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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476814" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>One Day You Realize You're Looping</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">One day you realize you're looping, <br>Mars retrograde in Virgo, <br>through all the stations in life <br>you once progressed through, <br>and the door you return to<br>is a second innocence <br>more profoundly seasoned <br>than the one you first left by.<br>Everything else in the universe <br>is regressing ahead in accord with time <br>like a night sky doubling back on itself <br>to take its tail in its mouth <br>as a symbol of regenerative eternity. <br>Or moonrise. How likely is it<br>I'm not? That I'm <br>the only long-haired wavelength <br>that got straightened out<br>on a nineteen sixties ironing board<br>like the girlfriends <br>I was always waiting for back then.<br>That there's no twist in my stairwell? <br>No wheeling red-tailed hawks in my thermals? <br>No spirals in the sunflowers of my genomes? <br>No starfish in the bend of my galactic propellers? <br>No Sufis at the dance. Straight-laced crucifixions<br>of corkscrews and bottles of wine <br>that nailed it wrong <br>and turned back into sober water.<br>Not a chance. Or as they say in calculus<br>a straight line is just a special form of a curve. <br>Ask space. Ask the atoms. <br>I'm always one step behind my next birth<br>at an unexpected bend in the river.<br>You remember that old Etruscan god, <br>Vertumnus, whose name meant river's turning, <br>and later, adopted by the gullible Romans <br>turned into Morpheus, the shapeshifter? <br>I think the zodiacal kings of Etruria<br>got it more right <br>than the perfectionists who keep <br>trying to get it righter, <br>and water and light and dream <br>are closer to my original nature <br>than this snake of a road<br>I've been riding like black ice for light years<br>in a holy war of spurs and fangs, <br>the sacred thorns of a black rose <br>in a last duel with the first<br>and last crescents of the moon. <br>And as Lao-Tzu says in the Tao Te Ching<br>what isn't soft and supple <br>turns brittle and breaks<br>like a cataract of thin ice <br>over a flowing lens<br>it's easy enough to drown in <br>if you lose you're focus in the rapids. <br>Even glassblowers must need to cry <br>real tears now and again<br>that splinter like rain at their feet.<br>The fittest cornerstones all do Yoga.<br>Their twisted like the roots of trees<br>not a square uncarved block <br>of disciplined quicksand. <br>Look at the synchronous swimmers <br>in the undulation of an hourglass, <br>the S curve of a woman's figure, <br>the sign of a long distance snake in the desert <br>the Egyptians used as a glyph for intelligence.<br>Can you hear the same creek at midnight I do<br>whispering its way through the woods <br>as if it had no one to tell its secrets to but itself<br>taking the long way home like waterlilies<br>just coming into bloom<br>along the banks of the mindstream? <br>Makes me want to float poetic moonboats <br>like enlightened shipwrecks down river<br>when the fleet comes in <br>like Japanese plum blossoms in Atlantis<br>with a cargo of koans and haikus on board<br>that could be easily mistaken for loveletters.<br>And, hey, whether it's Cygnus above<br>in the Summer Triangle, <br>or a black swan on the Ottawa River, <br>I'm happy to take this trip alone<br>shooting the rapids of time<br>like an urgent waterclock<br>afraid of drowning in a flashback of its life<br>or a lifeboat full of moonlight<br>that came to the rescue of itself.<br>I won't beat the dust <br>out of the thread-bare wavelengths<br>of the flying carpets of life like stars <br>or houseflies that got in the way <br>of my broken window. <br>And o when I was young<br>I used to pray the day would never come<br>when I would talk like this, <br>but as the years turn into eras, <br>you can't help but see <br>a lot of things in life<br>some of which you wish you hadn't.<br>The beauty and the terror. <br>The candle in the dark doorway <br>at the back of the morgue, <br>whose light can go no further<br>than a prayer for the dead <br>behind closed eyelids.<br>Ferry, chariot, or limousine <br>it's still Charon at the toll gate.<br>No exit, no entrance, <br>thresholds of light upon light, <br>petals of a black rose<br>blooming in the shadows <br>on the far side of the moon<br>like the flight plan of a crow feather<br>that doesn't consult the tower anymore<br>for permission to take off and land<br>and leaves the trees to the night birds <br>to exorcise their longing <br>and by their singing, <br>as their fruits, be known.<br>Every step of the way <br>I've stood at the gate of a stranger <br>that looked a lot like me yesterday<br>without this death mask on <br>that doubles as a blossom <br>of the full moon on a dead branch.<br>Green bough. Dead branch. <br>Same song. <br>And the lights play on <br>long after the music's over. <br>You can see and hear it<br>in the picture-music of the stars <br>that shine over you even after<br>both you and they<br>ahead of your own light <br>by the time it gets <br>to where it's going are <br>are long gone, gone, gone, <br>altogether gone beyond<br>firewalking with virgins on Mars<br>like bridges and crosswalks in transit. <br>You can't pour the universe <br>out of the universe <br>like a fish in a waterclock<br>that jumps up into your moon boat <br>at the strike of midnight at noon <br>to tell you what hour it is <br>when you know that every hour <br>every step, every breath, <br>every river, road, gate and doorway <br>is a death in life experience of this one. <br>Not the wounded wavelength <br>of a heartbeat on crutches <br>come to a game of snakes and ladders<br>that can't find anything to lean on <br>on the opposite side of the river <br>because the mindstream has no banks<br>and the bridges go on forever<br>like the wavelengths of snakes <br>with their tails in their mouth <br>going the way they came<br>like bouquets and fountains, <br>tears in the valley <br>that echo on the mountain <br>like snow at the feet of the stars <br>back into their deep watersheds<br>where the dry seas of the dead mingle<br>with the ebb and neap of the living<br>like the moon on the waters of life.<br>And I mustn't forget<br>as I sometimes do <br>even when I'm drowning<br>like a starfish in my own waters<br>that this flash of life, <br>this brevity of a firefly, <br>this lifespan of an insight<br>into this life, this death, <br>unborn, unperishing, <br>is just a galaxy's way <br>of bringing me back down to earth<br>without forgetting where I come from.</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=476814" data-title="One Day You Realize You're Looping de Patrick White" data-description="One day you realize you're looping, 
Mars retrograde in Virgo, 
through all the stations in life 
you once progressed through, 
and the door you return to
is a second innocence 
more profoundly seasoned 
than the one you first left by.
Everything ..."></div>
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