Letters to my daughter, Dawn, who shall live centuries and centuries hence . . .

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Do you know Dawn, my daughter, who is not yet born? She would live on this blue wanderer thousands and thousands of years hence when the darkest night of this world would be over and the earth would be rising to sing its first manly aubade after ages of waiting, to the Dawn, and with which the sweetest courtship ever written down in the annals of human lore would begin; and then would follow the season of romancing, celebration, and wooing, and the world would wear a new colour and the most tender music ever sung by man in love would burst from every corner. 

dante-and-beatrice.jpg!HalfHD ‘Dante and Beatrice’

Have you seen Dawn, my child? She would be the first free wo(man) to walk this earth. And she would be stout and well-built like a warrior – why, of course, she would have in her veins the blood of her brave great grandmas, who had walked fearlessly tens of thousands of years ago on this planet, unafraid of being preyed upon, not by wild beasts, but by a brutal, savage beast called “civilised”, well-mannered, (gentle)man.  long-long before the unfair war for inheritance of property had confined them within the four walls with all the dirty finery, before the uncultured “savages” had been “civilised” and domesticated, and the sisterhood of humans broken – her sun-tanned, well-built, hardy grandmothers had walked the earth in all beauty of the human form and all god-like grace of angels under the strong sun and the vast blue sky, without shackles of gold and silver to fetter their free movement.

a-song-of-springtime-1913‘song-of-springtime-1913’

Have you seen Dawn who would be Wordsworth’s poem, who would be Dante’s dream, who would be Keats’s vision of Moneta? Look at that high forehead and those arched eyebrows, and look at those eyes – yes, she knows the sorrow and the suffering that her brave fathers had gone through, all the fierce battles they had fought and lost, the pain of exile they had never breathed about, and all the sad, cheerless, dreary nights their mothers had spent refusing to surrender all the goodness and beauty that they had inherited.

Vogeler, Blaue HyacinthenbluetenOne spring morning, Dawn’s father took leave of her mother. From behind the moaning Saal trees, her mother, who was still very young then, watched the tall dauntless soldier walk away to the shore to his little boat. The larks swam in the sky and sang, and the boat in the blue sea grew smaller and fainter till it disappeared behind the mountain where the sun had set. The stars seemed to weep that night and the wind howled among the wild Saal forests . . .

Konstantin KALYNOVYCHHer father had gone, never to return, her father had gone to save the honour of his brothers and sisters. And he had taken a promise from her mother –  to keep their inheritance safe for their daughter who would live thousands and thousands of years hence. Her father never returned and her mother? Her mother lived long and lived a life of complete oblivion, far far away from the glare of lights, but yes, till the last day of her long-long life, day and night, she had fought – she had fought and kept that future safe from the wrath of those cursed times. She wrote down all she had kept safe and left the inheritance in safe hands – a bunch of letters for her daughter – Dawn!

Woman at Edge of Forest - Henri Martin(NOTE: This is a short introduction to a series of letters  I shall be posting on this page – a long series of little blog posts on some of my most intimate moments of self-realisation – moments when I have rediscovered myself and the beautiful phenomena called life, moments when I have felt the deep urge to communicate them. I shall share with you the future I dream about day and night, along with the choicest photographs and paintings that tell the most enchanting stories of human life. You will find on this page every thing beautiful that our time has produced – short memoirs, short stories, a gallery of some of the immortal characters ever created by man, and discussions on poems and songs and every immortal creation that shall live till the sun keeps shining, in short, a collection of everything beautiful – from music to art, from unbelievable slices of everyday life to some unforgettable chronicles of human history. And all with the purpose of chronicling our times and re-accessing everything simple and beautiful that our generation is losing touch with and reaching out to the human of the distant future.)

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4 thoughts on “Letters to my daughter, Dawn, who shall live centuries and centuries hence . . .

  1. Thanks for following The Immortal Jukebox. I hope you will enjoy the wide variety of music featured and perhaps make some discoveries. I usually post once a week and your comments are welcomed. Regards and good luck with all your projects. Thom

    Liked by 1 person

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