son and legal heir, made me a millionaire.
And yet how poor I feel, when no tears came to my eyes
At his death;
When no sense of loss accompanied his passing…

He left me money, but no memories;
I have no photos in an album;
He taught me nothing, we never spoke;
I know nothing of him, I have no knowledge of his heart;
He spent no time with me, he took no interest in my life.

The money willed to me, is but an afterthought,
A neat sum to buy some ease for his troubled conscience;
Atonement for sins of omission,
A purchase of a ticket to heaven,
Where all good fathers go.

POETS UNITED - CARPE DIEM

“You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.” - Abraham Lincoln 

This week, Poets United has as its theme “Carpe Diem”, a phrase taken from one of Horace’s odes, which incites us to seize the moment, take every opportunity presented to us and enjoy ourselves, for time flies… 

Carpe Diem 

“Carpe diem,” you said and boasted your classical education
By completing the quote: “…quam minimum credula postero.”, 
And not missing the opportunity to drive home my lack of Latin,
You translated it for me…
“Seize the day, put very little trust in tomorrow.” 

And I smiled, because I loved you and whatever you said
Was music to my ears, flammable fodder for the fire in my heart.
And I failed to heed the dire warning of the quote’s meaning
And the smirk on your face as you carefully drew out the Latin long vowels
And clipped the short ones… 

You were always one for seizing days (and nights moreover),
Taking each opportunity, like plucking a ripe juicy plum;
Mindless of the consequences, unthinking of tomorrow,
Using all and everyone as accessories of your momentary enjoyment
Mindless of the long-term pain you inflicted.

And I forgave you, as I gave you my all, because I loved you,
And my pleasure was to always ensure yours,
Giving you all the plums your heart desired,
Plucking all happiness and making your days worthy of being seized,
(And all the nights, moreover…)

Then came tomorrow and you left, deserted me,
Your only goodbye the hackneyed words by Horace:
“Carpe diem…” and you didn’t complete the quote this time,
As its ending was self evident from your actions –
Nor did you bother to grace me with long and short vowels… 

And I wept, because my understanding of ancient tragedy is deep,
Even though I lack a classical education.
And I cursed Horace and Epicurus and their ilk who fill people’s minds
With hedonistic platitudes (or so do shallow people interpret them);
And I bawled with long vowel “a’s” and screamed with short “e’s”,
Piling maledictions on you, and I trust that your tomorrow
Will make you pay dearly for every day you seized from me
(And every night, moreover).

POETS UNITED - VOICE

“You have no choice. You must leave your ego on the doorstep before you enter love.” ― Kamand Kojouri

For this week’s Midweek Motif, Poets United is exploring the theme of “Voice”. Here is my offering: 

The Silent Telephone

Waiting for a promised call
By the silent telephone
While the sky rotates up above
And the stars laugh mockingly.

Waiting for the silent ‘phone to ring
Watching the clock mark time so slowly,
While the moon hides behind a cloud
And her face thankfully is obscured.

Waiting for your honeyed voice
Once more to drug me,
While my flesh pains me
Its unfeeling inertness a wound incurable.

Waiting for morning light
Waiting for the night to end
Your promised call a slender, sickly hope
Losing more of its tenuous life each passing second.

My life away from you, no life,
An empty waiting game, a vacuum;
Your call, your promised call,
How far away it seems
As endlessly I wait
By the silent telephone,
And as your voice’s drug is lacking
I face the terrors of withdrawal...

POETS UNITED - WORDS

“Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that brings peace.” - Buddha 

This week, Poets United has as its Midweek Motif the topic “word”. Words are the building blocks of our meaningful utterances. We speak them, write them, read them. They appear fleetingly electronically or acquire a more enduring presence when printed. Better still, words hand-written make the stuff of memories when the writer is a person beloved. 

But words can be two-faced: Smiling or menacing, serene or agitated, calm or angry, superficial or deep, nonsensical or full of substance. Words can be our hope, our solace, our comfort, our joy; but words (or the absence of the right words) can be our nemesis, words can cut sharper than razor, words can wound more deeply than a knife, can kill more surely than a bullet.

Correspondence I
October 9th 1990

Waiting for your letter:
A promise of rain in the drought;
But why must so much die,
While waiting for the rain?

Waiting for your letter:
A promise of freedom to the prisoner
Who must learn to live
Alone with his thoughts in a locked cell.

Waiting for your letter:
A promise of hope to the betrayed
Who already knows that promises are hollow
And hope is an illusion.

“I’ll write...” you said, “I give you my word.”
And once again I dared to hope, that you write me that word,
Knowing full well of the falsity of smiles
And the despair of fruitless waiting.

Correspondence II
October 10th, 1990

Your “letter” awaited me
When I came home today...

It was as I expected it,
And a lot less...

Empty, cold, impersonal
Scribbled hastily on the post office counter.

Few frosty words,
A shallow wish of “...happiness to come...”

And not even a name, nor initial
Signed beneath, only a line quickly drawn
As if with the impatience,
The gladness of having completed
An unpleasant, onerous obligation...

POETS UNITED - MOON

“The moon is friend for the lonesome to talk to.” ― Carl Sandburg 

The poetic inspiration seems to hover like a will-o’-the-wisp, bright and distant, uncatchable if pursued. And yet if one stays put and tries not to catch it at all, it will approach and alight on one’s heart and the words will gush forth. In the past few weeks I’ve been busy with work, family, have had to overcome a swathe of problems. Writing was confined to things of science and things that were matter of fact.

Creativity it seems, thrives on misfortune, but it also thrives on the availability of time and inclination to follow a certain creative path. My creative path took me away to music, so the poet’s voice remained silent. Music sustained me, but poetry beckoned like that ignis fatuus, and I wisely chose to ignore it.  Last night the moon was blue and it was a great moon, which was eclipsed. A once in a century or two phenomenon. The poetic inspiration coincided with this week’s Poets’ United theme, which was: “Make a new poem  for the moon, using a perspective new to you.” Here is my poem: 

The Moon’s Answer 

I ask the silvery moon, as she shines white
High in the sky, making my garden bright: 
“Moon, why should I speak with you
And not with my Love? Pray, tell me, do…” 

She smiles and stays far, so wan and silent,
Her light now steely blue, and cutting – violent; 
“Oh, Moon, you see all, up on your argent throne
But you choose to stay hushed, wise, like a crone.” 

A cloud passes before her lovely face
To hide a tear perhaps, or frown efface? 
“Moon, you too are sad and make good company,
Come with me, and my lonely song accompany.” 

She winks, and off the cloud she shrugs, she smiles,
(Her ways are strange and her manner full of wiles)… 
“Speak, Moon, please answer me my earnest query:
Is my Love true to me, or is she with betrayal leery?” 

A shadow passes and moon’s countenance bloodies,
Her voice rings out and she, in now darkened night,
Replies: “Your Love’s untruth the waters muddies, 
She lies and mocks, and sows doubt and blight.”

“Oh, cruel Moon, why speak such spite incarnadine?
Your golden, uncertain silence, I preferred, ‘twas more benign…” 

The Moon eclipsed speaks hurtful truths, no dulcet lies;
But when she brightly shines, fills she with hope the velvet skies.

MIDWEEK MOVIES - THE LODGER

“Murder is like potato chips: You can’t stop with just one.” ― Stephen King 

We watched a thriller last weekend as we wanted something fairly non-intellectual, which required no deep thinking nor emotional investment. We do enjoy a good thriller as an entertaining and escapist “passive activity”, so to speak, but when we started to watch and I saw that the director (and screenwriter) was David Oondatje, I was a little cautious as I have no time for his more famous uncle Michael Oondatje whose infamous “The English Patient” I dislike (I must have started to read that book about five times and started to watch the movie three times, and I was unable to stomach it!)… 

The Lodger (2007) Thriller/Film noir - Director by David Oondatje; starring Alfred Molina, Hope Davis, Shane West. – 6/10

This is an oft-told tale of a serial killer, this time in West Hollywood. The movie has two converging plot lines: The first involves an uneasy relationship between a psychologically unstable landlady and her enigmatic lodger, while the second is about a troubled detective with family issues and unorthodox methods, who is engaged in a cat-and-mouse game with the elusive killer, who is imitating the crimes of Jack the Ripper.

Although the movie was fairly conventional it was watchable at least! The acting was fine and the plot and direction competent, although the movie was a little overplotted and not tight enough. The final twist saved the film, because otherwise it would have been disappointing, especially on account of the rather glib and premature psychological explanation given by Rebecca Pidgeon who played (rather woodenly) the resident psychologist. Nevertheless, an enjoyable enough low octane thriller/film noir good for our wintry Sunday matinée.

POETS UNITED - FEAR

“Courage is knowing what not to fear.” - Plato

This Wednesday Poets United has as its theme “Fear”. The Greek word for fear is φόβος (phobos), hence “phobia”. People have all sorts of fears, many of which are irrational and these latter kind are the dreaded phobias. There is a site with dozens of these and it may amuse you to look at it. My “Fear” poem below:

Fear

“Why be afraid of the dark,” she said,
“Close your eyes and you will see
A great light and rainbow colours,
For within you burns a sun
Brighter than the one up high.”

“Why be afraid of evil,” she said,
“Open your heart and you will find
Goodness beyond measure,
This kindness inside it is enough
To annul all wickedness.”

“Why be afraid of hate,” she said,
“You have the strength to fight it,
Your courage is beyond measure,
Bravery within you lies untapped,
Enough to let you win.”

“Why be afraid of love?” She said,
And she paused, thinking hard.
“Ah, indeed, love's a force to be feared
And no matter how hard you try
There's no way to counter its invincible power.
Seek it out; cultivate it; humour it;
Respect it; harness its potential; enjoy its pleasures;
Be grateful for its presence in your life -
But be afraid of love; be very afraid of it…” She said.

POETS UNITED - LOVE

“If you wish to be loved – love!” - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Poets United this week (quite aptly with Valentine’s Day just celebrated) has as its Midweek Motif the theme of “love”. Here is my contribution: 

Love 

What a feeling... Almost nothing,
In my mind and in my heart;
It is nothing or it’s something;
But it makes me jump and start...

What could I be lacking now?
What I need and what I want
Would my sweetest fate allow,
Or its lack my dreams to haunt?

Is it hunger, is it thirst?
No, my stomach wildly turns.
What to wish for, should I, first?

Ease of mind, for which it yearns?
Or peace of heart, about to burst?
Sweet this feeling, but how it burns!

POETS UNITED - SPACE

“Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.” – Oscar Wilde

I have been very busy working hard these past few weeks and hence have had little spare time that has to be apportioned very sparingly according to a strict set of priorities. Nevertheless, late at night behind the closed door of my study, when I can shut everyone and everything out, I allow myself a little latitude and I can take some time to be creative.

Here is a poem just written for the Poets United Midweek Motif challenge, which this week is all about “Space”.

To Let

There is a space in my heart: To Let –
Ever since you left,
A huge, echoing space the size of the universe
All enclosed in that small, fist-sized organ
Of shuddering flesh,
That is my empty heart.

There is a space in my heart: To Let –
Ever since you left,
I have been walking in there endlessly
And my footsteps echo hollow,
Each step taking great effort,
Each step leaving behind great pain.

There is a space in my heart: To Let –
It is very clean,
And quiet; warm in Winter, cool in Summer,
Of Northerly aspect – and the best of all,
It has a garden with great potential –
A little care will make it bloom.

There is a space in my heart: To Let –
Going cheaply –
In fact no money need change hands –
All that I need to fill it is sincerity,
Some affection, tenderness, understanding.
Love may enter as a sub-letter later.

POETS UNITED - FAITH

“Faith makes all things possible. Love makes all things easy.” - Dwight L. Moody

The Midweek Motif at Poets United this week is “Faith”. Here is my contribution:

Faith

My soul a hollow shell;

My heart an empty echoing place

In whose vacant chambers

Cold loneliness shuffles its steps.

My life a barren void;

My sweet dreams annulled

All hopes sublimated

In the wake of your bitter renunciation.

My spirit vacuous;

My routine existence lost

In a desert of frozen wastelands

As I attempt to cope with betrayal.

Shall I attempt trust again?

Shall I believe in seemingly ingenuous smiles?

Shall I ever be able to risk all again?

Shall I walk the tightrope of love once more?

How much more simple to wander the desert,

Trust only the promise of a certain, rapid death

As my parched heart and soul quickly dehydrate

And my lifeblood thickens, clots, solidifies.

Love is the half-remembered nightmare

That hastens me on my spiralling downward plunge

Into the pointless peregrinations

Within a vast desert in which there is no hidden oasis.

Once faith is lost, it is not easily found again.