|
Gone, but never far away.
|
Jul. 15th, 2008 @ 10:45 pm
|
|---|
|
"If this were played upon the stage now, I would condemn it as an improbable fiction."
-Twelfth Night, act 3, scene 4.
Ah, but improbable things happen all the time. Improbable things are quite often the most enjoyable things. But in order for improbable things to be enjoyed best, they must clearly show signs of being a reality, otherwise they are missed, mistaken, dismissed.
For someone who has lived as long as I have, one would suppose it might be difficult to surprise me. This is not true, of course. I am surprised quite often, and unfortunately, it is usually not a good surprise. I suppose I can not help being hopeful, and this might be why... why I am surprised when people turn out to be less than I thought they would be, or something good turns out to be not quite as good as it could have been, but what sustains anyone through whatever years they may have is hope. So I move on, away from things that no longer contain hope for me, and into new strange territory, and I hope for a good surprise.
The world is always fresh for me... I want you to understand this. Maybe it is a kind of madness that keeps me in this state, but I think it is actually that the world is in such a constant flux that it can not help but be different each time I turn around. So when I talk about a new territory, it is another version, a different version, of what came before. Different, still improbable, but how richly defined in dedication to the precepts as defined and understood before.
Like a note that is played once, and then again at a different vibration, higher, faster, more franticly now than ever before, this music can carry one off. The loss can be devastating. The gain can be overwhelming. The pain is always greater than the joy, but it can be healed... sometimes even forgotten.
If, in some rapturous exaltation of dirge, some writing makes new tales of my name, enjoy them, if you like, but know that the music I play here will be the songs you know. I am here... I am only here in this old, but new strange territory, hoping for some good surprise.
O my beloved friends, let it be a good surprise for you too. I have gone, but am never far away.
~Khay of the Ducklings |
|
Lady Truth
|
Aug. 15th, 2006 @ 04:53 pm
|
|---|
|
She enters the cave I have carved with my hands, singing softly of how she will fly in the morning. I am moved by her fiery yet gentle heart, and how kind she is to fill my empty world with her glow. It is my hope that her inner light will endure the darkness that I know stretches out before her.
It is like the confines of this stone, deeper and further away from the sunlight and all that grows outside. Those things infused with the glow of daylight do not root here, and the wind does not carry in those green scents, but she carries them in, she burns the dried herbs and sweet tree resins until the dust of their ashes lightly covers the walls, and the stone soaks it in the way I do of her.
I see her paintings and photographs, all trying to capture the last of her days. The colors she tries to lock up into her memory so that she might take them out again some night far ahead, and display them against the empty walls of night.
The silence hovers like a heavy curtain waiting to drop between us. I try to capture her every last brilliant thought, and her feelings that are as deep as the oceans and changing as tides. I want to take photographs of these too, but I commit them to my mind as carefully as I may. I will not forget these things, I say to myself. These are treasures as precious as the light.
I see how there is already the touch of us on her. Her spirit responds with wild abandon. I hear how she already steps so quietly along the ground, and I see how she glides with grace, dangerous and beautiful. There is an echo of what we are somewhere inside her, even before the touch that was given to her. I wonder what it is that echoes there, and what it will become, when at last she has been made like us.
And so I have fed her rose petals, speckled with the fire of my blood. She puts it on her tongue like a communion. My blood is in her. There is no more choice now whether or not to take those last steps into the deeper, darker places, and yet there are always choices, and I wonder what path she will take to, and after she reaches, her destiny. |
|
|
Jun. 2nd, 2006 @ 08:44 pm
|
|---|
|
I wish to write. Words fail to form. What senseless obsession will carry me on my next journey? Without my obsessions, there is only a stillness. I crawl into a dark place and close my eyes. |
|
Quotes
|
Jul. 11th, 2005 @ 01:06 am
|
|---|
|
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
T. S. Eliot
From the film Run Lola Run:
'Mankind, probably the most mysterious of all species on our planet. A mystery of open questions. Who are we? Where do we come from? Where are we going? How do we know what we believe to know? Why do we believe anything at all?
'Innumerable questions looking for an answer, an answer which will raise the next question and the following answer will raise a following question and so on and so forth.
'But in the end, isn't it always the same question and always the same answer?'
From the film Don Juan de Marco:
There are only four questions of value in life, Don Octavio. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same: only love.
_________________________________________________________________
I like to look at these quotes, and I answer the questions in the quote from Run Lola Run with the answer given in the quote from Don Juan de Marco. I find that it is the same question, and it is the same answer, and it works very well. But one must discover the questions, and discover the answers. It is never enough to be told. It is never enough to believe it or to hope it is true. It must be discovered to be true. And I find that as many times as I discover it, each time it becomes more clear. All at once when I thought I had understanding before, I find that I did not understand it well enough. |
|
|