Who would consider breaking silence?
Once, when we knew nothing about silence, we broke it. Scattered shards of words, billions beyond billions of splintered syllables, fell pell mell to ground covering pure insight with unfocused debris of echolalic tintinnabulation masquerading as approximate meaning.
Cacophony came to be the noise of our cracked communication. And we became Man. And dwelt in the caustic chat of the unsound.
you shall above all things be glad and youngA man in prison yesterday sang German lyrics from Schiller and Handel, his melodious bass draping the table with thick wool warmth in the center of chill cinderblock surround. His dazzling conversational wit and learning enough to frighten away. I was charmed. What trouble is sure to follow!
you shall above all things be glad and young
For if you're young,whatever life you wear
it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love
whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on;and his mind take off time
that you should ever think,may god forbid
and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave
called progress,and negation's dead undoom.
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
(poem by ee cummings)
He spoke of the sweetness of seeing. How those who see will not cease presenting the seen to the unseeing. A missionary of the apparent, this wandering Jew arrived like some brooding Sephardim Eli Wiesel creation fallen from esoteric Nubian pages out of Legends of Our Time.
Are we still interested in looking for Christ?
It is useless.
We are being looked through.
the great advantage of being aliveLove is neither the answer nor the question.
the great advantage of being alive
(instead of undying) is not so much
that mind no more can disprove than prove
what heart may feel and soul may touch
--the great(my darling)happens to be
that love are in we,that love are in we
and here is a secret they never will share
for whom create is less than have
or one times one than when times where--
that we are in love,that we are in love:
with us they've nothing times nothing to do
(for love are in we am in i are in you)
this world(as timorous itsters all
to call their cowardice quite agree)
shall never discover our touch and feel
--for love are in we are in love are in we;
for you are and i am and we are(above
and under all possible worlds)in love
a billion brains may coax undeath
from fancied fact and spaceful time--
no heart can leap,no soul can breathe
but by the sizeless truth of a dream
whose sleep is the sky and the earth and the sea.
For love are in you am in i are in we
(poem by e. e. cummings)
Rather, love is the phenome/phoneme of silence in its selfsame original dwelling within...what is...all that is.