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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477071" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Your Own Life Is The Way</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your own life is the way <br>whether it charm itself through the woods <br>like a small snail<br>or kick the stars up like dust <br>along the Road of Ghosts<br>or hang back like the sea<br>enduring its own weather <br>waiting for the next loveletter <br>to arrive like a sail<br>over the event horizons <br>of so much unopened junkmail. <br>But you're a long way off <br>and deeper in darkness <br>than you realize <br>if you're using a searchlight <br>to look for a star.<br>There's no reason<br>to keep showing up <br>at the wrong address <br>like a bad definition <br>of who you are.<br>You go looking <br>for the meaning of things <br>as if meaning were precious and rare, <br>baby teeth under a pillow <br>or lost wedding rings <br>through the noses <br>of unmarried skulls. <br>You chase your own tides <br>back out to sea <br>and then go ask the waves<br>trembling in their tidal pools<br>like children you've frightened <br>about the meaning of water.<br>But when they tell you <br>your mouth hangs open <br>like a grail in the hand of a drunk<br>who's sure she just drank poison.<br>You want to pry <br>the petals of the flowers open <br>before they're ready to bloom<br>as if you were unwrapping your presents early<br>although nothing's been hidden from you, <br>cloaked, eclipsed, or covered by a lie.<br>You paint the window you sit at <br>all the colours of a parrot <br>to enhance the clarity<br>of your longing for stars, <br>or scare yourself to death<br>with things you can see in the night <br>like someone who's been left behind<br>like a key under your own doormat.<br>The return journey goes faster than the first <br>as you progress backwards<br>looping like a planet <br>through all the stations of your youth<br>into the second innocence of awareness <br>knowing how deeply the soul <br>can be soiled by the truth <br>of things as they are <br>and how, sometimes <br>to the baffled astonishment of the purists <br>it takes a little dirt to wash it off; <br>which is to say, you're human. <br>Not one reason for everything. <br>You keep ploughing the same broken record <br>like a season stuck in a groove <br>never leaving anything long enough to itself <br>to germinate and bloom. <br>Even when the moon<br>walks on your waters <br>tapping its white cane <br>at the curb of every wave<br>to show you how to master <br>your own blindness<br>with your own light in the darkness <br>of why you won't open your eyes and look, <br>you cover your face with your hands like a book<br>you fell asleep reading.<br>But you can't wake up from a dream <br>you're not having.<br>You can't look into life <br>like a window from the outside<br>or arrange your eyes <br>like lenses in a telescope <br>to view things at arms length.<br>I know how hard <br>you've been looking for enlightenment <br>and the agony of your disappointment <br>that you can't pull the sword from the stone <br>or the apple from the seed like autumn.<br>You account the waste <br>of time, energy, aspiration, <br>and want to burn the whole orchard down <br>like a bride widowed in her wedding gown. <br>But the fire you set<br>like a last blossom on a dead branch <br>goes out like a torch in your own reflection<br>and you're lost in the woods at night <br>without a road going in any direction.<br>You thought you'd hang around <br>with the constellations, <br>but there you are <br>whenever you kick the earth <br>like a stool away from your feet <br>dangling like a streetlamp in space<br>with only go slow and stop<br>the three expressions <br>that ever cross your face<br>like birds hoping they're heading south.<br>And I don't want to sound mean or unkind, <br>or suggest that I know<br>how stars taste to the blind, <br>or that you're not a fury of insight, <br>a blazing chandelier, a broken mirror, <br>but when you cry<br>you launch your tears like submarines <br>into your own paranoid depths <br>to listen to what the others <br>are saying about you now <br>and you deploy your emotions like spies <br>to keep an eye on the opening night projections<br>you're trying to groom into a movie<br>where everything comes true<br>all at once <br>in a stunning climax of you<br>holding out like a bridge at the fall of Rome.<br>Let go. Give up. Let the barbarians across <br>that you've abused<br>with the severity <br>of your savage passions for years. <br>Abandon the walls <br>you've beaded like a rosary of skulls<br>around your imperial frontiers.<br>How can the frowning jewels <br>of a dying civilization <br>dragging itself by the heels <br>like a corpse through the night<br>compare with the more imperfectible delights<br>of leaving the mindstream to its own devices<br>as if it were wise enough all alone <br>to make its own circuitous way home<br>like blood returning to the heart <br>while we, who don't know the answers, <br>throw our swords back into the lake <br>as if we were surrendering to water. <br>We could feed the demons <br>of our startling immensities <br>all those doves you sent out looking for land <br>that came back like cornerstones of quicksand.<br>We could stop trying to square the circle <br>like college dropp outs <br>trying to corner the rain<br>and forgo the blinding lucidity <br>of what we think we know <br>for the darker esprit <br>of being swept far out to sea <br>like two castles effaced by the undertow<br>of an abyss even the light can't cross.<br>We could lower our bridges <br>and open our gates<br>and liberate our prisons <br>as if we were making love<br>like two more bad little reasons to live.</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=477071" data-title="Your Own Life Is The Way de Patrick White" data-description="Your own life is the way 
whether it charm itself through the woods 
like a small snail
or kick the stars up like dust 
along the Road of Ghosts
or hang back like the sea
enduring its own weather 
waiting for the next loveletter 
to arrive like a ..."></div>
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