All day I think it, and last/night I say it.
I love you.
i love you
At times, I believe that all of creation is the attempt to both say and hear these words; is wrapped around the channel that sends and delivers these words; is a facet of this singularity.
I feel grateful and honored and humbled to be spoken through.
I know that you heard it.
The cosmos breathes
banners fly and flutes
hum with their hollow hearts
In which direction, I wanted to know, do I shout my gratitude to the universe?
Tell yourself, he said with a smile.
But later, (since the sky is a mirror) we both yelled gleefully towards the stars
in thanks for serendipitous wine.
All day I think it, and last/night I say it.
(first draft lost)
It's another kind of magic to gimpse when something already is and has been.
even more amazing than discovering that someone understands what you are trying to say
Is discovering that not only do they already know,
they've already told you.
I love the way gifts can be wrapped in time.
I love the way that time delivers gifts.
I am indebted to writers
for preserving an experience for others who recognize it to point at and agree
yes; with all my past and present, yes.
Posted by Churaesie at 10:00
(proceeding from Frankl's description of the human achievement as taking on a role of creator and artist of meaning itself)
(and, meaning "Super" not as in being better, but as being greater, more inclusive, transcending individual identity)
"Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality. No one can become fully aware of the essence of another human being unless he loves him. by his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features of the beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities.-Frankl in Man's Search for Meaning
By making him aware of what he can be and of what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true..."
When I was young, I asked God to see others the way He did, and through his love. This description sounds to me like an elegant and ultimate combination of the "God is Love" foundation of John wedded to the Paulo Coelho's description of love as enabling and transformative in "The Alchemist" - In a world where the only constant is change, and where love is what believes in and encourages that growth, then that is a thing, a characteristic, a vision worth aspiring to, leaning on like a cane, cultivating, embracing, and becoming.
Posted by Churaesie at 07:55
'Did it take long to find me?' I asked the faithful light.
'Did it take long to find me? And, are you gonna stay tonight?'
And, to the other little lights as well.
Is this part of what he (and Campbell) had mentioned? That we are creating our own mythology?
Either way, I'll choose to appreciate the times when, after sending my request into the earth, the universe meets me in a way that I can recognize.
Today, my favorite lyrics are from "Moonshadow" by Cat Stevens. It just occurred to me today that maybe 老子 would have also been amused.
Flaming swords and rivers are no threat to one another
In some ways, it is the only thing of importance.
What art can one learn to craft from a river (or rivers) if one learns to treat time as a medium?
Posted by Churaesie at 08:22
Following a prompt from a friend on a better way to practice this:
I am playing a new game of seeing the negative space.
Seeing the thing as outlined by the not-thing.
Noticing the distances that make things what they are by the nature of the separation.
Seeing the thing as being the outline of the not-thing.
When I write, outlining the not-thing with the thing.
Acknowledging the decisions not made, the roads not traveled, the silence between by which sounds are defined.
The quiet into which what I don't plan can grow.
The world feels much more comfortably full,
when I acknowledge even the stories that don't speak.
I'm listening to Viktor Frankl's Man's Search For Meaning on Audible.
It's the background and description of his school of thought in psychiatry called "logotherapy".
I like the way he describes the "human achievement" as that which a person may produce from a given "predicament".
Turning predicament into a human achievement is the manner in which all people are necessarily artists. Like any art, it can be practiced, stylized, and honed into a truly respectable craft.
In everything, the uniquely human potential is to paint that layer of perception, interpretation, and chosen response upon the canvas of situation with which we are presented.
It is the art of acknowledging and working with what we cannot change to produce, create, or accept what we can. We may or may not consider it to be successful, but it is this layer of perception and response that would not arise in any other way, and thus, in its uniqueness, is a human achievement.
I am reminded of the quote at the beginning of Steinbeck's Cannery Row.
And Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
Walking the evening streets of Shanghai,
Harbin beers in hand,
(considering the All as an informational map in 1s and 0s
the "things" that we know as selected groupings of those,
and a human drive to uncover meaning like an algorithm tasked with revealing its own code)
is as good a place as any
to be reminded that one's "purpose" in life is to be,
to be uniquely,
and so being,
Looking back at my own posts, not finding what I wanted.
Surprised at what I did find
The posts, huddled in time around gaping empty spaces
craters. Trying to grow again before the next carves out its due.
Posts drafted in my head that I don't see - flags of thought I wish I'd thrown in time.
I see comments I wish I'd known about, responded to
Perhaps from others trying to walk across this same slippery stream
the stepping stones are many, but the water deep.
The breaths come few and far between.
Though I hope that others understand,
I know that really, I address myself in saying:
Please forgive the silence
it's not that I've been drowning
but all the work at breathing
makes it awful hard to speak.
I know the taste of air
I know when I'm awake
The struggle is for the next breath of consciousness
every time I slip and plunge
as I make my way across this river dream
I am ashamed at the ways I betray my own progress
but the way ahead is still forward
My previous steps, though unsteady, inconsistent, drive me from the past to start again
and on I go
Posted by Churaesie at 01:53
Posted by Churaesie at 07:20
the commas, pause for breath, 'midst poetry
fresh dewdrops awakening, perched atop the grass
light rain of tears rebounding up unheard from dust and puddles
the scratch of drumming surfaces that beat a rhythm
flightpath of birds on their way to the throne room
hoofprints of Pitzeem's mare
the dirt in the field flying out behind Badger's hind claws
the wink of gleaming stardust settling behind rocky peaks in a yellowing dawn
Posted by Churaesie at 05:22