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Hark, now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea, and feel the sky let your soul & spirit fly, into the mystic.

-Van Morrison

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Hark, Now Hear The Sailors Cry, Smell

Van Morrison

Hark, now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea, and feel the sky let your soul & spirit fly, into the mystic.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"hark, now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea, and feel the sky let your soul &amp;amp; spirit fly, into the mystic."</p>
    <footer style="font-size: 1rem; font-weight: bold;">— Van Morrison</footer>
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Beach Ocean Sea

More From Van Morrison

When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" winterfell, she might have said. i smell snow and smoke and pine needles. i smell the stables. i smell hodor laughing, and jon and robb battling in the yard, and sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. i smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. i smell hot bread baking. i smell the godswood. i smell my wolf. i smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "i don't smell anything," she said.

We could say the government spend like drunken sailors, but that would be unfair to drunken sailors, because the sailors are spending their own money.

I stare at her chest. as she breathes, the rounded peaks move up and down like the swell of waves, somehow reminding me of rain falling softly on a broad stretch of sea. i'm the lonely voyager standing on deck, and she's the sea. the sky is a blanket of gray, merging with the gray sea off on the horizon. it's hard to tell the difference between sea and sky. between voyager and sea. between reality and the workings of the heart.

Sometimes when i'm alone i cry, cause i am on my own. the tears i cry are bitter and warm. they flow with life but take no form i cry because my heart is torn. i find it difficult to carry on. if i had an ear to confide in, i would cry among my treasured friend, but who do you know that stops that long, to help another carry on. the world moves fast and it would rather pass by. then to stop and see what makes one cry, so painful and sad. and sometimes... i cry and no one cares about why.

Full fathom five thy father lies; of his bones are coral made; those are pearls that were his eyes; nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange. sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: ding-dong. hark! now i hear them — ding-dong, bell.

Dear god," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. let me be gay; let me be sad. let me be cold; let me be warm. let me be hungry...have too much to eat. let me be ragged or well dressed. let me be sincere - be deceitful. let me be truthful; let me be a liar. let me be honorable and let me sin. only let me be something every blessed minute. and when i sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.

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Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness, and knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream. and that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space. who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless? and yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being, and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds? and is not time even as love is, undivided and paceless?

Tatoo your name across my heart, so it will remain / not even death could make us part / what kind is it / it could be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare / either way i don't want to wake up from you.

So i submit to you that what we represent is a fifth column, a fifth column that represents the best aspirations that human community is capable of, a fifth column that is willing to look at the structure of the psyche in contrast to the mess of society, and willing to dream.

Oh, i have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!

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