Friday, January 21, 2011

"I have the simplest tastes..."

I've loved the plays and poems (and single novel) of Oscar Wilde since I can remember. His philosophy of life - and the gentle elegance he uses to present it - has inspired me as I've cobbled together my own (which also consists of hefty doses of Calvin & Hobbes, among others).

In one of his works he said: There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. Tonight, I think I finally understand what he meant. The knowledge makes me happy, but the consequences are somewhat sad.

(He also said: A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. This, despite all its talk of punishment, makes me happy. My insomnia is none improved, and I am proud of the fact that I am linked to him in any way -- even if it is a sleep disorder.)

So, in honor of Oscar Wilde, I've decided to treat you to a poem that is truly beautiful (read: not written by me) to which my soul has resonated on many occasions.

La Fuite de la Lune

O outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.

Save for a cry that echoes shrill
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.

And suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.

Thanks to everyone who keeps on reading this blog, despite my best efforts to bore you to tears. :)


Friday, January 7, 2011

Red or Blue?

It's a new year, and though I have never subscribed to the "Resolution" school of thought, I can't help but feel that change is in order. One might be persuaded, after almost 23 years of going to church, listening to talks (and especially the hymns), being raised in a very fine and upstanding household and being instructed (more lovingly than can be appreciated) by two incredible parents in how to live a decent and moral life, to believe that making the correct choice would be an easy, instinctive matter. Instead we find that it is usually anything but. (At least I do.)

You also might think, given all of the first-hand knowledge I've acquired on choices not to make,that I should be able to recognize an undesirable consequence before the options are ever placed before me. Again, it is regrettably not so. Still, a lesson learned the hard way is usually a lesson that need not be repeated (usually).

There are so many things to learn, though. Here again my curiosity is both asset and happy liability, leading me through every emotional briar patch to its connecting sunny glade and back again.

But I feel an urge. A need to fulfill a duty, almost a calling. But I continually stress over whether I am doing it out of honor and personal satisfaction or as an accepted, though perhaps unwelcome, obligation.

I've moved apartments (unexpectedly, but truly a blessing in disguise for all its temporary inconvenience), and I'm still clinging (against all precedent) to the relationships and friends that I formed there, or that I hoped might form there which hadn't, or to which could very easily have become something wonderful if not for that terrible voice in men's brains which makes them fearful of every good thing. I want to have something wonderful.

And I'm scared out of my mind by it at the same time. I'm an expert in hurting other people when they deserve it the very least, and I'm falsely stoic in the hurts I take upon myself from the same, because I say that I might deserve it (a lie that I don't even believe when I speak it).

But the wonderful has been terrible to me in the past, and I to it in return. Isn't that just like life? Against all reason, I must do exactly what I have done in the past: expose my Rest Of Me to a sometimes careful and sometimes carefully ruthless world. Exactly what I have done in the past, only different.

And as that old armor rusts away from my body (against every warning bell and instinct), I can only pray that the future I make this time has more wonderful, and less not. Because the future is not a result of choices among alternative paths offered by the present, but a place that is created - created first in the mind and will, created next in activity. The future is not some place we are going to, but one we are creating.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Music for a long drive

A few favorites of mine that have been played hundreds of times lately. No flashy videos or anything like that, but lovely songs nonetheless. Hope you enjoy them!

Missing Peace

Something is missing
Something I can't quite put my finger on
I've forgotten what to say
Or how to smile
Or where I am
And that worries me

Lately I've thought I was happy
Lately things have gone my way
But then a thought
(Or was it a dream)
And here I am, not what I seem
Because something is missing in me

The world has showered me
With all it's praise and laud
With gold enough to make King Midas green
I have pleasure and pawns
But when the houseguests have gone
I sit alone, I can't breathe
What price has my missing peace?

Something is missing
Something that I can't live a life without
I've forgotten how to pray
And here I cry
I've lost my way
And that worries me

Saturday, January 1, 2011

I'm No Good At Science

Sometimes as I sit late at night
In a darkened room
The sky outside my door begins to boil
And shift and whirl

Until the basic little pieces
The atoms and the molecules
Quarks and preons
Mountains and seas
Worlds and stars
All lie in a hopeless jumble
Of no particular design

And I think sometimes that it's an accident
As I wander through the canyons
And the valleys
Between trees of string theory
(Which makes no sense at all)

But then I will say,
'How strange it should be just so:
with the trees backlit by yesterday's sunset
And the clouds glowing with tomorrow's noon.'
And I will gaze and puzzle over what I see
And the look on my face might suggest
That I have learned something that I've forgotten
(Without being taught)
Or that the sight has granted me great wisdom
(Without the burden of being wise)
Or that I have realized that it can't be true
Even though I see that it is
Because impossible cannot be as a rule

Unless you are mad or a physicist.
And I'm no good at science.

Sometimes when this happens
I wake up
But I never really want to