Of Words and Sword…. & Mad Men…..
Sometimes, straight to the heart of the matter, like a flaming arrow, or a gentle whisper, filled with urgency and longing, booming, gently, like waves, the plip-plop of water on the lake of consciousness, tongues of flame burning un-forget-able nuances on the paper-stuff of the un-know-able that is our mind, glazing the clay-tablet of memory into a living thing, un-erase-able, funny that, living glazed clay, cuni-form triangles of arrow-headed simplicity, the heart of the mater, the heart of the matter, normalcy in shreds, the comfort-able fabric of our lives, with it’s warp and woof, or some say weft, cleft, right and left, asunder, woof woof, sun, dog, god, orion, something to cry on, eye-cleansing, tears, rips the mote of blindness from my i, my u, your us, common rail, diverging at infinity, parallel lives, inter-secting, bi-sect-ual pri-mate, man, woman, being, static, like an electric top, sometimes a bottom, spinning, shock-ing, un-lock-ing, deep recesses…..
how i felt…. when i read this: Khalil Gibran by way of my dear friend, One-ness…
“God of lost souls, thou who art lost amongst the gods, hear me:
Gentle Destiny that watchest over us, mad, wandering spirits, hear me:
I dwell in the midst of a perfect race, I the most imperfect.
I, a human chaos, a nebula of confused elements, I move amongst finished worlds-
peoples of complete laws and pure order, whose thoughts are assorted,
whose dreams are arranged, and whose visions are enrolled and registered.
Their virtues, O God, are measured, their sins are weighed, and even the countless
things that pass in the dim twilight of neither sin nor virtue are recorded and catalogued.
Here days and nights are divided into seasons of
conduct and governed by rules of blameless accuracy.
To eat, to drink, to sleep, to cover one’s nudity, and then to be weary in due time.
To work, to play, to sing, to dance, and then to lie still when the clock strikes the hour.
To think thus, to feel thus much, and then to cease thinking and feeling when a
certain star rises above yonder horizon.
To rob a neighbor with a smile, to bestow gifts with a graceful wave of
the hand, to praise prudently, to blame cautiously, to destroy a soul with a word,
to burn a body with a breath, and then to wash the hands when the day’s work is done.
To love according to an established order, to entertain one’s best self in a
pre-conceived manner, to worship the gods becomingly, to intrigue the
devils artfully – and then to forget all as though memory were dead.
To fancy with a motive, to contemplate with consideration, to be happy sweetly,
to suffer nobly – and then to empty the cup so that tomorrow may fill it again.
All these things, O God, are conceived with forethought, born with determination,
nursed with exactness, governed by rules, directed by reason, and then slain
and buried after a prescribed method. And even their silent graves that lie
within the human soul are marked and numbered.
It is a perfect world, a world of consummate excellence, a world of supreme wonders,
the ripest fruit in God’s garden, the master-thought of the universe.
But why should I be here, O God, I a green seed of unfulfilled passion, a mad tempest
that seeketh neither east nor west, a bewildered fragment from a burnt planet?
Why am I here, O God of lost souls, thou who art lost amongst the gods?”
– Kahlil Gibran, “The Perfect World,” from “The Madman”
step into the light… 😉