All
the little ways of justifying we've come to commit to memory as
necessary purpose, the ways things move here and now and perhaps have
always, there was a time before when these patterns were being
created, why did that age stop. The age of absolute creation. I am
warmed by the remembrance of a cave, within it the flame darting with
loving lustful eyes in the dark the two were loving were playing and
held and wrought by a fit of momentary expression was the flame
struck up by man now held, now witness to the loving in the dark And
there I am we all are walking ever deeper, wearing nothing, bare, we
walk deeper the temperature colder and colder though we in the
amorous warmth within and held go deeper so joyful, the love making
only growing with this depth, deeper and deeper more and more joyful
that primal joy that ancient joy. Iwe now make sound with our throat
and move it about, in other words without words we create direction,
with the compass of our throats we invent direction, we make a song,
and nothing is crude now, there is no such thing, this is a timeless
moment and that is why it is so important, remember? There was no
such thing as permission, it all was, that we were a glorious
something where there wasn't nothing, was so thrilling and reason
enough, for there was no reason, now deeper , the song we sing
growing stronger influenced by something greater and ourselves, then
suddenly it is cast, this song, and though we stop our sound it
continues, and we remember that the cave did open up in this moment,
and only could we tell by our sound, and so were able to then render
the world larger in that moment, a song became our sense our
reassurance our permission our warning to an instantly bigger world.
The flame falters, and so does our song, guided in some way by this
previous expression of permission, the making of the flame, we
remember that we are still responsive, and that we do not know until
it has come to pass, but part of us, now willing, considers there is
end to every flame, wrought by man, and that we have to witnessed an
end to inner man to man, wrought by man, that everything we create
does end, including ourselves, and fixated we become on the lasting
of that note in the wider cavern after we had stopped making our
sound, what was that, why now hold fear, that we might have moments
cast into and by space, that we might put some energy into a space
some bigger space and that gesture may continue on, that energy might
continue to power, to swim, to live, so we create. The rocks beneath
our feet turn to wet sand and cake our feet. They were here before we
think and would be after, our bodies remain after, that is the song
of the voice of our loins, the expression the decay, should we box
them then? Or submit them to a larger space to decay there and
slower, an expression remained, remains, to the earth and rocks in
caves might turn. We took then, in an effort to better feel the rocks
upon the floor in hand, and we take it to the flame to better see it
is blood red, we squeeze it with our hand and see it melt, it cake in
the same way as upon our feet, and see it stains the body, the body
might remain, after whatever in us now does leave, we might sing a
song then through this color applied, change the way our voices did
when we found direction, might make some direction in this way, so we
rubbed some lines tracing our bones upon our flesh, and soon to be a
rock, we move our hand and trace the bones of the cave beside us.
What song might we sing. This song does not move in the same way, we
might have it remain much longer, a much slower decay, for it is of
the body, anchored in the substance of this cave and of these bones.
Will Munroe
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
33
To ask
me to justify my creating, to ask me to justify my creation, is to
ask me to justify the meaning of my life. I honestly could not tell you my
meaning, just that something draws me out, that something beyond what
I am consciously driven to do does permeate me constantly, does tell
me in that way the moon does sea, to move here to do this, play this
note, write this phrase, the meaning of my life I suppose is to allow
this force to always move through me, to keep myself as clear enough
so I might allow this force to clearly ring me like a bell, and I am
grateful for the room's reverberations. So for me, the word volume is
all it's meanings all at once and life.
32
The
tension is viscerally felt in this part of the world in this part of
the time. Were I to describe to you the sensation of staring in the
reflection of a window would then you understand what I mean, what it
is like to feel so utterly of a particular moment that you can sense
the past in all of it, that you might look out in front of you and
see behind, all that is behind and realize that your sense of forward
comes not just from the eyes and the world but that sight in sleep
the song in sleep the places that might be explored in the darkness
where there is obscurity, but now, since I am so keen to find shadow
even in the day and able to trace with my finger their beginning, I
can too use this sleeping eye beneath the sun to see the future
mapped on the face of buildings from straight line to curved and
more. Just now, through my many lenses, I see the world turned to
sandcastles, that they might be gone by the next tide and what a
relief that would be, the system that would result form such a
constructive practice, that it would be known that our buildings
would degrade that there would be no word for that but 'day' and
'night.' We all build sandcastles of the mind, but attempt, just like
our buildings, to keep them from the tide! Why keep them from the
tide, there will be many opportunities to construct, and we needn't
only build once, for in the act of building is the execution of hope!
The construction is the manifestation of our desire to live, we might
think to continue to build, to enliven and enlighten ourselves
through overcoming destruction, what would be gained by loss of fear
in destruction? I say, so much. I speak to you now, with one dollar
to my name, and have been struggling to eat, but no matter,
confronting the destruction of my body has led me to praise the hope
in rebuilding. That if I could eat, I would, that when this tide
would pass, I would rebuild with excitement and pleasure. Loss is
tide, and tides ebb and flow, extreme and tame, the weather changes,
but sand, though moved, does still together form the beds the
beaches. Stand in the shallows, feel the way it works, always
shifting, this was you. This is you still. See the sand within. The
little to the many make us love, the impossibility of that
construction, were we to build so great a castle as all the earth.
I took time off - 31
Who
dares to question God in such a way but only the most devout secure
enough that there is something there having sensed it, that is why I
ask, I do so feel the presence of the invisible, that is why I ask
where you perceive our differences lay, and does that definition not,
at least in some fundamental part, come from the realm of the
invisible? That we have found a way to make the invisible visible and
then to draw some definitive and separating principle from that
man-made manifest. In this way our words become our flesh, when yet
they spawn from the same great force the engine of the universe of
which we all spin and fly fast so fast beyond our feeling. That is a
force greater than is felt, and we do not find difference in so big a
thing, yet, perhaps no bigger thing in terms of importance is there.
Can we find a way to fear that forward motion without eachother's
hands. I think the Lord's words are written everywhere but mostly in
the things in life I do not understand, and fundamentally, I feel so
close to them, and fundamentally I think it my responsibility to
contemplate them with mine own mind, for my mind too is one of the
larger amorphous yet defined, expressions of that greater plane in
the realm of divine symbols, the same realm I consider our
differences to be, the impossibility of my understanding the breadth
of your life all the moments you consider to be important to you. You
might tell me, but I rely on my reverence to the greater plane in
you, I will always worship those parts of you I do not understand for
that reason, you are certainly of god to me.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
30
Called upon by flame to grow
asked to
move upward
closer the gravity of the gods
to pull from the earth a
life
to spin it with the wind and make more always
spinning always
building always
pulling always
tugging into life cords and stems.
29
Of this line of thinking comes a
reckoning of time.
I am to die,
and have more than once
now seen the rigor mortice of my body
and have come to look upon a
vast room of strangers
and contemplate the transient space they hold.
In such moments I see it not as dark, as sad, as tragic, but as
phenomenal:
That our allegories are united in our births and in our
deaths
and what we have chosen to celebrate.
28
Gunpowder was discovered in the concocting
of an elixir for immortality desperately desired by a Chinese Emperor.
Perhaps it is our want to manifest beauty in
such grave terms,
A misunderstanding of the raising of the stakes:
for making death more eminent,
surely gives rise to the importance of
recognizing the momentary beauties,
of which we are one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)