O this wild turning, this Oregon land, this Beyond-the-Sun!
(How many thoughts to we have to think? before we can stop and have us a drink.)
(But you know it's no-nay-never, right? No never, no more!)
O my good compadre, I would love to tell you so many fine things. I'd love even to exchange my horse por su casa! But there's that crashing bitterness, waves even and fish who live in them in that sea that mar amarga and grumble to one another and frown.
(O let's never be fish. Let's just dream on our balconies, and never in that bitter sea. & play the wild rover no never, no more!)
You know I had a thought lately, which was:
What if all our thoughts were in units 5? And all our understanding of everything revolved around this: All our politics, our philosophy, our religion, our family life. All life a division of fives, and no dualisms: Rather, the fundamental opposition is the two against the three.
The Five-Headed God: The balance of good and evil, love and power. And the fifth point, the mediator: Ever unfathomable, the cosmic could-be-ness, outside oppositions, outside dualisms, there to break the tie; the nonexistence which justifies existence. The Head of Loving Evil: A spider imprisons a fly, and murders her over days: What cruelty! And yet though the spider's actions the ecosystem, love's reflection, grows and thrives. The Head of Evil Power: The dictator steals from his people, sends them to war to slaughter thousands; based on unsustainable use of resources, his socio-economic system destroys the landscape for a thousand years to come. The Head of Loving Good: Bound together by the necessary forces, the planets circle the sun, the sun circles the galaxy, and life and light for ten thousand worlds of sentient beings: Ever giving, never expecting. The Head of Good Power: Benevolent, good-hearted, but backed always by the power of the gun, the Revolutionist reclaims the ill-gotten property of the capitalist and redistributes it among the desperate mass.
& one day I sat down and wrote of all of this and so many more, and assumed it was the style of thought of a planet faraway though human, and I a missionary of the Galactican Faith, sent to learn and (as always) to convert:
But I see that it is 1:50 now, and a meeting for me at 2:00.
I will arise and go now. But not to Innisfree.
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1 comment:
I feel the need to comment, add my own disclaimer.
I often write and throw in obscure references to poems and songs that circle in my brain. Look back through; you'll find them.
It comes to me that I have informed my officemate that her name means "Sea of Bitterness." & I reference a bitter girl and a bitter sea in this post.
This is all to say: Dear Maureen, I'm not talking about you.
I was referencing Lorca.
I usually am.
Romance Sonambulo.
My favorite poem.
As always.
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