Stagger onward rejoicing

Atlantis

Being set on the idea
Of getting to Atlantis,
You have discovered of course
Only the Ship of Fools is
Making the voyage this year,
As gales of abnormal force
Are predicted, and that you
Must therefore be ready to
Behave absurdly enough
To pass for one of The Boys,
At least appearing to love
Hard liquor, horseplay and noise.

Should storms, as may well happen,
Drive you to anchor a week
In some old harbour-city
Of Ionia, then speak
With her witty sholars, men
Who have proved there cannot be
Such a place as Atlantis:
Learn their logic, but notice
How its subtlety betrays
Their enormous simple grief;
Thus they shall teach you the ways
To doubt that you may believe.

If, later, you run aground
Among the headlands of Thrace,
Where with torches all night long
A naked barbaric race
Leaps frenziedly to the sound
Of conch and dissonant gong:
On that stony savage shore
Strip off your clothes and dance, for
Unless you are capable
Of forgetting completely
About Atlantis, you will
Never finish your journey.

Again, should you come to gay
Carthage or Corinth, take part
In their endless gaiety;
And if in some bar a tart,
As she strokes your hair, should say
"This is Atlantis, dearie,"
Listen with attentiveness
To her life-story: unless
You become acquainted now
With each refuge that tries to
Counterfeit Atlantis, how
Will you recognise the true?

Assuming you beach at last
Near Atlantis, and begin
That terrible trek inland
Through squalid woods and frozen
Thundras where all are soon lost;
If, forsaken then, you stand,
Dismissal everywhere,
Stone and now, silence and air,
O remember the great dead
And honour the fate you are,
Travelling and tormented,
Dialectic and bizarre.

Stagger onward rejoicing;
And even then if, perhaps
Having actually got
To the last col, you collapse
With all Atlantis shining
Below you yet you cannot
Descend, you should still be proud
Even to have been allowed
Just to peep at Atlantis
In a poetic vision:
Give thanks and lie down in peace,
Having seen your salvation.

All the little household gods
Have started crying, but say
Good-bye now, and put to sea.
Farewell, my dear, farewell: may
Hermes, master of the roads,
And the four dwarf Kabiri,
Protect and serve you always;
And may the Ancient of Days
Provide for all you must do
His invisible guidance,
Lifting up, dear, upon you
The light of His countenance.

W.H. Auden

Was pleasantly surprised to receive a farewell letter from one of the friends I've made in French class today.
Elle est une etudiante de litterature, so our conversations back home on the bus have been about writers, poems and the like. It was hence pretty fitting that she should include an extract from W. H. Auden, her favourite poet (and whose work she'll cover for thesis next year).
I thought this was such a sweet gesture, really.

Sitting on the bus ride home just now, I started to replay all the semesters and classes I've ever been in.
And my heart welled up with thankfulness and a whole lot of warmth.
Despite all my social ineptness, it's crazy but I think what I'll cherish most are the friendships formed.
Looking back, I've never failed to befriend at least one person in every module since the very first sem in 2010. And I am very proud to know that these are indeed friends and not mere acquaintances (which is a lot) that you keep for networking purposes.
Perhaps one of the things that stuck me most was the frequency of conversations I have with others about faith. It's true and we know: that at the end of the day, all we really care about is the after-life, the end of this life, and the what else then?

This has just been a post inspired by a spur of reflexive emotions following la lettre de mon amie.
Tomorrow will finally be my last official day in school, and yes, I think it's pretty sad.
I say it every semester and I'll say it again, time flies man, it really does.