in the night
scrambling to scream
arms, and legs
–by Elisabeth Connelley
After a dream in which your love’s fullness
Was heaven and earth, I stood on nothing in darkness,
Neither finding nor falling, without hope nor dread,
Not knowing pleasure nor discontented.
In time, like the first beam arriving from
The first star, a ray from a seed of light came,
Whose source, coming nearer, (I could not say whether
It rose or descended, for there was no higher nor lower)
To a trumpet’s thin sweet highest note
Which grew to the pitch of pain, showed how its white
Light proceeded all from a blue crystal stone
Large as a child’s skull, shaped so, lucent as when
Daylight strikes sideways through a cat’s eyes;
Blue not blinding, its light did not shine but was;
And came, as the trumpet pierced through into silence,
To hover so close before my hands
That I might have held it, but that one does not handle
What one accepts as a miracle.
A great sapphire it was whose light and cradle
Held all things;there were the delights of skies, though
Its cloudless blue was different; of sea and meadow,
But their shapes not seen, The stone unheld was mine,
But yours the sense by which, without further sign
I recognized its visionary presence
By its clarity, its changless patience,
And the unuttered joy that it was,
As the world’s love before the world was.”
And it was at that age . . . Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
– Pablo Neruda
translated by Alastair Reid
Faces of Cosmos--taken by my daughter, E
This is an untouched image taken, I think, by my daughter, E. It still takes my breath away to see it. It is on a string of images that I labeled as E and the Sundogs. All of us here added to that run of images.
Now in the blessed days of more and less
when the news about time is that each day
there is less of it I know none of that
as I walk out through the early garden
only the day and I are here with no
before or after and the dew looks up
without a number or a present age
– W. S. Merwin
The Resonant Enigma does. I am particularly fond of when Resonant Enigma does a sketch. I hope that Resonant Enigma does not mind me saying that to me, they feel of quick burstings of things that must come out, hidden in or simply paired like wine to the output. Would that I had the gift of expression using that particular medium. Envy, however, I will pluck and put into an Envelope to engage, enrich, and express in a MUCH healthier and joyous expression of my own gifts that bring and share light that has no end.
I did not imagine that after my comment on the Bathtub sketch, that I’d be asked to share such….items. To me, taking them, felt like catching a copulating couple and watching unnoticed, sometimes looking at them and their act, other times valuing light and shadow or the simple movement of a leaf on a branch near to them instead.
I’m posting. I am annoyed. Ok I’m not annoyed in general, only about certain things. I am that way, very joyful over one thing or things in general and quite snarky indeed about another. This concept seems a bit difficult for others to grasp, so, I generally do not try to do so.
Back around Thanks for Giving Day, my computer had a nasty illness, at least one virus and all. I freaked out with worry–I can be very good at worry about certain things. The brain and the body have not seemed to have allowed the understanding about how worrying does NO good at all, in relation to these things. Sooooooooo…I have decided to check worrying about worrying that I worry over certain things, and well then I’m still me, and everyone else is much less inclined to want me to be buried in a deep hole (make that soundproof hole) somewhere.
Well, the day after Christmas my lovely son, virused the computer YET AGAIN. (go ahead sigh a few times in identification and commiseration) I kicked myself in the hiney for not having accumulated enough funds for a back up drive for my books and images, but having just been through the worry it seems that my worry quota was filled. The computer is back at the fix it up chappy place. This time, I am feeling very stagnated in the creativity zone. I express quite a LOT of energy in this manner. I suppose one might equate this situation with a daily long distance runner ending up stuck into a wheelchair and unable to use legs for a bit. I know I do. Perhaps this really was what was behind what I labeled worry the first time around and I was so lost that I couldn’t or didn’t, or maybe wouldn’t recognize it.
I hadn’t realized that I had become so comfortable being me, whoever I am, and whatever I wish to express in any given moment. It keeps me honest with myself and with others. It isn’t so much that I always feel comfortable expressing to or with others, however, I can write here feelings and emotions and even actions trying each out for size and watching from a distance making better choices. Ok, maybe not always better choices but for the most part then I’m always clear that I DID see it and make a choice anyway. Parts of me are muttering and wondering if I really had to be that forthright….YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! 🙂
Ha! Now just look I have in some ways thwarted that thwartation of my creativity. Feeling sneaky is FUN!!!
Until next time!