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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476851" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Seeds Of Fire In A Nightsky</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seeds of fire in a nightsky root like flowers <br>in the ashes of my eyes I scattered on the wind<br>like the dust of stars I followed even into oblivion<br>to remain faithful to the life of the light <br>whatever transformations within me grew <br>into the starless darkness of the unknown heart <br>I've carried in my chest for years like the empty shrine<br>of a dead lantern to the last firefly to go out.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is a seeing without the eyes of the stranger <br>I no longer recognize as who I thought I was <br>when I could read the constellations like the Linear B <br>of the lost civilization that was elaborated out of me<br>to perish in the mountainous silence of what was abandoned <br>when I burned my starmaps and entered chaos <br>like the blackhole of the singularity<br>that could rejuvenate me out of nothing like a grail <br>I was seeking at the bottom of the deepest grave <br>I ever descended into, a spider at the end of its silk, <br>or a caterpillar like the distant rumour of a butterfly<br>on a tranformational pilgrimage to an unknown shrine <br>that crawled with it all the way back to the beginning<br>of the radical innocence of an radiant world, <br>before time overran it with arrivals and departures <br>as if it never meant anything in the first place<br>to aspire to the light in the hope of a deeper intimacy with life. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And in this darkness, there is no letting go, <br>or hanging on to what cannot be grasped by understanding <br>until you realize that understanding only ever finds itself <br>and the vastness of what's expanding before it<br>into the unknown, is not a journey with a destination <br>or a threshold that can be crossed into illumination <br>like a voice meditating in the silence of its mother-tongue. <br>I was looking for the light by the light <br>I was given to go by when the wind blew it out <br>like a candle I no longer needed <br>to make my way deeper into this homeless darkness <br>that does not cast a shadow of time on enlightened extinction. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How can you divine what isn't missing within yourself? <br>The seeker dies by the side of the road <br>like a cry for help in the dangerous distance <br>pleading to be rescued by its own echo, and it comes <br>but not in a language of its own, not <br>as the event of anything that could have been anticipated, <br>not as something you can bring back with you <br>like the taste of water to the lips of a delirious mirage<br>to prove there's a reality beyond delusion <br>where everyone drinks from the same well <br>the muses of wisdom summon them to without a mouth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As unsentimental as an overnight frost on the garden, <br>the larkspur rimed by billions of cold stars, <br>as if my seeing condensed out of the air <br>and every insight were a sign of farewell to the mystery<br>that urged me to risk everything like a tribute <br>to the divinity of nothing that had seized upon my heart<br>like a sacred clown faithful to the folly of experience.<br>Like the footprints of space and time that stretched behind him<br>for lightyears like the forced smile and phony tear <br>of the painted lifemask that convinced him he was not dead<br>to the ordeals of the journey he was leading nowhere<br>but to where he was every moment of the way<br>trusting in the crazy wisdom of the laughter <br>that regaled him every step of the way <br>like the cornerstone of the absurdity<br>that kept looking for new hills of prophetic skulls<br>to roll over like dice in a bone-box.<br>To wander like a rogue planet on an aberrant wavelength <br>of dark matter that doesn't express itself like moonlight<br>talking to itself like the open-mouthed seed syllables <br>of the waterlilies at night on the Fall river <br>writing love poems back to the stars that inspired them. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You want to overhear what the universe <br>is whispering to itself like a madman in his sleep <br>in the unbreachable silence of a fathomless dream <br>of random atoms engendering the forms of awareness <br>like a grammar of chaos out of its own unattainability <br>trying to make some sense of what it's saying, <br>an asylum of paradigms that undermines it own existence<br>in the arraying of a conditioned universe? <br>You have to learn to learn to hear it in a language <br>no one has ever spoken before you, as if <br>you'd never heard your own voice before <br>from somewhere deep within you saying <br>let it be as the stars broke into light <br>like the distant echo of an unknown wonder <br>that perceives the source of its own extinction <br>in the birth of everything, in the slightest conception <br>of the inconceivable rooting in its own ashes on the wind. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We all listen to the eloquence of things we don't understand<br>like a secret we're forbidden to tell anyone, <br>that keeps giving us away death after death, <br>birth after birth to our imperceptible selves.<br>Imagination seeds the mind of our uninhibited potential<br>to flower into worlds where the fruit comes before the blossom<br>as the harvest precedes the seed, or the darkness <br>wakes the nightbird up to its longing for love and light<br>and all our deaths are already achieved behind us<br>long before anyone was born to suffer them.<br>And yet we suffer them like a truce with the absurdity of the act<br>that establishes peace like a third-eye <br>in the middle of a hurricane that gives meaning<br>to the dark abundance of our extinction gathering into light<br>by sacrificing our emptiness like gods to our own creations<br>over and over and over again, as we surrender to ourselves <br>like candles returning themselves like fire <br>to the the light that inspired them<br>like water to the river it was taken from.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The distance of the journey of life is a wingspan <br>that cannot be estimated in shadows. <br>And though you master all the meanings in the world <br>and learn to love their subtleties like the taste <br>of mystic wine, or enlightened tea, <br>you're still the guest that's never met its host face to face<br>because everything you say is always behind you <br>like the light of a star whose immediate life <br>is always ahead of it hidden in the darkness like a jewel <br>that has yet to know the light of a direct encounter.<br>If you want to see deeply into the shining <br>you have to grow your own eyes to accommodate <br>the perennial insight into the restive vision at hand.<br>And you must learn to live without knowing <br>what it is you've come to understand<br>about the ashes of the dragons in the afterlives of the stars. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Don't let the scars intimidate the innocence of your wounds<br>as if you could never be hurt again by what <br>you cherished the most in your search to find yourself <br>in the absence of anything you could be attached to. <br>Look at the fireflies emerging from the valley fog <br>of a passing storm like a shapeshifting constellation<br>dancing at its own wake like a blissed-out drunk at a funeral. <br>You can taste the whole history of life <br>like a wandering myth of origin in every sip of water<br>flavoured with the reflection of things that changed along the way. <br>Don't mourn the transformations that enabled you to stay awhile <br>like snow on the mountaintops, dew on the tongues <br>of the new leaves of the apple-tree that emerge <br>like the sacred syllables of lovepoems <br>to the unknown windfalls of the mystery they facilitate<br>out of the urgency of their own becoming. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, where we speak for awhile, in the diction of things <br>arranged in the mystic grammars and paradigms <br>of our own likeness reflected like starmaps <br>to the shining that ripened our eyes from within <br>as if the whole world were turned inside out <br>and you had to descend into yourself to see the stars<br>like an arrangement of chaos expressed in metaphors, <br>the liars speak clearly in the language of other men's mouths <br>that can be easily understood, as the tongue-tied sages <br>blunder like an ineffable silence into the deepening mystery<br>of the creative eloquence of the unsayable things<br>that life speaks through them like the facts of a dream<br>that trues their wisdom to the disparate harmonies <br>of the illuminated chaos deep within the heart of life<br>that keeps contradicting itself like a pulse among the dead.</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=476851" data-title="Seeds Of Fire In A Nightsky de Patrick White" data-description="Seeds of fire in a nightsky root like flowers 
in the ashes of my eyes I scattered on the wind
like the dust of stars I followed even into oblivion
to remain faithful to the life of the light 
whatever transformations within me grew 
into the star..."></div>
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