Planes, ear plugs, vanishing blocks ...
We're to embrace the clouds,
Their thickness, their fluffs
And we are to embrace
The essence of now;
No sounds, no contrasts, no control;
It's being, in its most primordial forms.
No elapse of time, no clash of minds,
No illusion, no deceit
In the ocean they dissolve
In the moment we arrive!
That which the traveler in his journey experiences will eventually shape his identity. So, here are the events as they unfold ....... © copyright by firstcomet
12/10/11
12/3/11
Aupa neska polita
A cold cup of tea
Sitting on my desk
Neglect
The essence of the moment
Submerged
Just to forget:
Aupa neska polita
And then
A simple touch,
An ordinary swing
Letting it go, letting it fly
Sitting on my desk
Neglect
The essence of the moment
Submerged
Just to forget:
Aupa neska polita
And then
A simple touch,
An ordinary swing
Letting it go, letting it fly
11/28/11
LIFE
Life, believe, is not a dream,
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day:
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
Oh, why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly.
What though death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though Sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell,
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfuly, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell dispair!
--Charlotte Brontë
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day:
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
Oh, why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly.
What though death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though Sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell,
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfuly, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell dispair!
--Charlotte Brontë
11/19/11
The unity of human experience:
In the most intense moments
Pupils dilates and enlarges
And you find yourself engulfed
At the event-horizon of a blackhole
Annihilating forever
All I-thou boundaries [1].
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_and_Thou
Pupils dilates and enlarges
And you find yourself engulfed
At the event-horizon of a blackhole
Annihilating forever
All I-thou boundaries [1].
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_and_Thou
11/16/11
A beautiful lily
A beautiful lily I have chosen (basque traditional song)
For some time now, I have chosen a beautiful lily,
but I do not dare to pick it up with my hands,
because I know the danger it is to look at it too much.
Beautiful lily, look at me and tell me if you really love me,
your eyes have hurt the deepest of my heart
and now my wound runs the risk of gangrene.
For some time now, I have chosen a beautiful lily,
but I do not dare to pick it up with my hands,
because I know the danger it is to look at it too much.
Beautiful lily, look at me and tell me if you really love me,
your eyes have hurt the deepest of my heart
and now my wound runs the risk of gangrene.
Tomas Tranströmer
Sick of those who come with words, words but no language,
I make my way to the snow-covered island.
Wilderness has no words. The unwritten pages
stretch out in all directions.
...
I come across this line of deer-slots in the snow: a language,
language without words. —Translated by Robin Robertson
addendum to Transtromer:
In the solitude of the white wilderness,
I will make a snowman, my friend
and it will speak my language.
Its voice will be water to everyone,
who will quench their thirst,
with words they have never heard.
I make my way to the snow-covered island.
Wilderness has no words. The unwritten pages
stretch out in all directions.
...
I come across this line of deer-slots in the snow: a language,
language without words. —Translated by Robin Robertson
addendum to Transtromer:
In the solitude of the white wilderness,
I will make a snowman, my friend
and it will speak my language.
Its voice will be water to everyone,
who will quench their thirst,
with words they have never heard.
Eva!
Holding in your eyes
Autumns of Gold,
Between your lips
Happiness conceives,
I’ll whisper your name;
Till the end of aaaaaaaa
Till dissipation of sound …
What silence may bring;
May solitude reign supreme?
For you are half dream,
I cherish the dark!
At the verge of the night,
When dreams come to life,
I hold you tight!
Autumns of Gold,
Between your lips
Happiness conceives,
I’ll whisper your name;
Till the end of aaaaaaaa
Till dissipation of sound …
What silence may bring;
May solitude reign supreme?
For you are half dream,
I cherish the dark!
At the verge of the night,
When dreams come to life,
I hold you tight!
11/15/11
SYMPTOMATIC RELIEF OF CANTABRIGIAN SYNDROME
My blood is dark green
and the viscous elixir
flows through my veins,
filling my lungs, tickling my sinus
all the way to the pituitary.
I am the Master Hunter,
and I want it split in two glasses!
I have it in two glasses, to slowly melt
my frozen soul and dissolve it
in the minty liquid, for others to drink.
In this tragedy of the commons, which we play
I open my heart to the Marys, Sarahs and Evas;
transient relieves of my incipient mononucleosis.
But they take it and they cut it into pieces
and mix the shaken pump of my existence
in their favorite cranberry juice.
I am the Master Hunter;
And I went to the moon and back
just to hunt you here tonight.
Join me, green fairy,
as we disrupt the blissful repose of nothingness
and give some meaning to life.
--I.S., excerpts from the Master Hunter's of Wendell St.
and the viscous elixir
flows through my veins,
filling my lungs, tickling my sinus
all the way to the pituitary.
I am the Master Hunter,
and I want it split in two glasses!
I have it in two glasses, to slowly melt
my frozen soul and dissolve it
in the minty liquid, for others to drink.
In this tragedy of the commons, which we play
I open my heart to the Marys, Sarahs and Evas;
transient relieves of my incipient mononucleosis.
But they take it and they cut it into pieces
and mix the shaken pump of my existence
in their favorite cranberry juice.
I am the Master Hunter;
And I went to the moon and back
just to hunt you here tonight.
Join me, green fairy,
as we disrupt the blissful repose of nothingness
and give some meaning to life.
--I.S., excerpts from the Master Hunter's of Wendell St.
10/27/11
10/9/11
WATTER DREAMS:
Your voice on the phone is water.
A glass on the side table.
I fall asleep looking at it.
Water floods the bed.
My nightdress swells, I drift
towards a lighthouse,
where you happen to be,
writing an email to me.
Subject: “Water, please.”
(Is my voice water to you?)
I open my eyes, I stretch my arm out. The glass falls.
The pieces on the ground spell your name.
I wake up wet. -- Miren Agur Meabe
A glass on the side table.
I fall asleep looking at it.
Water floods the bed.
My nightdress swells, I drift
towards a lighthouse,
where you happen to be,
writing an email to me.
Subject: “Water, please.”
(Is my voice water to you?)
I open my eyes, I stretch my arm out. The glass falls.
The pieces on the ground spell your name.
I wake up wet. -- Miren Agur Meabe
9/17/11
Books And Arts | The New Republic
Books And Arts | The New Republic
... what they call "incidental" cities. The profound dislocation that emerges in story after story is not a symptom of the exiled person as much as it is his privileged knowledge of how things actually are. While a few of these characters vouchsafed this knowledge that the actual world makes sense only in art, the rest are left with the brittle ironies of the mirror world where everything is a parody of something else.
... what they call "incidental" cities. The profound dislocation that emerges in story after story is not a symptom of the exiled person as much as it is his privileged knowledge of how things actually are. While a few of these characters vouchsafed this knowledge that the actual world makes sense only in art, the rest are left with the brittle ironies of the mirror world where everything is a parody of something else.
2/18/11
Valentine
Valentine
When your lips
Colored a rainbow
And left it up there
Permanently
In the universe ...
The one I ever know
When your lips
Colored a rainbow
And left it up there
Permanently
In the universe ...
The one I ever know
2/12/11
Life
What was life other than an explosion of possible forms? And what a surprise it would have been if our brains were not equipped with the emotion of surprise; a state to transition to from a variety of other states. And how easy it is to miss this point, just because of our chance upbringing, our immediate peers, our illusion of sameness, our overly simplifying brains.
1/17/11
funambulist
Facebook said:
“You have 9 friends with birthdays this week”
And the next message declared:
Dear all
Hereby to inform you of the sad news
Of the passing of my father Cyrus
In Harare, Zimbabwe at the age of 57
I'm sure some of you have happy memories
Of him and will miss him very much
And here goes the stories of the funambulist
Of niagara falls
For whom the currents beneath
Were nothing but themes
Of stories to tell
Without losing sight
Of his path of pride
“You have 9 friends with birthdays this week”
And the next message declared:
Dear all
Hereby to inform you of the sad news
Of the passing of my father Cyrus
In Harare, Zimbabwe at the age of 57
I'm sure some of you have happy memories
Of him and will miss him very much
And here goes the stories of the funambulist
Of niagara falls
For whom the currents beneath
Were nothing but themes
Of stories to tell
Without losing sight
Of his path of pride
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