not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Thursday, August 23, 2012


emerging from the dream of longing

to become

for a moment

one word, bird

and then to return to the dream


  1. You are literally flying now, Erin.

    I have to share today's daily zen quote, from Jack Kerouac: "Zen is the madman yelling, 'If you wanna tell me that the stars are not words, then stop calling them stars.'"

    1. heh. who can say anything back to this, william, without undoing the wisdom? but i can not help but laugh. is heh truly a word?


  2. Replies
    1. what? you think in being tree you are less? you think less of less? (i know you do not.)

      I Want to Sleep

      I shall be still stronger,
      Still clearer, purer, so let
      The sweet invasion of oblivion come on.
      I want to sleep.

      If I could forget myself, if I were only
      A tranquil tree,
      Branches to spread out the silence,
      Trunk of mercy.

      The great darkness, grown motherly,
      Deepens little by little,
      Brooding over this body that the soul -
      After a pause - surrenders.

      It may even embark from the endless world,
      From its accidents,
      And, scattering into stars at the last,
      The soul will be daybreak.

      Abandoning myself to my accomplice,
      My boat,
      I shall reach on my ripples and mists
      Into the dawn.

      I do not want to dream of useless phantoms,
      I do not want a cave.
      Let the huge moonless spaces
      Hold me apart, and defend me.

      Let me enjoy so much harmony
      Thanks to the ignorance
      Of this being, that is so secure
      It pretends to be nothing.

      Night with its darkness, solitude with its peace,
      Everything favors
      My delight in the emptiness
      That soon will come.

      Emptiness, O paradise
      Rumored about so long:
      Sleeping, sleeping, growing alone
      Very slowly.

      Darken me, erase me,
      Blessed sleep,
      As I lie under a heaven that mounts
      Its guard over me.

      Earth, with your darker burdens,
      Drag me back down,
      Sink my being into my being:
      Sleep, sleep.

      from the Spanish of Jorge Guillen, translated by James Wright


  3. i love your elimination of the inessential, looking past the detritus into the essence ... i wonder if you will end up some day with a blank page and an empty frame, and i wonder if that will be the most beautiful of photographs :-))

    1. i think, perhaps that blank page or that empty frame is the same as the page which holds every word (or the tongue that births every word), the place ofall, the place where nothing and everything are the same. (how is this possible? and yet it feels so.)

      yes, james, it must be the most beautiful. we will be razed, obliterated, and made.


  4. Replies
    1. yes, yes, michael, exactly, or something close to this, beside this))


  5. building a world in the air, a lightness, fleeting.
    Is that the dream world?

    1. damaso, i am not sure which world is the dream, the world from which we emerge (and to which we merge) or this temporary one, or perhaps both.



"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))