When I “multiply” a number by zero and get zero, this is the universal natural contingency eliciting my “not giving up” behaviors……like a cosmic “keep trying” signal. how sweet.
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The supposition that certain types of behavior necessarily precede and therefore cause other types of behavior is a commonly encountered hypothesis of the “post hoc” variety. I find this metaphor to be neither accurate nor useful. I frequently notice that I have emitted a behavior long before I become aware of any process called “thought” or “thinking.” The notion that our behaviors are caused by our thoughts, or by “intentionality,” and that therefore we need to learn to control them in order to be “good,” “virtuous,” “useful,” or “skilful” (a common metaphor of the neo-Platonic-Abrahamic tradition) is nothing more than the age old search for the authority of thought over behavior, a veritable hegemony of “mind.”
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I do so prefer the kinder mind of creation
to one tempered in fire of strife.
She who built me hand by steady hand
she who refused light of my life
and loved me only in imagination,
who is she who sold me a tale of sorrow,
a blighted cant of rheumy tears on a misty moorish
morrow,
what keeps those present scenes alive
by paper paging hands in candle or shadow
I took to wife, never again to feel the eyes
that I loved and do love commending
me past all manner of the small and the narrow?
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what tender voice kissed my ear tonight
and bought me flowers for my bed
why didn’t my heart stop when you stopped
where did sound go when you went
i have made my peace with morning’s dew drops
i have poured my peace out of windowed holiday
shops along festive arcades, measured
away all my naked days a wasted shell
and taken this name you shall not know
upon frenzied speakings of the tide
upon hopeless breaking of the night
save your breath and save your life
my truth you shall never know never guess
thus the will of the maker of my life
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adorable sparrow bird
that pecked at my feet this morning
are you married to your one true love
do you have a well read daughter
have you flown away your sorrow
in sunlight and in laughter
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beauty renders more the way of death
when blind eyes turn to someone’s heart,
fashioned of cold stone.
you made sure i suffered
and left me alone.
beauty suffers more when it is misused
as something to flee in every second,
and calls the faithful, their doom.
you made sure to leave me
before i left the room.
wanderers say they don’t mind
when you mispronounce their name.
i do. it kills me little bits each day.
you do it just the same.
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so you could write your poetry
i gave you time
so you could learn to live
i sold you mine,
dreamt in some ally
there where it died
aborted like thwarted
babies
that never cried
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O master of sail
gift us with notes of jewel and sorrow
that the day may not pass unheard,
fallen where it lies, empty where we discover it.
O show us please which
of your lyrics has passed through heaven’s gate
and returned?
You who found some bit of space between the tawdry winds of the sun
and an adolescent noon—
(faded sun winds which only you could see),
can even you learn to let go – of the beloved’s land-memory?
(Now good master,
lend us your compass, your helm, rudder and masts full true
for the coast,
let your music fill ears
rapt and full, well rehearsed—
no longer distracted and imprisoned.)
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in a world of smart bombs and drone planes, extraordinary renditions and car-jackings, how do we teach ourselves to express urgency without anger mixed in? i know the urgency is often important, sacred, needful, useful. anger…not so much.
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we live in a context which continually reinforces us for “micromanaging” our own lives in response to some unsatisfactory “other.” bored in the car? turn on the radio. can’t sleep fast enough? take a pill. socially anxious? have a beer. hate your life? get new shoes or a new car. someone in your way? push them aside or bomb them. in the end a faustian deal which cannot but betray us. the constant search for little improvements, microscopic bits of “perfection,” “credit,” “freedom,” or “cause” has us running away from where life actually happens: right there in your place. we’ve forgotten that, really and truly, the past was not preparation for anything “better.” its shame, if there is any in any case, needs no reconciliation, no resolution, no absolution, no reparation, no expiation, no explanation and no justification. life is NOT elsewhere. it is here. it walks in your shoes every breath of every moment.
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metonymy4u 