Sunday, September 6, 2015
"A vague mist", Ferdinand Ortler, Walt Whitman
wonderful, though i contradict and do not contradict: it is possible.
i firmly hold the view, not opinion, that matter is spirit and spirit is matter, we cannot separate one from the other, and as Teilhard de Chardin would have said, we are spirit travelling through a human experience.
what we see never is what we see, and our perception changes with our concepts and ideas and words.
but no, the plants we see are as 'real' and alive as we are, but i am sure they are spirit travelling through the experience of plants: beyond our grasp but not beyond.
it feels wrong to see 'solid things', maybe this is what Whitman feels and cannot quite express?
quote and photo by
Ferdinand Ortler
A vague mist hanging 'round half the pages:
(Sometimes how strange and clear to the soul,That all these solid things are indeed but apparitions, concepts,
non-realities.)
― Walt Whitman
invisible realities, William Segal
The world is filled with invisible realities. But, if people do not see or hear, then these realities do not exist.
William Segal
note: o i know it is vague. just to ignite today's walking-through-air.
and of course, everybody can google Wiliam Segal.
William Segal
note: o i know it is vague. just to ignite today's walking-through-air.
and of course, everybody can google Wiliam Segal.
Just wallking around, John Ashbery
notes:
it reminds me not only in a distant way of Fernando Pessoa
but of a distant me, one i knew, a man feeling displaced in this world,
walking around next to himself.
Just walking around
What name do I have for you?
Certainly there is not name for you
In the sense that the stars have names
That somehow fit them. Just walking around,
An object of curiosity to some,
But you are too preoccupied
By the secret smudge in the back of your soul
To say much and wander around,
Smiling to yourself and others.
It gets to be kind of lonely
But at the same time off-putting.
Counterproductive, as you realize once again
That the longest way is the most efficient way,
The one that looped among islands, and
You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.
And now that the end is near
The segments of the trip swing open like an orange.
There is light in there and mystery and food.
Come see it.
Come not for me but it.
But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.
John Ashbery
it reminds me not only in a distant way of Fernando Pessoa
but of a distant me, one i knew, a man feeling displaced in this world,
walking around next to himself.
Just walking around
What name do I have for you?
Certainly there is not name for you
In the sense that the stars have names
That somehow fit them. Just walking around,
An object of curiosity to some,
But you are too preoccupied
By the secret smudge in the back of your soul
To say much and wander around,
Smiling to yourself and others.
It gets to be kind of lonely
But at the same time off-putting.
Counterproductive, as you realize once again
That the longest way is the most efficient way,
The one that looped among islands, and
You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.
And now that the end is near
The segments of the trip swing open like an orange.
There is light in there and mystery and food.
Come see it.
Come not for me but it.
But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.
John Ashbery
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