Friday, December 23, 2011


"There was once a king sitting on his throne. Around him stood great and wonderfully beautiful columns ornamented with ivory, bearing the banners of the king with great honour. Then it pleased the king to raise a small feather from the ground and he commanded it to fly. The feather flew, not because of anything in itself but because the air bore it along. Thus am I 'A feather on the breath of God'."

That is how one of the most remarkable creative personalities of the Middle Ages describes herself. Hildegard of Bingen has been one of my heroines for years and when I found this feather on the floor of the hall the other day I thought of this sublime music. I  had used this music in a sound-scape I created for a show many years ago.  Here is a link to just the music [link] and  to the sound-scape The Sweetness of Truth the Body Reveals  [link]. You will need to scroll down the page to find it . Below are the words in Latin and the English translation. Perfect words for any time of the year, but especially resonant now. 

Caritas abundat in omnia, de imis excellentissima super sidera, atque amantissima in omnia, quia summo Regi osculum pacis dedit.

"Love lives in everything, from the deepest depths to the highest stars, and she is the most charming of all, because she has given the highest King the kiss of peace."

A feather for  Hildegard of Bingen


  1. Thank you. Reading this post at this time has been beyond a perfect moment. The feather is exquisite.

  2. Thank you for bringing such beauty to my Christmas. May all the joys and blessings of the season be yours.

  3. This is beautiful. It all fits so well together with your work. Thanks for sharing.

  4. Thanks Blue Sky, so very happy you enjoyed it.

    Thanks Jo, and all the very best to you and yours.

    Thanks Eric, Love Hildegard and feathers, and also could have used that wonderful line, "Hope is that thing with feathers" , that wonderful poem of Emily Dickenson

    Hope is the thing with feathers
    That perches in the soul,
    And sings the tune--without the words,
    And never stops at all,

    And sweetest in the gale is heard;
    And sore must be the storm
    That could abash the little bird
    That kept so many warm.

    I've heard it in the chillest land,
    And on the strangest sea;
    Yet, never, in extremity,
    It asked a crumb of me.


I appreciate your thoughts and comments; thanks for taking the time.