World was in the face of the beloved–,
but suddenly it poured out and was gone:
world is outside, world can not be grasped.
Why didn’t I, from the full, beloved face
as I raised it to my lips, why didn’t I drink
world, so near that I couldn’t almost taste it?
Ah, I drank. Insatiably I drank.
But I was filled up also, with too much
world, and, drinking, I myself spilled over.
* * *
In a sky dominated by oppositions and marked, as the skin marks when sleeping,
with changes pressed in,
events may or may not take a permanent place,
but is there a mark?
Confrontations, Encounters, self with self, self with others…
Neptune’s vaseline lens imbuing the commonplace with otherworldly
dimension, a hi-lighter, that somehow blurs the edges on boldfaced alliterative prose.
Is it the becauses that are missing or the whys?
* * *
I had a dream that I was dreaming,
then I woke up in the dream.
It was a long one,
I was telling the person in my dream about what I had dreamed.
I was dreaming of traveling with my father, dead, ten years now.
Always airports and train stations, bus stations, waiting,
saying hello and goodbye, just as it was with him in life.
In my dream he was alive. In both dreams he was alive.
As I began to explain to the person in my dream,
as I began, dreaming, to tell them my dream, it took me time.
Time to understand, that there were two separate stories of when and how he died,
within each dream, and where and how he was alive in both,
that the person I was explaining to was also dead, and I was dreaming.
* * *
What could be a bigger threshold than death?
Tension is high, actually beneath and beyond understanding.
There is suddenly plenty to be angry about and nobody gets what they want.
Could you want something simple?
Well, could you?
Do you want to fight me for it?
* * *
When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity—in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.-Anne Morrow Lindbergh
and this, which I love so much, which says everything I always want to say:
Violence does not consist so much in injuring and annihilating persons as in interrupting their continuity, making them play roles in which they no longer recognize themselves, making them betray not only commitments but their own substance, making them carry out actions that will destroy every possibility for action.- Emmanuel Levinas via the gorgeous Saturn Rising