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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476903" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Chaos Of My Unravelling Self</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The chaos of my unravelling self, a snake pit<br>of dissonant wavelengths that yesterday the moon <br>wove into a flying carpet, and then undid again. <br>Or maybe I jumped. I don't recall. <br>Knowing isn't the same thing <br>as making sense of it all <br>as if you were rewiring a zodiac.<br>Sometimes it's wiser to know<br>a lot more about what you don't <br>than it is the little that you do.<br>More room for the stars. <br>The mystery doesn't feel so cramped. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you're a river you've got no choice <br>but to trust the way things fall out <br>and when's the last time you heard a fire <br>asking for a starmap? A garden <br>might be a menu but most of the earth <br>bears what it will, and the clouds <br>don't ask the wind for directions. <br>Everything in existence is either <br>the will of a star or the whim of a flower. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Longing or enlightenment the same, <br>two sides of the same windowpane, <br>one floods the room with moonlight <br>and the other looks out in silence at it. <br>A good night is when you throw the moon through it.<br>No more distinction between outside and in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The aviary sings differently when there's no cage<br>or your voice leaves the door open <br>for the birds to come and go. <br>Same with words, thoughts, emotions. <br>These are the waves of an oceanic universe<br>responding to its own weather.<br>Halcyon, the stars in its eyes, <br>or a holocaust of nautical widows<br>frozen in time like upstairs windows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whatever it is, God, light, life, love, <br>shape it how you will out of bone or obsidian, <br>out of the transparent medium of your spirit, <br>out of the tusks of the telescopes you're poaching, <br>and cherish what you need to believe <br>like a child of your own, if you want <br>your family around you when you die, <br>but if there's more rogue in you than rabbi, <br>more salmon going against the flow of the bowl <br>than there are goldfish, set out alone <br>into the waywardness of your solitude <br>without making an art or discipline of the abyss<br>by apprenticing it to your emptiness as if <br>you'd finally found something to belong to <br>that inconceivably exists, the shadow of nothing. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be the prince that paupered his humanity <br>without really knowing what that was <br>until he walked out on himself one day, <br>and said enough of that. Sick of staying<br>within the lines, or breaking crayons <br>filling in the emotions of a chameleonic colouring book.<br>Understanding is simultaneous with living, <br>if you're quick enough, and if you're not <br>insight still travels faster than the speed of enlightenment <br>because it travels as light headed as you do. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old Zen walnut. Seek it, it runs. Run from it, <br>it follows. Better to walk with it like a wolf<br>or a star peering through the crowns of the trees. <br>Live politely estranged from the curiosity that wonders <br>who you might remotely be. If it suits you. <br>If it's a kingdom you don't need to rule over, <br>acres of homelessness with a burnt out fireplace <br>left standing like some blackened fieldstone shrine<br>the birds still build their nests in like a larynx <br>in the throat of the wind that can sing, but can't write. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I never wanted to live like the book of total knowledge, <br>volume L. Knowledge has always seemed <br>more of a shovel to me than a door. You can <br>dig a garden and bury a corpse with the same tool. <br>Such is the paranoia of human ingenuity <br>we go to war with ploughshares in the defence of swords.<br>The painted asses of infuriated clowns. <br>Underground radio broadcasts of insincere love codes. <br>When you're the way, what else can anyone offer you? <br>But don't belittle yourself by mistaking it for madness.</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=476903" data-title="The Chaos Of My Unravelling Self de Patrick White" data-description="The chaos of my unravelling self, a snake pit
of dissonant wavelengths that yesterday the moon 
wove into a flying carpet, and then undid again. 
Or maybe I jumped. I don't recall. 
Knowing isn't the same thing 
as making sense of it all 
as if yo..."></div>
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