The post, the sentiment of the post, is so achingly beautiful, I know it would bring tears to my eyes even if I read it upon the hour, every hour, for the rest of my life. To love like this, where it is everything, life itself...it makes me think about why only some of us experience love like this, why only some of us will know what it means to have their heart truly belong to someone else, where life becomes simplified if you will for with is light, without is dark, to refer breathing only when the heart is close and I wonder if it is those only who would open their hearts entirely.. Em and Trev, the love you have given them is exquisite. And I think once more, how blessed I am to be reading this story.
Your original words written here is too lovely in itself not to post at some point.
Thank you my dear Autumn. Since I don't fly on planes anymore, walking has become my creative incubator. The downside is, I don't walk with a notebook in hand and so as the ideas come, I have to memorize them (and I'm talking specific phrasing) or somehow keep the essence alive.
This poem is a poor translation of "the impulse" from a couple days ago. I felt tears coming to my eyes, the emotion so strong and the singular thought occurred that what was happening was neither happiness nor sadness, that it couldn't be labeled in old familiar ways, but rather, and this is where the poem comes in, but rather it was my soul seeking her and when the soul leaves the body, it does so through the eyes and the weeping is only evidence of this act. As for the breathing, the poem says it best--and to be clear, the line is blurred between the metaphorical meaning and the literal. And when you get Bright Star, and you get to the end when Mr Brown delivers the news from Italy that John has passed away, and when you see Fanny get up in tears and run to the hallway, when she falls to her knees and cries out for her mother, that she can't breathe, well, it is like that. And I suppose that is why I can never watch that scene without crying myself, so fully is the identification, that the scene is not an actress playing a part in a movie, but is somehow a direct manifestation of my own internal state. Not sure if any of that made sense, but there it is.
4 comments:
I usually don't edit but in this case, less seemed like more. Here is what originally followed but the axe of my red pen:
for I feel it in my chest
rising as flight
and from my eyes
as through the window
I feel the rush
and what remains
of me
I do not know
but labor simply
to breathe
until, as upon the wind
a cool breeze lifting
she comes
The post, the sentiment of the post, is so achingly beautiful, I know it would bring tears to my eyes even if I read it upon the hour, every hour, for the rest of my life.
To love like this, where it is everything, life itself...it makes me think about why only some of us experience love like this, why only some of us will know what it means to have their heart truly belong to someone else, where life becomes simplified if you will for with is light, without is dark, to refer breathing only when the heart is close and I wonder if it is those only who would open their hearts entirely.. Em and Trev, the love you have given them is exquisite. And I think once more, how blessed I am to be reading this story.
Your original words written here is too lovely in itself not to post at some point.
Thank you my dear Autumn. Since I don't fly on planes anymore, walking has become my creative incubator. The downside is, I don't walk with a notebook in hand and so as the ideas come, I have to memorize them (and I'm talking specific phrasing) or somehow keep the essence alive.
This poem is a poor translation of "the impulse" from a couple days ago. I felt tears coming to my eyes, the emotion so strong and the singular thought occurred that what was happening was neither happiness nor sadness, that it couldn't be labeled in old familiar ways, but rather, and this is where the poem comes in, but rather it was my soul seeking her and when the soul leaves the body, it does so through the eyes and the weeping is only evidence of this act. As for the breathing, the poem says it best--and to be clear, the line is blurred between the metaphorical meaning and the literal. And when you get Bright Star, and you get to the end when Mr Brown delivers the news from Italy that John has passed away, and when you see Fanny get up in tears and run to the hallway, when she falls to her knees and cries out for her mother, that she can't breathe, well, it is like that. And I suppose that is why I can never watch that scene without crying myself, so fully is the identification, that the scene is not an actress playing a part in a movie, but is somehow a direct manifestation of my own internal state. Not sure if any of that made sense, but there it is.
Another post that my only comment is a VERY DEEP SIGH.
TIGHT HUGS and WARM KISSES
hhHHH
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