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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476440" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Creed For The Desperate</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Don't let your bones be softened by fear. <br>By the time you hear it the lightning has already struck. <br>Don't listen for the echoes of things you haven't said. <br>And stop breaking your fortune-cookie skull open <br>like an old prophetic head <br>that claims it's been to the dark side <br>without being dead.<br>Don't let disaster define you. <br>You're not the bouquet <br>of a second class vinegar <br>hovering over a first class wine.<br>No crisis ever comes with its own identity<br>until you give it yours.<br>Move calmly over your own waters <br>like clouds in the eye of a puddle.<br>Walk as if you were already <br>following your own funeral <br>and lost your way to the grave. <br>People make much of being <br>but seeing is enough <br>to save you sometimes <br>from your own obscurity. <br>And when was there ever any security <br>in security <br>as if this flame were safer than that? <br>How long has the universe risked being you? <br>Take a chance on your own magic <br>and pull your life like a tiger<br>out of your own hat<br>to eat the rabbit you've become. <br>Then there's nothing to run from. <br>Become the sword<br>and you won't cut yourself. <br>Become the fire <br>and you won't burn. <br>Become life again <br>and you won't pass away<br>breath after breath after breath<br>wishing you could stay <br>in the negative space <br>of a comfortable death<br>that eulogizes your lies.<br>There are full moons <br>that don't weigh <br>like pennies on your eyes <br>to keep you from seeing too much. <br>And there are things of the earth <br>that have followed you into exile <br>like a new birth of things you can touch<br>that are wholly yours in passing<br>like music from a keyboard<br>or a fire in church. <br>And you may be down <br>to your last black beatitude <br>and righteously uphold the sanctity <br>of your will not to listen<br>to anything but the clinking of your own chains <br>and the mournful whistle <br>of your distant dying derailed thought-trains<br>giving up the ghost <br>but you're just sucking on the tit <br>of a perverse purity <br>and you're milking it<br>like the bitter truth<br>for all it's worth. <br>And it's not worth much. <br>And you may have flattened <br>all the mountains <br>and filled all the valleys <br>of your flatlining event horizons<br>but there's still life going on <br>in the crooked back alleys <br>of secret dimensions <br>you don't know about<br>stuck in the house all day <br>like a child afraid to go out. <br>You look at a tree. <br>You see a crutch. <br>You look at the moon.<br>You see a scar. <br>You look at a star <br>and you're lost for good wherever you are. <br>And it's not really a dysfunction of your imagination <br>that you can look at the Taj Mahal <br>and see a one-room hovel with slumlords<br>jacking up the rent.<br>It's good to look both ways <br>at any spiritual crossing.<br>But you see a stick in the water <br>and you think the water's bent.<br>And to shrink anything as the Tao says <br>you must first expand it. <br>But I think the Tao meant the universe <br>not a used condom on the death's-head <br>of a stillborn resurrection.<br>But you'd have to fall <br>further than you have <br>to understand it. <br>You'd have to fall <br>from your present plight on the world mountain<br>all the way down until you came to a space <br>where there were no more opposites in the abyss <br>and nothing in order <br>nothing amiss <br>nothing is meant <br>to scare you into being<br>and nothing is trying to hold you back. <br>What's your lover's mouth <br>if not a wound <br>you can kiss into healing? <br>You can see it that way. <br>Or you can harden the bruised fruit <br>with brittle tears <br>and flint knap chandeliers <br>to fall from star-crossed mirrors<br>like rain from broken glass<br>that hasn't fired up a single root in years <br>to dream of flowers.<br>The mind's an artist.<br>The painting's yours.<br>A self portrait in the image of God<br>whom no one's ever seen.<br>I see a black star in the bottom of a tulip<br>shining up at me <br>like the direction it took<br>to get to the other side. <br>You see a poisonous spider<br>like the leftover lees<br>of a flowerless wine <br>in the eye of a toxic goblet.<br>And you might raise it to your lips <br>like a lunar eclipse <br>but you never drink up.<br>And even when you do<br>it's a bad guest in the house of life <br>that drinks from his own skull<br>like the grail of a grape on the vine <br>with one eye open <br>as if he trusted the wine <br>but not the cup.<br>You're not the cure <br>that failed the ailing kingdom. <br>And you're not the miracle <br>that got up and walked away<br>to spread the word like a bird at sea<br>that had just discovered a tree to perch in<br>you might have sinned as a crow<br>but now that you've been saved <br>you're a carrier pigeon. <br>You can sit here all day if you want<br>like a buddha on his tatami mat <br>thinking bituminously <br>about burning enlightened diamonds <br>back into eyeless coal. <br>You can squat like a tree in rings of fat<br>smashing small thoughts <br>like eggs on the rocks<br>trying to read your fate <br>in their misfortune<br>like a chromosome <br>you hold in common<br>with all those who hate <br>having been born.<br>You can heap your afterbirth with scorn. <br>You can turn your eyes <br>into a pair of gravitational lenses<br>like dark matter <br>and wince at the stars <br>like cinders of light<br>that contradict your seeing. <br>And you wouldn't be wrong <br>because you can see it that way too. <br>The same eye by which I see God <br>is the eye by which She sees me.<br>Two creative geniuses in one studio <br>painting each other in the nude.<br>And she shows you hers <br>and you show her yours<br>as she enflames your solitude <br>by not putting her name on it <br>though it's a perfect likeness of you. <br>Your face warped into <br>a convoluted starless space<br>like the opening gala<br>of a staged extinction. <br>And your soul shrouded in lampblack<br>like a candle<br>that soils its own light<br>by putting on a deathmask of night<br>like a snakeoil salesman <br>selling skin to ghosts. <br>And there where your eyes used to be <br>two black holes <br>surrounded by random haloes of light<br>like lipstick on the mouths of star-nosed moles. <br>And look at that scar of red she's used <br>to catch your ambiguous smile.<br>That's the kind of genius <br>that leaves the asylum gate open for awhile <br>for everyone to get into your style <br>of imploding your eyes <br>like black dwarfs<br>with abstract depressionist astigmatism<br>as if gravity couldn't dig a grave deep enough <br>or matter make a stone heavy enough <br>to put on your chest to keep you from rising again<br>or the gold of the moon in your mouth <br>ever prove true enough to pay the ferryman<br>to get you to the other side of nowhere <br>as if he knew somehow <br>you huffed life like a paint thinner<br>trying to escape the race a winner<br>by never crossing a starting line<br>that wasn't already <br>a dark horse lamed by life behind you.<br>And he couldn't be bothered with anyone <br>who would fix their own death<br>and lay a bet against everyone <br>their pain could outrun their compassion<br>and in the second heat <br>their bitterness the truth. <br>But if you want a way out<br>like an emergency door <br>I'll let you in on a little secret. <br>Life doesn't grow into death <br>and death isn't waiting <br>to take your next breath.<br>And there's an eye of liberation <br>in the darkest hurricane roses of despair <br>that frees the light like life enough to care <br>that all it falls upon alike <br>should see its own face everywhere<br>through a crack of black lightning <br>in the white mirror<br>where everything that appears <br>evaporates like a ghost off a lake<br>or cataracts from the eyes<br>of the orthodox <br>who couldn't see straight enough<br>to thread their keys through their locks<br>like mystic heretics <br>to have known <br>the deepest wounds give birth<br>to the sweetest spears <br>that life has ever thrown<br>like light on a roadless night<br>or insight like a bird through the sky <br>that enters the sunset<br>like a planet following the sun<br>through the seven coloured doors <br>of the seven blind seers<br>who disappear in a vision of one clarity <br>with many more eyes<br>than there are lightning bolts and fireflies <br>whose age can be measured in light-years.<br>If a fraction of nothing is nothing. <br>Then a fraction of eternity <br>isn't a brevity less than the eternal <br>and every fraction of anything is all. <br>There now that's not too hard to follow. <br>The white face of the moon <br>veils the dark other you never see<br>because it's all been timed to turn away.<br>The moon and its month are one day.<br>Things might be empty <br>but they're not hollow. <br>And you're free to go or stay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476440" data-title="A Creed For The Desperate de Patrick White" data-description="Don't let your bones be softened by fear. 
By the time you hear it the lightning has already struck. 
Don't listen for the echoes of things you haven't said. 
And stop breaking your fortune-cookie skull open 
like an old prophetic head 
that claim..."></div>
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