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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476570" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Everybody Says I'm Too Intense</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Everybody says I'm too intense and I say <br>you sure as hell aren't. <br>And since I was sixteen in highschool <br>and before that in the local neighbourhood <br>in the bosom of my family<br>people have always thought I was mad.<br> <br>My highschool graduation yearbook says <br>most likely to become <br>a mad teacher mad scientist mad poet mad. <br>An oracular assessment of my peers <br>that has haunted me for years. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I say crazy is the only antidote <br>to the extreme chaos of conditioned consciousness. <br>Look at the world. <br>Lies lies lies. <br>A coalition of lies <br>that calls itself <br>the history of civilization.<br>Crazy wisdom. <br>The tantric insight <br>into the fact <br>there is no nature to things. <br>You're not a very wise human <br>if you don't understand ignorance<br>is the clearest expression of enlightenment.<br> <br>You see what I mean? <br>It's hard to speak of unity <br>in the split tongue of a snake <br>without making an oxymoron of it <br>at the fork in the roads <br>it mistakes for a direction.<br> <br>Regard the dead parachutes of Babylon <br>no one can understand you <br>I said to myself one day dying with a sneer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's the moral obligation of a writer to make things clear. <br>I forget who said it. <br>But he was a nitwit. <br>One of the lice of literature <br>that makes your mind want to scratch itself raw<br>for the next half century.<br> <br>It's that word moral that bothers me. <br>Not his preconception of clarity<br>though when it gets down to that <br>you smear the mirror <br>when you try to be clear about clarity.<br>I said that.<br>It takes an amateur madman <br>to be a good shrink <br>and make reality <br>try to correspond <br>to what you think. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But what an impoverished way to live your life. <br>What a distortion of humanity. <br>If you're mad enough <br>there's plenty of room in the asylum <br>to embrace sanity with decorum. <br>When in Rome do as the Romans do<br>and try not to make a spectacle of yourself in the Colosseum. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's been my experience <br>that so much of what the world calls mad <br>is only freedom <br>with the courage to open its eyes.<br>Most people look into the eyes <br>of spontaneous freedom <br>and it terrifies them.<br>They don't want to know <br>what's not there. <br>The world ends at the back of their eyelids.<br>Things just get too deep <br>and they drown in their sleep <br>like pearl divers on the moon. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At every moment of your life <br>life is more certain than death.<br>It's all you can say about <br>where you expect to be tomorrow <br>and where this is now. <br>Everybody always wants things <br>to look the way they seem. <br>They want to live the dream awake. <br>They don't go along with their own mindstream.<br> <br>They're shore-huggers. <br>They live at the edge <br>of the great sea of mysterious being <br>in sandcastles with blowholes <br>that burp like tiny volcanoes in the receding tide. <br>Herculaneum and Pompey<br>are mummified in the flow<br>down their pygmy mountainsides<br>but it's easy to see where they hide<br>thinking they're out of reach.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But who am I to preach <br>quicksand to cornerstones such as these? <br>Everybody always tells me I'm too intense<br>but they've never been through a nightstorm <br>far out on the Pacific<br>where the moon's your only lifeboat<br>and it's just gone down <br>like a bright penny in a wishing well<br>like a last longshot in the slots <br>of an odds-making hell.<br>And it's seven to five you survive.<br> <br>They've never fallen in love with a hurricane rose<br>that's built like a fortune-cookie <br>and paints her eyelids <br>with the blood of ex-lovers<br>who were sacrificial enough to propose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you go looking for the meaning of life sincerely <br>sooner or latter it will find you <br>like one fact final enough to delude all the others <br>into thinking it's ultimately true.<br> <br>Complete one act well <br>and you've accomplished everything <br>because one act begets another <br>until everything is done of its own accord. <br>Because your birth isn't terminal, <br>your death is ongoing. <br>And the same is true in reverse.<br>How do I know this is so? <br>I let go. <br>I blossom like the memories of a dead branch<br>in the apple orchards of the Hesperides, <br>everyone of them <br>a full moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see how innocent my doubt is.<br>So even my darkness <br>is a singing bird on a green bough.<br> <br>I've looked at drops of water<br>at the tips of the blades of the stargrass <br>like the thin-skinned tears of the sky in childbirth <br>and everyone of them <br>was the seed of a new world. <br>Worlds within worlds <br>whose only conventions <br>are the creative dimensions of the perceivers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not one size fits all. <br>I don't put my finger to my lips <br>like an ego-I<br>to eclipse the great silence. <br>I let it say me with its eyes.<br> <br>And we both come as a great surprise to each other<br>when we're standing <br>on the same side of the mirror<br>on the far shore of the mindstream<br>like two eyes of the same seeing<br>astonished we're here at all<br>without lying to the miracle <br>about our reasons for being.<br> <br>Have you ever considered the enormous distances <br>in the body of a small bird? <br>Or how strangely intimate a star can be <br>from thousands of lightyears away? <br>A whisper of lucidity in an oceanic ear. <br>Something you've heard for a long time <br>but never listened to before. <br>Never this near. <br>This clear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Have you ever wondered which of two sisters <br>is the older of the elements.<br>Fire or water? <br>Or why spring lies about her age <br>when she's as old as autumn<br>and then claims <br>to be the daughter of the grain<br>when in fact she's the womb of summer? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it insane to wonder? <br>Is it too intense to fear <br>living my whole life <br>as if I were never here <br>to take a good look? <br>Is it deranged to feel <br>the enlargement of my seeing <br>is not the diminishment of my being<br>because I opened my eyes <br>and saw they were both <br>two ends of the same telescope? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's one thing to let the light in through the gates of your eyes. <br>It's wholly another to let it get this far <br>into the palace of your imagination<br>without being announced <br>or scrutinized.<br> <br>Life's a breeze <br>when you don't look at it <br>like a disease you're afraid to get over. <br>If I'm inspired by the vastness of my ignorance <br>to turn a leaf over now and again<br>like a new page in an old book <br>to avoid being obvious<br>am I looking for a happy ending <br>or am I just delighting in my indolence <br>when I read it like a map of my own lifelines <br>by running my finger over it as if I were blind<br>and it were the one who could see? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I don't believe we appear briefly <br>to disappear forever <br>because everything here <br>is a vast collaboration <br>with creative emptiness <br>and it isn't going anywhere<br>what do I care <br>if you're confused by my endeavours? <br>What's it to you<br>if I'm a mirage on a grailquest in a desert of stars? <br>Or if I practise compassion spontaneously<br>toward myself and others <br>as if we were all the same wound<br>under many scars<br>and if my lies heal, <br>are they not the fruit of insight? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I'm the dark genius <br>deeply intrigued <br>by my own misdirection <br>that you say I am <br>though that doesn't change a thing <br>about the way I can't help being <br>and not being myself, <br>what makes you think <br>there's only one star <br>you can point out <br>like the needle <br>in the impoverished compass <br>of your last course correction<br>as if there were only one way to go <br>and the truth were always <br>somewhere north of you<br>instead of under your feet <br>in all directions at once<br>like the radiance of stars<br>before the arising of signs? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Today Jesus and the Buddha walk on water. <br>Tomorrow Lucifer and Kamamara will walk on fire. <br>But when the opposites<br>get their baggage together <br>and realize they can't lift it <br>and abandon it by the side of the road <br>like an outhouse on a trailer hitch<br>or a hubcap in a country ditch<br>that's stopped spinning around<br>and come to rest in an oxymoron <br>posing as the full moon<br>that's come to liberate<br>an empty asylum <br>they both walk on earth<br>bewildered by their innocence<br>when they discover <br>they've never had anything to do<br>with the course of events<br>that made them who they are.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wasn't the Buddha enlightened <br>by watching Venus in the dawn <br>lead the sun up <br>like the morning star <br>that once was Lucifer <br>before he took the fall like a ripe apple, <br>before he stole fire from the gods like Prometheus <br>the thief of inspiration, <br>knowing the moment of his perfection<br>in all realms of knowledge <br>infernal or divine<br>was the best time to jump? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the darkness will always seem like a liar <br>to those who don't know the truth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I don't see life as just a bag of water <br>with nine holes in it <br>leaking out of itself<br>as I once used to <br>eras and eras ago<br>and you still do <br>when I look at what remains<br>of the desicated parachute of a jellyfish<br>you've made of your brains <br>clinging to shore <br>next to the sewage drains<br>that poured you out <br>and washed you up<br>and wiped their mouths of the taste of a dead ocean<br>what's it to you <br>if I run so far out to sea <br>from so high up <br>on the down side of the world mountain<br>I'm swimming with dolphins on the moon? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm teaching blind starfish how to shine<br>like dark matter with a mind of its own <br>and no sign of a constellation<br>with feet of clay<br>afraid to leave home.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Say what you want to say. <br>Be what you want to be. <br>Enlighten your ignorance <br>and then ignore your enlightenment.<br>Don't drive the darkness out of your lucidity <br>like a scapegoat into a spiritual desert <br>you're afraid to enter <br>because you're not bright enough to see<br>that under every threshold <br>between the inside and the out <br>certainty and doubt <br>insanity and the sane<br>the trivial and profound <br>the homeless and a habitable planet <br>there's a sphere<br>spinning on a tilted axis <br>in the immensity of space<br>that's so far out it's in.</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=476570" data-title="Everybody Says I'm Too Intense de Patrick White" data-description="Everybody says I'm too intense and I say 
you sure as hell aren't. 
And since I was sixteen in highschool 
and before that in the local neighbourhood 
in the bosom of my family
people have always thought I was mad.
 
My highschool graduation yearb..."></div>
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