I ponder, and onder, and onder.
How deep does taste go?
"A writer, or any man, must believe that whatever happens to him is an instrument; everything has been given for an end. This is even stronger in the case of the artist. Everything that happens, including humiliations, embarrassments, misfortunes, all has been given like clay, like material for one's art. One must accept it. For this reason I speak in a poem of the ancient food of heroes: humiliation, unhappiness, discord. Those things are given to us to transform, so that we may make from the miserable circumstances of our lives things that are eternal, or aspire to be so.
If a blind man thinks this way, he is saved."
JLB, 1977
This reminds me of Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse, and the young artist's quest for the model visage for his ecstatic sculpture-in-the-making, which in turn reminds me of three sleepless days in Tours, FR which can't be recalled but in images, which can't be reproduced in images but in words, those, once called, blur and fall back into dark, fragile Memory.
Don't let me forget to go to the post office.
To close one's eyes is to invite the sibling senses to attention. My continued interest in blindness may suggest a need for more quiet meditation or movement performed far from reflective windows or mirrors. This evening, I am the beneficiary of a spotlessly clean and empty apartment.
Zafu or no zafu, let darkness fall.
Speaking of..
<<<Quote from: Jorge Luis Borges, Selected Non-Fictions/Edited by Eliot Weinberger/
"Lecture on Blindness"/Translated by Esther Allen/Penguin/2000>>>>
How deep does taste go?
"A writer, or any man, must believe that whatever happens to him is an instrument; everything has been given for an end. This is even stronger in the case of the artist. Everything that happens, including humiliations, embarrassments, misfortunes, all has been given like clay, like material for one's art. One must accept it. For this reason I speak in a poem of the ancient food of heroes: humiliation, unhappiness, discord. Those things are given to us to transform, so that we may make from the miserable circumstances of our lives things that are eternal, or aspire to be so.
If a blind man thinks this way, he is saved."
JLB, 1977
This reminds me of Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse, and the young artist's quest for the model visage for his ecstatic sculpture-in-the-making, which in turn reminds me of three sleepless days in Tours, FR which can't be recalled but in images, which can't be reproduced in images but in words, those, once called, blur and fall back into dark, fragile Memory.
Don't let me forget to go to the post office.
To close one's eyes is to invite the sibling senses to attention. My continued interest in blindness may suggest a need for more quiet meditation or movement performed far from reflective windows or mirrors. This evening, I am the beneficiary of a spotlessly clean and empty apartment.
Zafu or no zafu, let darkness fall.
Speaking of..
<<<Quote from: Jorge Luis Borges, Selected Non-Fictions/Edited by Eliot Weinberger/
"Lecture on Blindness"/Translated by Esther Allen/Penguin/2000>>>>
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