Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476702" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In The Nameless Realms Of My Mindlessness</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the nameless realms of my mindlessness <br>where everything that could be said<br>has been spoken <br>without being understood <br>the multiverse keeps repeating itself <br>like the decimal point of an incommensurable.<br>The needle of an early sixties record player <br>worn down like a diamond with cataracts<br>in orbit around a black LP of the old celestial spheres<br>still trying to waltz to the picture-music of their chandelier tears. <br>I'm expanding the available dimensions of poetry <br>to give myself more lebensraum <br>without goose-stepping across Russia <br>as if I had a golden egg up my proverbial.<br>I conquer in diaspora like the stars. <br>And I don't really care <br>if anyone believes me enough <br>to understand this <br>but if they look into my mind <br>without a mirror between us <br>they'll find their own <br>as clear and unique and homeless as space.<br>And the darkness that scrys <br>their prophetic skulls <br>will conform to the lines in their face<br>like a love poem <br>deep in the heart of the night <br>when it's raining crystal balls.<br>And the dirt on the window<br>that was drawing all day<br>people the size of its thumb <br>will show its masterpiece to the stars<br>to be hung like a new constellation. <br>And the green bud who cut <br>her throat on the moon <br>to free the rose in her voice<br>will speak to her lover <br>like a scarlet ribbon<br>around a gift that she meant to send him.<br>And you who judge these affairs <br>as mere rumours of the heart <br>will come to know <br>what longing means <br>when fact falls in love with art.<br>In the nameless realms of my mindlessness <br>there's a room that is waiting for everyone <br>to show up like a door. <br>And in the vastness of this mental state <br>their feet are the threshold and floor<br>of the last address <br>of the nightbird in the tree <br>that waits for the moon like mail.<br>And you can hear its impassioned reply from here <br>like the kite that just flew out your window <br>to solo on its own.<br>If you look the dragon in the eye.<br>If you're not afraid <br>to stand like a stranger in your own doorway. <br>If you're fanatically desperate enough <br>to thread the eye of the needle <br>like a noose in the knot at the end of the road<br>where the world stands on the shell of a turtle <br>waiting for the big moment to make a move <br>taste this thornapple of your own madness <br>and I shall make a gift to you <br>of my freedom and solitude<br>and everywhere you walk <br>like a nightwatchman <br>lamp in hand <br>the candle will not be lost <br>on the long road it's been following like smoke <br>and gold will pour from your wounds <br>like bliss from the ancient ores of your sadness.<br>I shall not take you by the hand. <br>I shall not allure you in the wilderness. <br>I shall not walk beside you <br>like a mountain or a lighthouse <br>or reassure you when it isn't <br>that it was all just a dream. <br>In the nameless realms of my mindlessness <br>there are no holy wars <br>among the godless telescopes <br>trying to explain what they don't understand<br>by quoting sacred books <br>like laws they make up <br>from the prophetic gossip of man. <br>There are no teachers. <br>There are no guides. <br>No signs. <br>No starmaps. <br>No cosmic paradigms <br>to snare the psyche in its thesis<br>by reassembling all the pieces <br>like a butterfly in a spiderweb. <br>But I will offer you this black pearl <br>of a new moon <br>like the primordial atom <br>of a spontaneous beginning of your own <br>and from the wellspring of the first moment of creation <br>you will know the agony <br>of the inspiration <br>and the expanse of the abandonment<br>in making a world <br>where all things lead away from you<br>like stars and people and water. <br>But you will feel deep in your heart<br>the intimacy of a stranger's gratitude <br>for the immeasurable giving<br>of an inexhaustible abyss <br>that's been going on for lightyears.<br>You will stare at the hair in the brush <br>in front of the mirror <br>where your dead sister <br>used to renew her virginity <br>and you will call out a thousand names <br>as if they were all the echo of your own <br>clones on the telephone <br>but none of them will answer<br>the same voice twice<br>until you're alone with the Alone <br>and there's no need to ask. <br>Here you will recover <br>the crazy wisdom of your lost clarity <br>like the comet of a long forgotten memory <br>that will come blazing back into your mind <br>and gazing up at it <br>like a sign from your sister<br>you will realize<br>the original nature <br>of your own mind<br>is the engine of change <br>in this world of time and passage<br>and to have been conceived of once<br>is enough to outlast eternity.<br>In this space <br>the guest does not lament <br>the lack of a host <br>but understands it <br>as the apex of grace <br>to make him feel completely at home <br>by leaving him alone<br>to make it his own. <br>Does the dream age <br>into a waking adage of bone? <br>Are you tempted to wake God up <br>when you're sleeping alone? <br>Are you screaming so high <br>you're breaking eardrums like wineglasses <br>but no one can hear you<br>like a dogwhistle <br>that calls nothing home? <br>You can't cling to your misery here<br>like a voodoo doll<br>you raised as your own assassin. <br>There are no bullet-holes in the mailbox. <br>And no one gives the dice <br>a second chance. <br>Like the wind <br>when it's wild in the trees <br>there's an address <br>but no identity. <br>And no one's an orphan <br>because there's nothing to belong to<br>that can let go of you <br>as if you didn't exist. <br>The raindropp isn't separate <br>and the river isn't one. <br>Between the moon and its reflection<br>between the candle and its flame<br>between the person and their name<br>between the chaff and the grain <br>there's no distinction. <br>No one lucid. <br>No one insane. <br>And if there's a routine to follow <br>it's that there's no path <br>that leads away from you <br>that isn't the spontaneous discipline <br>of the effortless mastery you were born with. <br>Inspiration sets up its tent<br>like the capstone of a pyramid<br>rooted in wind and sand.<br>And there's no way to explain it<br>because there's no one <br>who doesn't understand.<br>In the nameless realms of my mindlessness <br>the deserts aren't a way of counting stars. <br>And whether you look up at the sky <br>or down at your feet <br>the light can't be measured<br>in the wavelengths of snakes<br>that aren't on the same frequency as your eyes.<br>There's only one law of physics here <br>and that's <br>that everything is a complete surprise.</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=476702" data-title="In The Nameless Realms Of My Mindlessness de Patrick White" data-description="In the nameless realms of my mindlessness 
where everything that could be said
has been spoken 
without being understood 
the multiverse keeps repeating itself 
like the decimal point of an incommensurable.
The needle of an early sixties record pl..."></div>
</div>
</div>