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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476725" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Jumped Out Of Nothing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Jumped out of nothing. The fish did. Golden.<br>A flake of the moon. When I wasn't looking. <br>Into a lifeboat cupping something precious in its hands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mind an old junkyard that's been collecting windows too long. <br>So many points of view. So many glass eyes <br>looking for the stuffed animals they belong to. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Death after knowledge. The silence that follows the music <br>after the bird has flown. Is the abyss death's rebuke <br>of life's dangerous proposal to let us look through the keyhole </div><div style="margin:10px 0">at what's going on in the uninhabitable room next door? <br>To dream a little in the interim between two enormities<br>abstracted from the need of our perishing to persist </div><div style="margin:10px 0">aeonic light years beyond anything we can imagine? <br>The golden fish jumps into the boat like an unsought insight. <br>No hook in it. And you can tell by the scales of light it emanates </div><div style="margin:10px 0">it's risen from the starless darkness of its own depths<br>like moonrise out of the encyclopedic corals <br>of accumulated knowledge that's found a place for everything</div><div style="margin:10px 0">like a polyp on a library shelf, calcium in a cave<br>shaping itself into temples from the top down. <br>Stalagmites and stalactites of cathedrals inspired by water</div><div style="margin:10px 0">to enshrine themselves in form as an aid to the blind. <br>Though things along the way might change <br>does the journey stay the same ad infinitum? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Did you amount to everything you dreamed you might be, <br>or were there more stairs to climb than doors to enter, <br>more walls than windows in the way you saw things? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've seen the most sublime things humbled by their own insignificance. <br>And I think I've heard God more than once <br>weeping at the stern of a sinking ship for a turn of events</div><div style="margin:10px 0">she couldn't do anything about once they were set in motion. <br>And I've listened to people my whole life <br>talking in their sleep about how to put a rudder on a dream </div><div style="margin:10px 0">as if there were a focus and a direction for life to flow in <br>like a solid, particulate thing instead of the wandering wavelength <br>of this exiled mirage of water that it appears to be </div><div style="margin:10px 0">depending on the mood of the chameleonic mirror you're looking into. <br>The donkey looks into the well and the well looks back at the donkey. <br>It couldn't be any clearer than that. Tat tvam asi. But, then, again </div><div style="margin:10px 0">why muddy the mirror by dropping the penny of the moon <br>down a wishing-well that never gets what it wants <br>and ask for something you've never really been missing? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I learned in my mother's kitchen long before I went to school <br>that just because you can ask a question doesn't mean <br>you have a right to expect an answer that satisfies you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And even when you do receive an answer unexpectedly <br>it will be the quality of the question that determines its nature. <br>The single petal of a candle flame the size of the fire of life in your heart </div><div style="margin:10px 0">like the apple-bloom of a thousand orchards in the Okanagan<br>thrives on the winds of change that blow it out and away<br>like a butterfly from the open palm of your hand</div><div style="margin:10px 0">wise enough to know a hand is not just for grasping <br>and let it go like a mind of its own without knowing where.<br>Indirection is an indeterminate voyage of discovery, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">a star's way of probing the darkness radiantly <br>without knowing how the light's going to be bent ahead of time.<br>Destination is a postcard from the edge of nowhere. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you want to see anything worth looking at <br>while you're still alive enough to know it like your own name<br>don't adjust your eyes to the size of the window </div><div style="margin:10px 0">you're looking through like the keyhole of an orbitting telescope<br>but the spaciousness of your own mind like a sky <br>no starburst of bird, word, or thought has flown to the end of yet </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whether they're bearing the souls of the dead south or west<br>like early transmigratory hearses yoked to a brace of angels or not.<br>Life still greens the tree with meaning even in the wordless dead of winter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And who hasn't been, from time to time, a thriving neighbourhood <br>that left town to seek its fortune buried in its own back yard <br>only to return empty-handed to watch its homelessness being torn down? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those who see themselves as strangers in the doorways of their own houses of life<br>are those who ask the most questions about who that is <br>that threatens them the most from the inside out, <br> <br>that offer escalating ransoms to their own shadows to let them go unharmed<br>the longer the silence refuses to identify itself like an answer <br>to the incomprehensible questions about what they're doing here </div><div style="margin:10px 0">like rivers weeping over what's going to become of them<br>or the sun worrying about opening the wrong flowers<br>like somebody else's mail without a return address</div><div style="margin:10px 0">though all flowers like stars are loveletters addressed to everyone alike, <br>and it's not hard to recognize a river in captivity by its handwriting<br>or the jewels of the dead from the eyes of the living by the accent the light</div><div style="margin:10px 0">they speak in through the medium of a mother-tongue that slurs the distinction <br>between a seance and an exorcism once we realize we've been summoned <br>to the comings and goings of every breath, every step, every </div><div style="margin:10px 0">mistake we make with our lives like a revealing insight into who lies <br>under these deathmasks we wear like crocuses in the spring<br>under the unpaginated duff of last autumn's petals and leaves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The way life carries on, it feels to me, is no different <br>in the heart of the incomprehensible mystery <br>than the wind that sweeps us away like death</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the stars off the stairs in one and the same breath that blew them there<br>to ensure our continuity is always within reach of attaining<br>like a river that at all times and everywhere is in touch with itself.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like a waterclock. Or a goldfish in the deserts of an hourglass<br>swimming through mirages on the moon that launches<br>our lifeboats and coffins alike on the same undifferentiated ocean of insight</div><div style="margin:10px 0">that washed us ashore in the first place like islands in the night<br>that have more in common with the stars that at first glance <br>we might think we do in the vastness of the spirit's lost and found. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But of this I am bold enough to remain uncertain of my bearings indefinitely.</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=476725" data-title="Jumped Out Of Nothing de Patrick White" data-description="Jumped out of nothing. The fish did. Golden.
A flake of the moon. When I wasn't looking. 
Into a lifeboat cupping something precious in its hands.

The mind an old junkyard that's been collecting windows too long. 
So many points of view. So many ..."></div>
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