everywhere but the sun

February 22, 2007

We talk of moons
or Mary; we prefer shadow puppets
to blockbusters. We shadow box:

we rarely fight. The light
is not ours to tame. It draws us
everywhere but the sun.

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2 Responses to “everywhere but the sun”

  1. dream listener said

    i’m glad you left me your beautiful comment. at first i was just going to say thank you so, so very much. but then, cuz you did leave a comment i came back to your writing, …which i thank you for and wow, you have been busy! i can’t say anything intelligent about poetry, but the thing i like the most is it’s like i can sense you a bit through your words. shy and sensitive on the petal unfolding part, but deep down…i feel strength, a strength of seeing and naming. so i chose this poem to comment on, because the last line stopped me. somehow it shocked me. as if the gentleness of what came before has some kind of price, or sadness that is quite cutting. i wonder, sometimes, if the moon can feel the warmth of the sun, like we can, when we bask in it. it’s funny how we can only see the moon in relation to the sun. speaking of moons,… there is going to be a total lunar eclipse on the third of march. but don’t worry, the moon gets her revenge on the 18th, the solar eclipse (although not a total eclipse.)
    well, it is late, and i want to read some more of what i missed since last time.
    thank you for your words. all of them.

  2. Thankyou dreamlistener.

    We can only see anything in relation to the sun, but we cannot look into the sun.

    Fly too close too quick and you go gooey like Icarus, and everything becomes one colour. Or at least that’s what we think. Meditation has changed my point of view somewhat: the mind thinks that it will be destroyed by God, made homogenous, but that’s not what happens. We grow. However, I still believe in learning to love the details, the shadows and the reflections; another interpretation is this: everyone loves the sun, everyone loves joy – this is not a problem. Learning to love all things, the boring and the base and the subtle and even the things that frighten us, that’s our job here, I think. Everything can’t be ice cream.

    There is a sadness here, yes; I’ve always had sympathy for those things that live in the reflected light of others, like Mary Magdalene, or Mary Mother of God, or the moon. I find the religious aggrandisement of the glory of God somehow arrogant – as if they’re grabbing it and representing God as their achievement. Now to see God in a spider’s web or even a rubbish tip rather than at the heart of a host of angels…

    I’m sad knowing that people who approach things this way are these days, in our glitzy globalised culture, marginalised, and it’s the glory mongers who get centre stage. While they are fighting us and everyone else for their interpretation to be accepted, we are fighting ourselves, fighting through mind to get to beauty, through the shadows which Plath spoke of in Ariel. It’s largely an unsung battle, but that’s its nature I suppose.

    Many paths up the mountain, dreamlistener, and we all say ours is less rocky, and surer for sheep (when we are speaking to goats) or surer for goats (when we are speaking to sheep).

    endlessly

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