The Past as Fog or Ghost
L. Edgar Otto Thursday, 28 March, 2013
Sometimes I causally discovery and find great pleasure in simple ordinary new inventions, more like arts and crafts as we make use of things around us, find new principles and patterns overlooked or forgotten along a path of general development in moving time like history, of theory and technology.
If space is the medium in which we organize the world especially as children, then memory with its touching our emotion organizes the simplicity behind our expanding world of time and space.
In this mental space of subjective time and moving patterns we change the reels of fading movies on some silver screen, we fade into it forever or leap out from it, casually chew the salty popcorn, taste the lipstick of a young lover, guess the color of the candy in the dark or as the lights are turned on once dimmed as the curtains fell, the masks of comedy and tragedy brighten in the carved arches, the amaranth columns from other distant lands and earlier times.
Somewhere we still dwell in the past as if it a frozen photo.
But in viewing back toward it to where we cannot view forward- that wide potential of animation not felt in which perhaps we fly in our fetal dreams, those rooms and people in it are half ghosts if known and felt clearly, or we pass thru them that cannot see or feel us, doubt our existence. Yet in the main if we look at all, and if we try to measure some interval as larger or smaller- I mean many more years have flown by since then than the slow clock and walled reality that held us together, struggled against its creeping fall from focus- such time and space can be a fog on which our lifeboat in the quiet horizon sees no directions, cannot guide with wasted effort the up or down, the vanished tides, the chill of morning after a sleepless night where clouds fill our lungs, our lovers warmth no longer a blanket against the dew.
We cannot tell, our small lamp, the power lost a the spit from the tall lighthouse, no fog horns more than a warning from everywhere in the cosmic latte or peeking moon behind the clouds, if the reflected eyes are other beings or sea monsters stalking us in stealth, or frozen to hide from us, trying to see if we are a threat or danger.
At some later dream, we the navigators, the bouncing ball sing along on the screen during intermission know that there is endless time out far from the shores where life began... the calm points of inaccessibility in the ice, in the windless eye of a Sargasso sea, or deep into the thirsty desert no running cheetah can find oasis nor of shade, save the lizards deep in the ground at the height of day or delayed its blood of seasons seek awhile the incubation of sunlight.
As wise men bring gifts, and the stars tell us of prophesy and lead us to mark or celebrate a great event, a sent the clocks before and after... we ourselves become a solitary star again at birth or twilight before drowned in the dawn or light the prophet as a guiding star we one among the spinning belt of stars in stars in real time, our clock the Milky Way.
Our hearts and souls at any building of our cathedrals given time enough or in frenzy bury it or burn it down for hope is half alive and despair the certainty of ground, outside our shell as if it a wall or boundary we think nothing can know our secrets - that for some if we dare look we are such ghostly forms made of fog, or decaying great old forests fossilized with its spoor of marsh gas from peat bogs.
I hold the child of my child, such joy in the surprising discovery in the simple common things, the evidence of love, the natural flow, the true tally mark of days in the world or higher mind that we do not always fear for them when they are lost in the fog or that our day though still we row is now far from them as my child too bonds with the passenger he carries to foggy and ghostly places beyond half afraid for them, but half welcoming them to the world to take their chances, their right and privacy, their work and life of their own. The obligations to reality does not let up but in return the universe remains there for us.
Our lineages looking back or forward too is but half of mirrors as we find ourselves and each other in the fog or still long for would be lovers and those moved forever on, cling to but echos of their light, the wake of their awakening in the stardust or beyond, these set free ghosts of chains of time and empty space and untamed light.
* * * *
I was wondering, considering synchronicity of my postings high lately, where this particular theme may have come from. I posted before seeing this of course so the patterns may be simply universal- unless my mind connects somehow to such articles perhaps before hand. I used the Astronomy Picture of the Day photos for a long time that inspired many of my (now lost great book of poems) but this is not the case that the reading of these articles is inspiring my poetry. The deeper possible consequences of our mind-brains as singularity... I came across this after the posting which spoke of some interest in the NDE topic as scientific after all- but though I return from time to time to this theme it is with the wider learning and discoveries in mind- it is as frontier as science or not as consciousness itself as a question, and in our time not clearly something decidable- still it points to wider possible areas of which we may seriously explore or at least explain.
* * * * Thoughts watching a video posted by fellow blogger on the forthcoming Planck map- and again an article on the age of Saturn's rings... it was on the idea of inflation and Guth's solution to start it again after inflation-