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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476786" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>No Lightning From My Clouds Of Unknowing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">No lightning from my cloud of unknowing, <br>now that this season of storms has passed. <br>Occasionally tears, but a harvest of stars <br>shining like Spica in the hand of Virgo<br>and all these dazzling insights into nothing<br>I hang like wild grapes and chandeliers <br>above the dance floor where I press the wine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not meditative, but darkly absorbed, who knows, <br>maybe even void bound, drowned or lost, <br>I'm not trying to seek a way out of the abyss. <br>Whatever it is, I accept it as it is. Most of the time. <br>And when I don't and I'm stuck like a wishbone<br>in the throat of a nightbird, even my dissonance<br>is included in the background cosmic hiss. <br>So I say you don't have to be attuned to it <br>to be in harmony with it, and if you've gone astray <br>or been misdirected, maybe that's a course correction <br>you didn't have to make, because all rivers <br>are flowing the right way to the sea, and as <br>for the picture-music you hear like a hidden mindstream <br>talking in a dream in a dark wood, you don't <br>always have to hit the right note to be a great singer.<br>Or name me a bird that sings its heart out off key. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I can feel the stillness moving under my feet <br>like a road, a mountain path, a rogue orbit, <br>or Curiosity like a wandering scholar on Mars, <br>a vagantes, a Druidic refugee intervening in the War of the Worlds<br>and a machine this time looking for the Garden of Eden<br>like an alien mirage in the desert, fossils of Dilmun, <br>the middens of Shangra La, microbes in the begging bowls <br>of a new myth of origin, where Nasa is God, <br>and a robot is the first of a whole new race of Martian nomads. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The silence speaks to me in thousands of estranged voices <br>like leaves on the silver Russian olives moved <br>by the spirit of the wind tampering with their sterling currency<br>to lament their passage at the approach of autumn, <br>though there are only a few flames beginning <br>to immolate the trees like heretics that had to <br>bring their own stakes to their auto da fe.<br>O how easy it would be when I'm down here alone <br>to slip into this river like an unobtrusive sacred syllable <br>into a long-running conversation, even if <br>it's nothing but spiritual slang, and yet be satisfied <br>I've had my say, I've added my voice <br>like a bird in a birch grove, whether <br>anything alive tonight answers it or not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As a holy book said once on a bus, sitting beside me, <br>when one jewel is marked they're all marked <br>indelibly as stars and eyes and planets, <br>and there's a Conservation of Data Principle <br>in this universe, even in the heart of a black hole, <br>that says once here, here forever<br>in this great spiritual lost and found <br>that can read the whole history of life <br>in the mustard seeds that yellow the fields around here, <br>or the stars that do much the same <br>in a commotion of atmospherically aberrated colours, <br>burning with the urgency of mystic details<br>being whispered into everyone's ear <br>as if each were a hidden secret of God <br>that wished to be known and expressed itself flawlessly <br>like a master of mantric wavelengths<br>or a mute with an overbite pointing out constellations<br>and the last of the wildflowers, a signage of light <br>reciting the fathomless poetry that lives in a name, <br>ignoring all the fancy lanterns in the windows <br>of the houses of the zodiac, to follow the flame<br>of whatever light you've been given to go by, <br>wherever it leads, through the star fields or the cul de sac<br>of a satoric eclipse with no light at the end of the tunnel<br>as the only way of ever prodigally coming back.</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=476786" data-title="No Lightning From My Clouds Of Unknowing de Patrick White" data-description="No lightning from my cloud of unknowing, 
now that this season of storms has passed. 
Occasionally tears, but a harvest of stars 
shining like Spica in the hand of Virgo
and all these dazzling insights into nothing
I hang like wild grapes and chan..."></div>
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