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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476740" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lighting It Up And Blowing It Out</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lighting it up and blowing it out<br>I try to make my way through the dark<br>by beginning at the end<br>as if the coming and the going <br>were the same door<br>or good-bye were the first thing <br>you would say to a friend. <br>I approach things like a night stream <br>as if my death were already achieved <br>and behind me. <br>And all the atoms of my being <br>dancing like frenzied gnats <br>in the sunset glow of a last eye-beam<br>are certifiably primordial<br>and any one of them<br>when they lose it in the light <br>could begin a world.<br>And what can you say more of a life <br>that dreams of what it is <br>than it's the taste of the same wine <br>in many different cups? <br>And as any fox knows<br>the grape is always sweetest <br>when you can taste it with your eyes.<br>Though why foxes eat grapes is anyone's guess<br>but life makes itself up as it goes<br>like music in a fish's earlobes. <br>It feathers its themes in fire and light <br>and goes up in smoke <br>like the ghost of a tree <br>looking for habitable planets among the stars.<br>New wounds with innocent root-room for old scars.<br>Chalking the cue to bank the long shot<br>you're trying to spin off into <br>the deep, dark pockets <br>of your game-winning afterlife.<br>And I don't believe in much anymore<br>though that hasn't stopped me from crying <br>like a slow window trying to keep <br>the stars from leaking out of me<br>as if there were a black hole<br>somewhere in my heart <br>waiting for an iris to make it an eye<br>whose seeing might be a new way of healing <br>what can't be healed.<br>Once here. Here forever. <br>But whether we're the eternal children of forever <br>or just another breath on the night air <br>that doesn't even know we live, <br>even death is just another way of killing time here. <br>When everywhere's the center of everything else, <br>the centre holds, <br>things don't fall apart. <br>They disappear. <br>And that's the mystic art <br>of knowing how to make the most out of existence <br>by offering no resistance <br>to the rocks in your own mindstream <br>that part the waters like the thoughts<br>of an exile in the promised land<br>who can't go back the way she came. <br>The river can't step into the same you twice.<br>And in every direction <br>your eyes have ever burned like stars<br>you can see the dark jewel of your own life <br>from the inside<br>before it breaks into light.<br>Sometimes I'm the lonely sign <br>on the only path to nowhere<br>and others I'm positively amniotic<br>with the schools of my blue lucidity<br>the albino dolphins of the moon leap through<br>without a chance of changing their colour. <br>A flower of prophetic blood bleaches my skull. <br>I swallow the snakefire of my last eclipse <br>like a lump of coal <br>I'm trying to turn into a diamond <br>that doesn't burn<br>and never sloughs its skin. <br>Reality isn't a religion or a science, <br>or the back and front of a mirror<br>that doesn't know whose eyes its looking through. <br>Religion: how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? <br>Science: how many pins can dance on the head of an angel? <br>Totem poles on a telephone booth where no one ever picks up.<br>Voodoo dolls that hex the cause of their effects. <br>The apple bloom on the tree of knowledge<br>lets go of its flightless wings<br>and follows the wind<br>like the eyelids of unfeathered angels<br>who opened their eyes like flawless fruit <br>as they fell toward paradise<br>without a parachute of smokey virtue<br>or the scale of a snake for a vice. <br>Emergence into the open <br>like a hidden secret revealed <br>is the engine of evolution <br>that empowers the dark matter <br>of this incorporeal starmud<br>to arise like the high note of a bird <br>that's flown beyond the night in its voice<br>like light beyond its myth of origin. <br>And the peduncle is lost in the ensuing phylum<br>as a madman is lost in the scream <br>that woke up the asylum, <br>or a god is lost in his own creation. <br>And the mountains listen <br>to the holy voices<br>in the valleys of their shadows<br>they deepen as they arise <br>like the guests of an echoless calling<br>to greet the unknown host.<br>It's what the moon feels <br>when she fondles her locket of water <br>and memories pull at her heartstrings<br>like tides on earth<br>and music is the way she recalls <br>the sirens that used to sing <br>like the brides of empty lifeboats<br>that prayed like smashed guitars<br>for the night to sow the seedless sea with stars.<br>And in every fish that swims through fire <br>like the sacred response of life <br>to the longing in its own desire<br>she knows they got their wish. <br>Fireflies in the ashes of the phoenix tree.<br>And the eggs of cosmic words <br>like serpents in a bird's nest <br>learning to fly like dragons<br>that have just swallowed the moon.<br>And it's one thing to pull the sword from the stone <br>but it's a greater power than magic and proof<br>with no urge to rule<br>that summons the butterfly from its cocoon<br>by giving the fool who inches toward the truth<br>along the green branch toward the apple-bloom<br>that already tastes like the forbidden fruit<br>of some radical insight<br>the whole orchard in a pair of wings<br>and more than enough night and light on its palette<br>to start a revolution in seeing among the flowers<br>who still labour in the chains of their roots<br>to turn their earthbound lucidities into stars<br>who might look back for a change <br>with eyes that have gathered like water out of the shining<br>and taste the light in the honey<br>that kissed their eyelids into gold <br>long before the night was old <br>and it wasn't enough just to see them.<br>When you opened your eyes<br>in the burning clarity of your lone vision <br>before this matrix of space and time <br>gave birth to the world <br>you were free to be whatever you could see. <br>That's when the light first spoke to you <br>in the mother-tongue of your seeing <br>and your voice broke <br>like a secret name in the mirror<br>that didn't know who you were <br>and the moon on nightwater<br>the thief at the window<br>your breath like stars on the cold, night air<br>summoned the whole of being <br>in every particulate shard <br>and radiant plinth of the mirror<br>to drive your shining into the shadows <br>so myriad things can appear as they are.<br>Many eyes open. Night. An eclipse. One star. <br>And the darkness an anti-romantic <br>in love with the moon from afar.</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=476740" data-title="Lighting It Up And Blowing It Out de Patrick White" data-description="Lighting it up and blowing it out
I try to make my way through the dark
by beginning at the end
as if the coming and the going 
were the same door
or good-bye were the first thing 
you would say to a friend. 
I approach things like a night stream ..."></div>
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