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| In the Hebrew tradition, which splintered off into the Christian tradition, which is how I was raised, light is a metaphor. God makes a cosmos out of the nothingness, a molecular composition, of which He is not and never has been, as anything is limiting, and God has no limits. In this way, He isn't, and yet is. The poetic imagery is rather beautiful, stating that all we see and feel and touch, the hardness of dense atoms, the softness of a breeze (atoms perhaps loose as if in play) is the breath of God. And into this being, into this existence, God first creates light. This light is not to be confused with the sun and moon and stars, as they are not created until later. He simply creates light, a nonsubstance that is like a particle and like a wave, but perhaps neither, just some kind of traveling energy. A kind of magnetic wave. Light, then, becomes a fitting metaphor for a nonbeing who is. God, if like light, travels at the speed of light, and because space and time are mingled with speed, the speed of light is the magic, exact number that alows a kind of escape from time. Scientists have played with atomic clocks, matched exactly, setting one in a plane to fly around the world, and another motionless, waiting for the return of its partner. When they reunite, the one that travles rests milliseconds behind the one fixed. The faster you move, physicists have found, the less you experience time. And if you move at the speed of light, you will never age; you are outside of time; you are an eternal creature. But before you strap on your running shoes, you should know scientists warn us that with speed, matter increases in density, so an attempt at the speed of light will have you imploded by the time you hit Wichita, your atoms as dense as bowling balls. And to make matters worse, your density increases on a curve; the faster you go, the greater the density, and though you can get close to the speed of sound, matter and that magic speed can never meet; the faster you go, the steeper the trajectory on the graph. You and I, made from molecules, cannot travel at the speed of light and cannot escape time, at least not with a body. Consider the complexity of light in light of the Hebrew metaphor: we don't see light; we see what it touches. It is more or less invisible, made from nothing, just purposed and focused energy, infinite in its power (it will never tire if fired into a vacuum, going on forever). How fitting, then, for God to create an existence, then a metaphor, as if to say, here is something entirely unlike you, outside of time, infinite in its power and thrust: here is something you can experience but cannot understand. Throughout the remainder of the Bible, then, God calls Himself light. The perfection of the Hebrew metaphor is eerie, especially considering Eratosthenes wouldn't play with sticks and shadows for several thousand years, discovering Ra was, in fact, never closing his eyes." -- yeah, try chewing on that at 3 in the a.m. -- | | |
| Is that where it happens? Only yesterday when I came back, I had this diaphanous disaffection for this room, for spaces, for the whole sky and whatever lies beyond. I felt the eggplant, then the rhubarb. Nothing seems strong enough for this life to manage, that sees beyond into particles forming some kind of entity- so we get dressed kindly, crazy at the moment. A life of afterwords begins. We never live long enough in our lives to know what today is like. Shards, smiling beaches, abandon us somehow even as we converse with them. And the leopard is transparent, like iced tea. I wake up, my face pressed in the dewy mess of a dream. It mattered, because of the dream, and because dreams are by nature sad even when there's a lot of exclaiming and beating as there was in this one. I want the openness of the dream turned inside out, exploded into pieces of meaning by its own unasked questions, beyond the calculations of heaven. Then the larkspur would don its own disproportionate weight, and trees return to the starting gate. See, our lips bend. -- John Ashbery -- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "It is true some do not do well with conventional life. They think outside things and can't make sense of following a line. They see no walls, only doors from open space to open space, and from open space, supposedly, to the mind of God, or at least this is what we hope for them, and what they hope for themselves... ...No, life cannot be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert adn whisper sonnets under his breath: I'll tell you how the sun rose A ribbon at a time..." | | |
| "It was one of those days where it's a minute away from snowing, and there was this electricity in the air. You can almost hear it. Right?
And this bag was just... dancing with me, like a little kid begging me to play with it, for 15 minutes. That's the day I realized that there was this... entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know that there was no reason to be afraid... ever.
Video's a poor excuse, I know, but it helps me remember. I need to remember.
Sometimes there's so much... beauty... in the world. I feel like I can't take it... and my heart, is just going to... cave in."
-- American Beauty -- ............................................................................................................................................................................. Daydream delusion, limosine eyelash. Oh baby with your pretty face. Drop a tear in my wine glass, look at those big eyes. See what you mean to me. Sweetcakes and milkshakes, I’m a delusion angel. I’m a fantasy parade. I want you to know what I think- don’t want you to guess anymore. You have no idea where I came from. We have no idea where we’re going. Lodged in life like branches in the river, flowing downstream caught in the current. I carry you. You’ll carry me. That’s how it could be. Don’t you know me? Don’t you know me by now? -- Before Sunset -- ......................................................................................................................................................................... Her bright green nails tapped aimlessly on the sticky leather sofa.
"Was I tapping? I thought I was picking my teeth."
"No, definately tapping."
"ah." she slumped her head in its accustomed position, sky upward - always up.
"tell me something interesting, dream girl," I said.
With a deep breath and sideways smirk, her blue eyes fired, sparkled, and flashed all at once as if she had the world in her head, and it wouldn't quite fit.
-- AJW -- ........................................................................................................................................................................ .... I wrote this in Narkisim.... I think we should start our own society of Narks. we could live on a glacier, strip nude like Bear Grylles, and cook s'mores.... aye. | | |
| why do I still have this?? Bueller.... so the idea of writing to a general audience makes me run into a corner and start rocking back and forth. hence no entries. so I'll just collect and send to the masses, cept I have no idea of how to retrieve emails. shucks. so enjoy, Rachel :) ........................................................................................................................................................................ myyyyyyyyyyy life, eh?? I just schlumped my head onto the desktop after that thought.
well, I'm a free man in 2 weeks, and then what? I've been handed this schedule of what to do, act, be the past 17 years of my life. actually, you know what? that's not it at all. I'm just freaked. i went to my dad's work today. he walks into a gray building and reads application system manuels for nine hours. and eats at wendy's and sleeps in the car on his lunch break. and i wanted to cry. and I did stupid human things like blame it on dry contacts. i'm not doing that now. and then we went to acapulco joe's and I asked him if he was new, fresh, and 18.... what would you do?
i would do better in college.
why?
better jobs
and what does that get you?
more options
and then he goes home and locks himself up in that bedroom and escapes his nonexistence in House and "Dancing with the Stars" till 2 in the morning. just to sleep in his car on lunch break. again. alone. this man sleeping in the room next to me is wholly and completely alone. and tells me to have options. and then I blame the tears on spicy taco salad. i don't know how to explain this further. i see a factory with steam coming out of it. that's all. i can't think in words.
so that's where I'm at right now. I probably could've just told you that I'm graduating midterm. taking a couple classes @ ivy tech. cheap and convenient. and i sure hope i get that job at potter's paint shop. and after that, i'm off on the road for a year, need more dreaded hippies in my life.... .......................................................................................................................................................................... so I grimace every day at the fact that I have yet to respond. because it's the one thing I want to do. but then self says to self, "no, I want it to be sincere. I want it to be one of those days where words come natural." but self said today, "Carina, that day has never existed in your life." so here I am....
... you're an ishmaelite??!! that book was the worst and best thing to happen to me. I mean, I was running into isolation. smelling bark.curling up in the wilderness, inhaling the whole existence of trees. and at the same time, I felt like a collection of juiced-up molecules.
I graduate in a week. and then.....
what? ..................................................................................................................................................................... yeah, I think we're in the same boat. I have this crazy intense desire to seek knowledge. but I'm afraid of heading off to college and just becoming intellectual-no act-seclusion-hermit-me. and college is so damn expensive. and damn just seemed to add theatrics to that. so i want the degree. i want the ample opportunity. and the quest for learning. but then I just end up trapped and working in corporate america the next 10 years to pay off four years of schooling. sick and twisted, twisted and sick. so I'm not transitioning into college, at least for now. and my dad's pulling out hairs over it, and sending threats and forlorns around the daily bend. and bah. i'll go.act.be.breathe.twirl.spit into the wind and wipe it off on my hoodie... | | |
| "You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you - the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose." ~The Little Prince~ | | |
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