Lampions Toward a New Direction of Spring
L. Edgar Otto Friday, 05 April, 2013
I do not find as much in the deeper source of beauty found in understanding how the cosmos works in the esoteric and abstract as I do by how that awakening and heightened awareness colors the everyday simple things of life, useful learning and the relationships to others.
That which I recognize in me as poetry or a song to which a more learned mind knows it cannot find the words or make a tune not seen before or if seen now lost into some ancient wind may seem to you a mediocre saying that tells you nothing new- if you as we all can know in the comfort of dreams at a distance or dumb luck in the flesh and who have ever been in love, felt it a harsh mistress or the uplifter of your world, your very awakening of soul. Remember when you think passion is fleeting, Love is not mediocre.
There are diamonds in the volcanic ground, though found first in space we did not think to look for in the soot of millions of years at our hearths, and there are diamonds it takes a rain of debris to melt them into dusty honeycombs forged in the fall of stardust atop our sky. We cook things by trial and error that obeys these sensible laws in the everyday code of life, like the diamonds, are forever.
So many of us are on the journey, he search for wisdom and love, we can feel lost, retreat into half hearted flirtations, promote and send images thru the clouds embellishing ourselves, learning to talk to ourselves as if there is any message or a message is important, as conversations fade in exhaustion or at an understanding. Lately, in the search for bits of clues of my words left back in time, some of which I had forgotten there was so much of it, tweet no sooner born than gone, enduring like the aphids who appear born pregnant, I have seen parallels in the journey of others- some page no longer available to cherish yet recognizing this in myself it evokes empathy for their seeking, some who gave up to their unsung effort so to get real to save what is left of their twilight.
On the earthly carousel and great play of the hippodrome love from one to another or just from one we prove the same description, something of mystery as well of being seems always left. We cry to each another sometimes, the price for awakening that "You have not really known me!" but somewhere deep within you know better. Sometimes, a once chance meeting we see into each others hearts truly, feel the bonds with whom we know we might have loved. How can this be that in the finding of ourselves we find each other?
Would that the world itself awakens, perhaps in the encounter with the mystery of our words lost in translation, false friends each true to their own love bead codes and thoughts, what looks like 'to remember" seems like "to record" to speak of Brazil. No pattern can look so deep into our dreams but to guess the pictures, sparks between the nerves to say what is record or remembering, for what now seems a brick wall after all at the end or beginning of our universe is as much a living thing as dust, or as dust are we. Beyond he sunset or sunrise, the evening or morning star the same, something passes away awhile and to know it this way but a little hurt, yet it can create and fill your sky. Nevertheless, as you stand transfixed out to the end of sunsets, feel the whispers beyond the stars for there is also a new direction, like Love, or spring to cradle us a we cradle our children.
* * * * *
What is it to be Philosophers as we pass thru the radiation belts, cell phones and towers, no data nor understanding of what is hidden in the heat of of hidden codes? The spectrum of X-rays that bind our genes of a scale that is transparent we cannot see- will the right and left of mirror particles vanish into a wall of neutral handedness at high energies or at that place do we find an ever more complicated jittery jumble?
In our rise or descent riding awareness do those encounters between us once within the earthly range of light record and remember our bonds beyond these issues of our centers or entanglements? Time itself more of a tightrope than an illusion of what may be hidden in our dreams we seek the balance, or fear in our familiar myth of privacy and hope for the future some dark intrusion....
* * * *