Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

April 17, 2004

Mono No Aware part two

02.08
Vancouver
(Memory Now)

I awake to a precious peace, buffered between the reflections of war
that form my dreams, and the incarnations of war against which I
wage my life. I have dreamt that I was a father; I stood waist-deep
in a poisoned river, holding my child's body as the enemy's boat
retreated. I have dreamt of a prophet saying, There is honesty
in the infection of your voice.

My mind burns in sleep, and I wake to rest --- in the space of
another day's barest consciousness, on the clean slate of dawn, in my
lover's pacific face. I am weighed down by the world, but it is
not yet something I can change; it presses on my eyes with all
the weight and lightness of responsibility and possibility. I stay as
long as I can; I kiss my lover's forehead and retreat.

I emerge into opposition with the world, where language is a system
of manipulation. For as long as I can I do not look up to face the
billboards, the news boxes, the peopled day. I am antithetical to
them, and reluctant to allow the first seam to be torn. But it is not
long before I slip up and take it all in again, naked and breathless.
Am I a misanthrope or an humanitarian? The responsibility and
possibility of each human tears me apart anew. I am at a loss for
substantial action; I do everything I can. The cadences of poetry
rise and I am overwhelmed by the distance between myself and truth
--- I call out and wonder if an echo will ever make it back. The
detail is enormous. I tear myself open like a peach for the hard
truth inside. Life is an explosion of being; a struggle, the
twinkling of a star.


Posted by delire at April 17, 2004 11:13 AM
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