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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476545" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Don't Think I Owed It To Myself, But I Have Endured</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Don't think I owed it to myself, but I have endured. <br>Scarred and broken and as full of escarpments<br>some bad mason laid in like a Cubist stairwell <br>in the Canadian Shield. Experience the sum <br>of all my failures, it's a strange book to quote from.<br>I tell people not to listen to anything but their own hearts, <br>but they take that as a sign of creative sincerity <br>and continue to listen out of the corners of their lives, <br>defying my unmastery by paying stricter attention.<br>You'd think someone who had lived sixty four years the hard way<br>like a wild mountain goat on a high, noble path<br>the rest of the herd doesn't take much anymore <br>as they did when the more siderealized shepherds <br>used to drive them to the Zen pastures of the moon, <br>would have his act down pat by now. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still got a few gamma ray bursts of demonic energy <br>left in me yet, a black revolver of comets left in the clip <br>to take a few more pot shots on a drive by at the sun just for fun<br>as it's going down like a mailbox at the side of the road <br>with a waning rooster painted on it like a fire hydrant. <br>You can spend your whole life as preparation <br>for a moment that never comes. Some people <br>don't want to catch up to their star. <br>They just want to follow it as far as they can go. <br>They want to explore the offroad mysteries along the way. <br>Some ghosts radiate like well known constellations <br>and others roses in the dark that are just as happy to emanate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not in the habit of judging the ashes of others <br>by their constellations or their urns, <br>I've had more of a precessional inclination <br>to scatter them like seagulls on the wind <br>just to watch them hover motionless over a precipice, <br>each fixed in space like a mobile of sheet music<br>or the paradigmatic silence of a symphony <br>living the moment like a riff in the heart of time.<br>Wherever I've gone I've tried to leave signs <br>of where I'd been as delusory clues for those <br>sleeping walking in their delusional lostness, <br>roomy, lunar waterpalaces of the mind to move into <br>with more infinitely spacious windows<br>than there are condemned houses <br>in the slums of the usual zodiac of clockwork origins. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not infrequently I can see time in a better light <br>than it deserves, and I like people that have been <br>sand blasted in the tide like a piece of broken glass <br>that washed up on the beach without losing its translucency.<br>An alumnus of the underground schools <br>for the occult science of new moons, <br>every moment of my life since <br>I've been the master apprentice of my own dark beginnings.<br>The serpent fire at the base of my spine woke up <br>like a fire alarm in the hallway of a burning house <br>shrieking for life at the window, and my vertebrae, <br>playing by ear, the silver-tongued flute, <br>and the picture-music within me, the snake-charmer, <br>swaying like a river reed going with the flow <br>to keep me on the same wavelength as lightning<br>looking for a place to strike, intrigued and alive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's the arrogance of consciousness to think <br>it's anymore than an eddy in the mindstream<br>that's got intimate connections with the greater sea of awareness <br>it's heading toward like a maple leaf with a flightplan <br>that's got nothing to do with how things fall out.<br>The world turns and things are relegated <br>to stolen milk cartons like old albums weaned <br>from the nippled turn tables of a breast implant. <br>The past is a jigsaw puzzle where all the pieces <br>keep changing shape like the fossils of a man <br>who isn't comfortable in his death bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over the course of time this vale of tears <br>slowly evaporates spiritually into the heat<br>like heart-shaped morning glory leaves <br>steaming into the dawn <br>like ghosts that had to get back to their graves, <br>arising off the lake like a mass exorcism, <br>or the third eye of the sun that shines at midnight <br>from the bottom up on the roots of the earth <br>as if it were trying to teach blind, star-nosed moles <br>to see the stars burning in the day <br>from the bottom of a dry housewell<br>that echoes like a firefly in the spider mount <br>of a hollow telescope listening to the cosmic hiss<br>of a message it's waiting to receive<br>that's already been delivered <br>like a star that's strong and true, <br>but apocalyptically behind the times<br>as if one person's past were another person's present<br>and past and future and present <br>were all living co-terminously in the moment <br>like the triune identity of time looking three ways, <br>and probably more if you were take its lifemask off, <br>simultaneously, so when the wind blows <br>through my musical skull in this celestial desert of stars<br>because I listen attentively to the lyrics <br>like a nightbird waiting for an answer <br>to its amorous enquiry, I know I'm not <br>singing out of my ears just to overhear myself talk. <br>My world's been complete since the Big Bang <br>and everything after, the prophetic echo <br>of a future memory of cosmic events <br>that happened without me billions of light years ago.</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=476545" data-title="Don't Think I Owed It To Myself, But I Have Endured de Patrick White" data-description="Don't think I owed it to myself, but I have endured. 
Scarred and broken and as full of escarpments
some bad mason laid in like a Cubist stairwell 
in the Canadian Shield. Experience the sum 
of all my failures, it's a strange book to quote from.
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