“Let us not be overthrown at the final test… In sorrow we must go, but not in despair” *
and so passed the great king- in the wake left broken, Arwen who alone could not bear the grief who gave all the gift of her kin and kind to escape out the days into the undying lands beyond the seeming reach of death; for a time; but trade all, for this brief time of immaculate love- above all; now, with nothing left in this path she departed out to her once splendid land forlorn by time, deprived of the elven light, the evenstar – gone, for some ages now- for lothlorien had fallen into decay and her, the last vestige of the place- she lay down to die, as common folk do just as Aragorn passed by choice, so she did too in this far land, now of mortal men- capable of the darkest plights the darkest dooms and yet the also- the grandest heights, in the true light of love and now, sacrifice, for the two have chosen, long ago her eyes close, knowing this day would come, one last thought “goodbye my love, my last and only kiss- is yours”
*the last words of Aragon (before he chose to die), from JRR Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Sometimes I am inspired by such great works to write something, this particular scene actually does show up in the movie as Elrond reveals his daughter’s fate to her in a vision, one thing though, perhaps overlooked by some, Elves are not actually immortal, they are tied to the land, they can live an instant or millennia, the undying lands will sustain them for all time as the land exists, but at such a time that the earth ceases, so they too will perish as all things must.
some wonder is lost in this world, I can only imagine what the ancients might think of such a day, and what angered their gods, for what else might have strangled the sky in a blanket of orange, with the clear smoke of fire by scent but no fire within any sight, or would this be known to them as what wildfires do, what they produce allowed to blossom in their season of natural norms, but I quite imagine the sky at night, on nights like these, where there is no light, obscured by phenomenon all explained by our all knowing weatherman, our digital shamans of this age, yet still wrong on so many occasions but the same comfort provided, those in the know to engage the masses who go about their daily life, how far are we evolved from the primitive I wonder, because of our paved roads, bound lines crisscross to provide light, one fragile flick, a serpent’s tongue kiss of the strongest coronal ejection might cause amiss, one flicker and we find out, how far out, we really might be, looking at this orange smoky mass that has descended down from northern neighbor’s town, and wonder which gods did we anger and how to supplicate them… until the next unseen event even if our sight is so young and bent (and jaded).
notes… the day when Canadian wildfires threw strength south, surely a strange site this made for a day, a light itch in my eyes and throats as the day progressed, the peak was around 2pm when I could look out my window and see the world as a red dying giant might, or will, someday.
this is the ire of the ire of night where we find no, we meet with, gladly- our demons, for they – our ours no reason, we choose them, we surely do, invite them, and as we choose to fight them or have a drink with them or a conversation at the bar or the backyard behind the barn, for- that is what we are individual beings thrown into this boiling ocean, as babes, all commotion and screaming facades and screens remaining until we come into our own, even off stage we are on- we carry on in this dream, a performance- and in those rare moments become us (for how long?)
we are, in a way a battery, a computer, a machine, flesh as it were, in this case, but does that make us more real… ? or less, who can say? were we out there- waiting, for the introduction, in utero, for ourselves to move in, the matching of being an electronic impulse, or some matter of energy, to meet and ultimately inhabit this being we now are? perhaps floating out there in the universe all this time as an ‘old soul’ as some describe, or perhaps a new wave, a new wave of energy created just in time to mate with the available and compatible fleshy machine in utero made available in that instant becoming one, a vehicle, to experience this world with the various senses, an explorer sent in, a navigator from the fabric of space, our self awareness might come from our previous state of being not a human being but the energy signature that has sparked this machine, a pilot, to remain as long as the vehicle shall allow, then to move on to the next phase of the journey, for physics states E=MC2, and are we not the manifestation of that indeed? if only we could touch those memories of our different phase…
so… are we here? I ask tongue in cheek with the background of ground breaking band’s song blaring in my flat at the moment.. it is intoxicating… in some sense, but the seriousness, the underlying question…
2am I am glad there was rain the familiar daylight houses look menacing at this hour but I know they are not but my mind- questions them anyway, so I go inside to have a dream down in this forest made by human beings; like myself.
perception is an interesting thing, how some people love change, some love comfort, I suppose you get used to either by exposure, and by exposure you gain experience, it is almost criminal you know, that we gather all this in a lifetime and can not transfer it… that is why I hope for an afterlife.. besides the obvious of the stopping of my existence, well, at least as time moves forward, I will have existed, but I am not sure what condolence that might leave me… as i leave…
in the mirror I can see the reality of age which we never see when we speak, as ages go by we try with wisdom but is wisdom just the passage of time and filling out the ledger of- experience.
the delirious dancing denizens with wit and spit to spin like tops when all must rest the ground does fled and precarious limbs will flail a crop – “what madness is this Frau Troffea?” for whipped some up of the Strasbourg lay frenzied are the initial thirty spot on that quite strange strange summer’s day- then, as a great fevered wave, the hundred’s came and came and came to crash in-on the unannounced ball to bounce, to sway, to bray until- perhaps St. Vitus himself! came to cast upon a further spell- a month or so does pass, a slower dance, or the summer heat had waned at last, the footloose mania until September had gained a brief coup of the normal sense of man the dancing feet, the writhing arms, the thoughtless gaze all the world is not a stage but became a dance floor just instead, no more- the town square worn bore for what she could “Frau Troffea, what have you done?” on the more the merriment the town is gone- for now only a tale on the books to initiate the mad revelry that beheld there fifteen one eight by that river, a forgotten prance the mad dance in the year of our lord, fifteen one and eight has passed.
for reference as to what I am writing about… go HERE (it’s a wiki link, relax), sometimes historical context grabs me and asks me for a dance… this would be one of those times….
I have met my end- and it is me for what else- could it be?
not always (but often) we are our own worst enemy… puts new meaning to sleeping with the enemy (though not much choice there except the pain in the ass sprite known as insomnia, a fellow I have met on occassion)
no, this is no poem, this is literal, or is it? I was taking a break from watching Tori Amos “Winter” reaction videos (I will get to that later, maybe), so I gave the dog a biscuit (at 15 she can still melt you with her eyes, but I do at least make her sit), went outside, for the first time today, I spent most of the day in bed, not from ill, free from harm, I could spend all day indoors as long as the rain pours, I knew from the forecast (not that that is ironclad) that it was supposed to rain today, and this is my once a quarter full weekend off (yes, I work 6 days a week solid, all year), so I can not say I have mastered the art, but I am sure an avid student of lucid dreaming, I am a big believer in it, well, at least for now, until something else comes along, as it always does, in life, so anyway, dog sated, I slip into my old beat up merrels, almost time for them to go, the back end wall is in terrible disrepair from my heel, but still, you could not pay any amount of money in the world for that true broken in feel, and besides, I have another pair I am secretly, slowly breaking in… and then it hits, the breeze, even with my windows open on the inside there is nothing like stepping into the space, occupied by the outside, now, this odd time of night but yet my mind is on fire and bright for some reason, probably all the rest today, I look to my right and my new calla lilies are as bright as I recall, the strong LED from my fancy new amazon ordered usb powered flashlight shows them to be like purple speckled canyons, collecting the rain in their cups, but in a few steps, the real fact, that impact, the smell, the verdant radiant intense grain of green of spring smell when the ground is wet, and soaked, like you can smell the earth herself, now, if you know me, my allergies are legion, so the powers of the nose avoid me often, but not on this evening, as you can not imagine, this is a treat, I can take it all in, and at times it is overwhelming (so is this what ‘normal’ people smell all the time?), granted, I understand, and I truly do, that my allergic affliction is but a blip on what can curse a person’s life, so I do not consider it a handicap, it is just my life, stuffed up nose, nasal voice, often shallow breath from the occasional asthma storm, so be it, I have it better than most, but tonight I am free of such host, for once, so I decide to walk among my babies, the only ones I have right now, my plants, such a strange year, the winter was not harsh, by our standards, but for some reason my bamboo varieties took a beating, even those long in the tooth that have been taller than my roof for years now, in fact my proudest batch looks the worst, but experience tells me, it has leaves it is still alive, green stalks are the sign of life, but still, you worry about your brood, correct? you always do, regardless of the years of experience, and near death experiences, until that first shoot pops up you wonder, did I do enough? and the way bamboo is, for those who do not know, it grows very tropical, when the conditions go right bamboo will pop a foot a day, so it goes from dead nothing to an explosion in an instance, so here I am wandering my property with a led flashlight looking at all the pots, seeing new shoots coming up from everyone now, a relief, but still so much work, and then I pause from my manic bamboo obsession, and take the night in.. damn, I almost think where in the world can I have this right now every night every time… but then… would this be special? if I lived in the florida keys, and saw those insanely azure seas every night… would I rejoice like I am now. and yet we yearn for such things… like a vacation, we want that encapsulation, that perfection, but would we tire of that if that was not the exception but the reality of every hour… of course we all want the opportunity to try that world, the world of a billion dollars, but all the money in the world can not buy right now, it could not if it tried, so I suppose I am lucky, and I am, I really am, to be walking around at 3am, with no major worries, less than some, more than some but a good life, I must remember that, and that my bamboo children, all nine varieties, seem ready to rise and shoot new children into the atmosphere, I check the last of my pots, the newest, which actually did the best this winter, all green leaves, and to this point, no new growth, no shoots, and I spot one, the relief, even with a variety that seems so strong, not a leaf gone from winter, what did a I really risk, nothing but still – somehow I feel responsible for these plants, maybe it is obsession or passion, all I know is that it helps me to come walk around and be part of something I built, even now, at 3am, a perfect chill in the air, seeing the droplets clinging to the next generation on which my superstition will be focused on next spring…
notes… still up now at 3:37am eastern… but I walked outside and felt inspired, so…
flesh and butter might I if given the choice to baste my own skin or drown my best friend if given the chance nature is outside the arena of humanity resides inside; inside these binds of tooth and claw to respond, in circumstance, the rational would fall but would all?
Shades of My Garden 