Sunday, April 4, 2010
Heaven in the Vortex
Oh, m' G'd, another delightful evening with the emotives. I had no idea there were places like this in the universe!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Landslide, cont.
The following is what I plan to share with the "Emotives" tomorrow night:
As the tall man advances on the small slim young woman with the large beautiful voice, it becomes an image of the desire, immediately, here and now in this moment, to create the possibility of yet another strong, young beautiful voice, encased in the flesh, flesh created here and now in the union of the flesh of these two free souls.
And what you can't see, in the audience, is that she draws this response from each and every one of you. This is how we respond in the presence of her song, this is the song of our soul: "I want to be with you, always and forever, to make this possible for our offspring." We will never once stop to consider whether that possibility is a reality. Thus my claim that she will turn you, if you are a woman, into a Lesbian. And if you are a man, your heart will become unfaithful, guaranteed.
I know what it is that he feels when he says "Brandi Carlile Brandi Carlile Brandi Carlile You've got a voice in you kid"
He means Woman, you make me, who am a Man, glad that I am a man when you sing. When I hear you sing, I want to reproduce, I want to make sure that you will always be there: a woman, before me, in song. I want to know that there will always be a Woman there. This is love, this is Man who rejoices in the presence of Woman.
Nevertheless, in spite of the foregoing, I'm certain that there is a confusion between sex and truth in our century. I think that the prevalence of "sex" in our cultural discourse has clouded the power of Truth to work its 'magic' in our lives. And therefore, my friends and coworkers assume that my obsession with the gift in the world that is Brandi Carlile is based on sex. And that woman herself, the woman who is in my life, the one I come home to, the one who is "us" when I talk about "us," does not *betray* jealousy in her assessment of my obsession with this "other" woman, but I fear that perhaps she too associates my obsession with sex.
However, I claim there is a difference between “obsession” and “seeing it.” When you "see it" you know that that is where you wish to return. And you know that if you have in fact seen truth, that it will not fade in its effect upon that return. And people who are out of practice at seeing Truth, associate your desire to return with "obsession." I've read enough Aristotle and Aquinas. We are made to behold Truth. It is the only moment we are who we were made to be.
There is a piece of writing that took place somewhere in my foggy memory, however, I have failed to discover whether that writing actually took place in the physical realm or if it was, in the words of William James, only left on an imaginary hook in an imaginary museum. A cleaner way of describing it is, that, I'm not sure if I wrote it, and if I did, I can't find it.
So this is, an attempt, in the light of the preceding, to resurrect it.
I have wandered, lost, in this world for many years. I have never experienced before the feeling of the land beneath your feet falling away. I understand this is what they feel-those who have survived an earthquake. I never thought that "Church", a place I lived for years on end, would ever enter the world of my mind-and my heart- again after I walked away. I never knew that Holy Silence would draw me into it's cleansing orb again. I never knew that the voice would be wrested from me and the thousands of others in the same room at the same moment. I recognized the silence we inhabited because of those years of experience. We were all inhabiting it at that moment. It was a silence I had lived with for years. It is a silence held naturally by the creature in the presence of the holy, so that I, a mere mortal, can hear every sound that is made by the Holy Presence. This is how human beings respond to holiness. With silence. And I declare to you now that the land slid away beneath the pure and holy notes that arose from that place. We would have-had we been able-fallen to our knees. We would have wept. We did weep. Those of us who saw what we saw, who heard what we heard. And we are sharing this with you now, so that our joy may be complete.
Silence engulfs the crowd the silent response possesses the crowd. That which we have seen, that which we have heard. That before whom we fall to our knees in silent and reverential awe. We are writing this to you so that our joy may be complete.
We came to this place knowing we would see beauty, we joined together expecting to hear joy. But the silence into which we fell, the weight of unworthiness that returned us to our seats, the respect we held before her, and the natural relinquishment of honor that took us from our feet, that is what engulfed us.
Had it been Church, we would have knelt, in absolute silence of awe we would have worshipped at this fountain, we would have communed at this distillation of beauty and truth. As it was, we responded with all the secular respect and awe we could muster.
The tears we shed were a natural response to the fulfillment of our most treasured and deepest hopes. We held hands tightly so as to preserve and to share for as long as possible this sacred and holy moment.
As the notes were rising and falling, as the soul of our goddess soared in song in the sweet and silent night. As our tears rose in response to the rare and religious rendition of this song from childhood.
Perhaps we joined hands to complete the peace that this song had brought us throughout the troubled days of our youth. Perhaps we joined in solidarity with that white Welsh Witch whose Wild Heart sang the notes of our own lonely stories. We knew that here we had returned to the sacred place where beauty is created, where youth is recovered.
As the tall man advances on the small slim young woman with the large beautiful voice, it becomes an image of the desire, immediately, here and now in this moment, to create the possibility of yet another strong, young beautiful voice, encased in the flesh, flesh created here and now in the union of the flesh of these two free souls.
And what you can't see, in the audience, is that she draws this response from each and every one of you. This is how we respond in the presence of her song, this is the song of our soul: "I want to be with you, always and forever, to make this possible for our offspring." We will never once stop to consider whether that possibility is a reality. Thus my claim that she will turn you, if you are a woman, into a Lesbian. And if you are a man, your heart will become unfaithful, guaranteed.
I know what it is that he feels when he says "Brandi Carlile Brandi Carlile Brandi Carlile You've got a voice in you kid"
He means Woman, you make me, who am a Man, glad that I am a man when you sing. When I hear you sing, I want to reproduce, I want to make sure that you will always be there: a woman, before me, in song. I want to know that there will always be a Woman there. This is love, this is Man who rejoices in the presence of Woman.
Nevertheless, in spite of the foregoing, I'm certain that there is a confusion between sex and truth in our century. I think that the prevalence of "sex" in our cultural discourse has clouded the power of Truth to work its 'magic' in our lives. And therefore, my friends and coworkers assume that my obsession with the gift in the world that is Brandi Carlile is based on sex. And that woman herself, the woman who is in my life, the one I come home to, the one who is "us" when I talk about "us," does not *betray* jealousy in her assessment of my obsession with this "other" woman, but I fear that perhaps she too associates my obsession with sex.
However, I claim there is a difference between “obsession” and “seeing it.” When you "see it" you know that that is where you wish to return. And you know that if you have in fact seen truth, that it will not fade in its effect upon that return. And people who are out of practice at seeing Truth, associate your desire to return with "obsession." I've read enough Aristotle and Aquinas. We are made to behold Truth. It is the only moment we are who we were made to be.
There is a piece of writing that took place somewhere in my foggy memory, however, I have failed to discover whether that writing actually took place in the physical realm or if it was, in the words of William James, only left on an imaginary hook in an imaginary museum. A cleaner way of describing it is, that, I'm not sure if I wrote it, and if I did, I can't find it.
So this is, an attempt, in the light of the preceding, to resurrect it.
I have wandered, lost, in this world for many years. I have never experienced before the feeling of the land beneath your feet falling away. I understand this is what they feel-those who have survived an earthquake. I never thought that "Church", a place I lived for years on end, would ever enter the world of my mind-and my heart- again after I walked away. I never knew that Holy Silence would draw me into it's cleansing orb again. I never knew that the voice would be wrested from me and the thousands of others in the same room at the same moment. I recognized the silence we inhabited because of those years of experience. We were all inhabiting it at that moment. It was a silence I had lived with for years. It is a silence held naturally by the creature in the presence of the holy, so that I, a mere mortal, can hear every sound that is made by the Holy Presence. This is how human beings respond to holiness. With silence. And I declare to you now that the land slid away beneath the pure and holy notes that arose from that place. We would have-had we been able-fallen to our knees. We would have wept. We did weep. Those of us who saw what we saw, who heard what we heard. And we are sharing this with you now, so that our joy may be complete.
Silence engulfs the crowd the silent response possesses the crowd. That which we have seen, that which we have heard. That before whom we fall to our knees in silent and reverential awe. We are writing this to you so that our joy may be complete.
We came to this place knowing we would see beauty, we joined together expecting to hear joy. But the silence into which we fell, the weight of unworthiness that returned us to our seats, the respect we held before her, and the natural relinquishment of honor that took us from our feet, that is what engulfed us.
Had it been Church, we would have knelt, in absolute silence of awe we would have worshipped at this fountain, we would have communed at this distillation of beauty and truth. As it was, we responded with all the secular respect and awe we could muster.
The tears we shed were a natural response to the fulfillment of our most treasured and deepest hopes. We held hands tightly so as to preserve and to share for as long as possible this sacred and holy moment.
As the notes were rising and falling, as the soul of our goddess soared in song in the sweet and silent night. As our tears rose in response to the rare and religious rendition of this song from childhood.
Perhaps we joined hands to complete the peace that this song had brought us throughout the troubled days of our youth. Perhaps we joined in solidarity with that white Welsh Witch whose Wild Heart sang the notes of our own lonely stories. We knew that here we had returned to the sacred place where beauty is created, where youth is recovered.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Landslide
The Landslide has brought me down. It's true, I have been afraid of changing, but time makes you bolder and children get older.
A thousand thanks to Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham for giving us this song and letting us share.
You'll see, this one goes on the page, under the pen, but Lord Almighty what a Holy evening. Closest I've been to Religion, I don't know, maybe since birth.
I have mentioned the boring details to a few of you, you know what I'm talkin' about Willis...
A thousand thanks to Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham for giving us this song and letting us share.
You'll see, this one goes on the page, under the pen, but Lord Almighty what a Holy evening. Closest I've been to Religion, I don't know, maybe since birth.
I have mentioned the boring details to a few of you, you know what I'm talkin' about Willis...
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Re: Vision
Seeing anew, again. The world threatens to swallow and engulf what I might attempt to hold up in reply. It's a game of mirrors, and I don't bank on having a steady hand. However, I *know* there's stuff in the attic, and all it needs is light and an eye to see her by. Tomorrow is devoted to this book, God save you if you can peer in an find enjoyment. (Hint: there's some of us out here who actually *do*)
http://www.trentu.ca/faculty/jjoyce/
Oh, but wait, there's more. The Eagles. Take it to the Limit. You knew, didn't you? Its what underlies it all
http://www.trentu.ca/faculty/jjoyce/
Oh, but wait, there's more. The Eagles. Take it to the Limit. You knew, didn't you? Its what underlies it all
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Unfortunately, it's all upside down
If you just want to delve into what I've done so far with this story idea, check out this site:
However, I won't be spending any more time there. I had a friend who suggested I submit my revisions to Blogger, but they end up upside down. I want the finished product to be rightside up, I'm going to spend a year or two working on it, and it will be more or less in the "direction" you find on the above link. It will likely be unrecognizable, I'm a reviser.
With apologies to Ricardo, because, well, I've called him out twice in the past three posts... You know I love you, and, hell, we just met :-)
The mystery of a beginning
It's those opening notes, those are the ones that identify the song. And here's the first big fear. Do those notes sing? Do they affirm the possibility, the probability, of enjoyment for the audience? I'm selfish, I don't write for myself, I write for the enjoyment of my reader. If you're not curious, if you're not wondering, if you're not smiling a knowing smile to yourself "Yes, I've wondered that myself" well, then, please move on. But please, as well, please check back, maybe I can strike the appropriate overture. It's a beautiful world, and language is the lubrication that makes it move. Without the written word, we've got snippets of conversation between amped up broadcasters on a moving horizon cluttered with loud machines full of the sound and the fury. And the sublime and the beautiful take a plunge into the sickening emptiness left behind by a culture that has lost the need to read.
The posts here are just me warming up the word striker. The writing will take place under a gold-plated Waterman given me without warning years ago by my favorite uncle. That story will go beneath the pen, it will be held up to the microscope by friends, and God willing it'll show up on the bookshelf at Annie Blooms (in the center of the vortex) some years from now.
Here's what's happened, I've had an invitation to write, I've had a story set aside, I mapped it out years ago, perhaps it started when I was calling softly for Emese in a dark cold Hungarian house full of passed out partyers. Because I knew, I knew, that the dawning of the age of Aquarius was the song of the devil, and I thought maybe she knew what that meant. She wrote poetry in English, a language not her own, and shared it with me that night, at that party. And then, well, then I guess we all passed out. She was my roommate's student, I made sure to pass on "Sex and Religion" to her by means of him, since he had access to her in his classroom, and he was equally as careful to make sure she knew it was from me and not from him.
Patience please.
Procrastination
I'm working on getting connected and beginning to write, and I'm hoping that anyone who'd like to follow along will. I've got, um, an unusual story to tell, and dammit, it's time to get started
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod touch
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod touch
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