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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476686" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>If You Worry About Where You're Going</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you worry about where you're going<br>before you go, you're not worthy of the road yet. <br>If you're not having some black-hearted fun <br>with your worst nightmares, because they're <br>just as surrealistically absurd as the bliss<br>of your most recurring dreams are, how <br>are you ever going to avoid taking yourself literally? <br>If you're not crazy enough to wander <br>through a cemetery saturated with the moon <br>in the early hours of the morning, trying <br>to organize a choir of singing gravestones, <br>how are you ever going to recover a voice of your own? <br>That dowdy wren you let go of when you first discovered swans? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you ever want to sweep across the lava plains of the moon <br>in a rush of emotion of a homecoming ocean, <br>but you can't feel the tide in a single dropp of water, <br>you haven't cried enough yet to drown in your own sorrows<br>and see everybody's life flash before your eyes <br>as you go down in retrospect, wiser than bubbles<br>in the way you descend like feathers trying to smile.<br>O, it's hard here, isn't it. Isn't it brutal at times? <br>All your beautiful teeth knocked out against a concrete curb? <br>Inoperable cancer. The savage inexplicability <br>of the death of children it would be sacrilege<br>to even think there was an acceptable answer <br>to appease the loss, to satiate the grief. And I know stones <br>I've turned over I wished for years I hadn't, things I've seen <br>that make me wish I'd never been born with eyes, <br>that have rendered my nemetic courage dysfunctional, <br>estranged from the Pleiadic radiance of my seeing <br>as if it were a black farce on tour in Taurus.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But if you want to shine like the fire of a pioneer star <br>in the clear light of the void, as I keep reminding myself <br>like a mantra over and over and over again, <br>you're going to light up the intensity of hell <br>as readily as you do the cruel immensity of heaven<br>when it terrifies you with joy. Be a brave boy, I say to myself, <br>resolved to live all the lives of the Tarot Pack<br>and then go looking for the cards the Sufis say are missing, <br>just to say and smile at the end of time, if only to myself, <br>yes, I played all the stations of my life <br>as if they were the winning hand of an inveterate gambler <br>calling my own bluff in an unbeatable casino.<br>Seven come eleven, I've rolled my prophetic skulls <br>up against the wall like a printer in inky coveralls <br>in the back alley delivery entrance of a cosmic newpaper <br>on its lunch hour, throwing snake-eyes around <br>like the fang marks of a prison tat turning to Braille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you haven't blooded your sword by falling on it yet, <br>and hemorrhaged by a river wild blue irises, just to add<br>a little Zen beauty to your death in life experience, <br>if you haven't felt love slash its nadir across your wrist <br>and worn it like the talismanic bracelet of an unmentored initiate, <br>how are you ever going to transit zenith <br>as if you were crossing the threshold<br>of that thirteenth house of the zodiac <br>you raftered with your bones to accommodate your heart, <br>to cherish your own ashes like the mystery <br>of the afterlives you had to live through <br>until you burned like a star that had learned <br>the art of shining is the art of inexhaustibly letting go? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">More doubt in our joy than in our pain, if <br>you don't learn to ignore your certainty to the point <br>you disappear into the abyss of an expanding universe, <br>giving no second thought to whether you exist or not, <br>with no nostalgic attachment hovering over your emptiness <br>like the halo of a black hole, how are you <br>ever going to evolve the mystic green thumb you need<br>to root sunflowers in the darkness like neighbouring galaxies? <br>How are you ever going to adapt to the things you cherish <br>if you can't endure the transformations that come with them? <br>If you skip the cocoon and go straight to the butterfly, <br>all you've really done is traded your birds in for a kite<br>that doesn't know how to sit or sing on the power lines <br>it's entangled in, nor how to negotiate the wind with wings. <br>You may glimpse the unattainable, yes, like a moth<br>at a closed window, wondering what it must be like <br>to be annihilated in a candle like an old love poem, <br>but the vision's not sustainable as a way of life of your own <br>until you've set fire to your own antennae like wicks <br>that are not consumed by the flame, or extinguished in the rain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spiritual diamonds don't forget where they came from, <br>their perishable beginnings, and though they can shine<br>like water and rainbows, their clarity smeared <br>by the chromatic aberrations of their colour-blind telescopes, <br>they haven't forgotten how to burn like bituminous coal <br>in a basement furnace, or melt the intensity of their emotions<br>like a glass river making its way to the sea or how to use <br>a meteoric explosion as a way of sowing adamantine insights<br>like seed stars in an immaculate ocean of enlightened awareness, <br>the life-mask of the inconceivable assuming form<br>to express itself as an event in time that outgrows itself <br>transcendentally without a revolution or message for anyone <br>but itself, thereby ensuring, given our inquisitorial nature, <br>that everything from stars to rocks to apple trees to humans, <br>overhears it as a revelation of angelic gossip <br>waxing the long after-hour halls of a demonic institution<br>that was founded synarthritically on the cornerstones of our skulls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Zen might be the taste of tea. But if you'd rather spice the water, <br>do it with all the flavours of life, dip an eclipse <br>in the full moon of your cup now and again, <br>and let the darkness work its cure upon you like a spell<br>deeply steeped in your imagination like a school bell. <br>Attend to your shadows, not as a theft of flowers, <br>or the clone of a brighter garden you've lost your way back to, <br>but as mute voices with a grammar all of their own <br>deep enough to show you the stars you wish upon<br>from the bottom up of a well with fireflies caught in its throat<br>it articulates like chimney sparks, even at noon, <br>or when the black sun shines at midnight<br>through a clearing in the tree-line of the starfields. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The snake that takes your life grows wings <br>and turns into the bird and the dragon that uplifts it <br>with oxymoronic lyrics of fire and rain that are as real<br>as any symbolic gesture that plays suggestively with your heart<br>in the cauldrons and fountains of being <br>that elaborate you as you are, slack water in a mirror<br>that neither ebbs nor neaps, as the tides reverse direction<br>like a heartbeat or the flow of your breath. <br>This mysterious third extreme in between life and death<br>where everything you sought among the mountain peaks<br>finds you at the moment of your withdrawal <br>from your circuitous passage through the valley of longing.<br>And in every emotive thought, the serpentine wavelength <br>of the immensity of the transcendent silence<br>overwhelms you with the intimate impersonality <br>of its approach to you in every risky step you take toward it.</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=476686" data-title="If You Worry About Where You're Going de Patrick White" data-description="If you worry about where you're going
before you go, you're not worthy of the road yet. 
If you're not having some black-hearted fun 
with your worst nightmares, because they're 
just as surrealistically absurd as the bliss
of your most recurring ..."></div>
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