Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides,
thus casting colored shadows on thy radiance
---such is thy Maya.
Thou settest a barrier in thine own being
and then callest thy severed self in myriad notes.
This thy self-separation has taken body in me.
The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloured tears
and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again,
dreams break and form.
In me is thy own defeat of self.
This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable figures
with the brush of the night and the day.
Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves,
casting away all barren lines of straightness.
The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky.
With the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant,
and all ages pass with the hiding and seeking of thee and me.
I long to speak the deepest words I have to say to you; but I
dare not, for fear you should laugh.
That is why I laugh at myself and shatter my secret in jest.
I make light of my pain, afraid you should do so.
I long to tell you the truest words I have to say to you; but I
dare not, being afraid that you would not believe them.
That is why I disguise them in untruth, saying the contrary of
what I mean.
I make my pain appear absurd, afraid that you should do so.
I long to use the most precious words I have for you; but I dare
not, fearing I should not be paid with like value.
That is why I gave you hard names and boast of my callous
I hurt you, for fear you should never know any pain.
I long to sit silent by you; but I dare not lest my heart come
out at my lips.
That is why I prattle and chatter lightly and hide my heart
I rudely handle my pain, for fear you should do so.
I long to go away from your side; but I dare not, for fear my
cowardice should become known to you.
That is why I hold my head high and carelessly come into your
Constant thrusts from your eyes keep my pain fresh for ever.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
She said inspiration is,
recognising the elements in the fourth dimension, in blood, bone, eyes and the soul...
It is hard to be inspired when we see what we like to see, hear what we like to hear and believe in what we would like to believe, it is like wondering what a mirror would look like when there is nothing to reflect.
Manifestations of expressions from within are either inspired by one other thing or purely the expression of the soul itself. The latter, now being infested by the sub-conscious influence of things lost in time but not from memory, is what moulds the clay today. It thrusts upon others, its expressions, driven by its own desires.
the mirage : So, what is the true colour of a mirror?
mild One : We wouldn't know. We have moved backwards.
the mirage : Walls have been broken. Thoughts flow out and let wind from other places carry opinions inside. It is hard to ignore speculation, to be ignorant to offense, to be unemotional and unrevealing. We are everything a mirror isn't.
mild One : We don't care, do we? We have agreed that people wouldn't mind if we join, but wouldn't care if we don't, there's no point in anything at all.
the mirage : What drives us then, every time after this lull?
mild One : Time.