Let this be an exercise in writing, and also a personal evidence that meaning is a living current, that though it may dwell in a state of undifferentiation and total obscurity, it is still pregnant and tense like a drawn bow.
Meaning is in love with expression at all times. So, upon the creation of even the smallest opening through which a ray of light can penetrate the world of meaning, when meaning senses even the slightest trace of its beloved, it will rise out of undifferentiation and crawl out, like a seed in the midst of darkness driven by life force, driven to break stone!
I said all this to say something that could be said in one sentence, “even when you have no inspiration for your work, the work itself, like a channel of light shining on your potentiality, will pull out of your Being the child of meaning that’s waiting to enter this world.” You see, it happened again! I can’t speak straight and I don’t wish to. As if my expression inherently behaves like vine wrapping its tendril around meanings that could otherwise be articulated in a straight way. But isn’t that the essence of poetry! Isn’t language supposed to be like a train that instead of taking a straight path to the destination, would tiptoe on a winding railway through the landscapes we’ve never seen before! Isn’t this dance of language meant to move us in a way that prose can’t? To turn and twist so to make us feel more than what a straight meaning would convey, to feel life, to feel the landscape of meaning that would otherwise remain concealed to our experience.
And I started all this with no aim, and all of a sudden a train drove into the scene unbeknownst to me.
Yes, we need communication to arrange things in the world, to set up states of affairs, like throwing a party, etc.. And that’s all it is! Throwing a party, the mundane affairs of this world. But then there’s the true and real function of language, to act like the tendrils of vine, to act like that train that takes us through unseen landscapes that communicative language can’t.
A poem is like an eagle that has landed for us to ride on its back and experience a new flight, a flight that takes us high and makes us feel all kinds of things: excitement, love, tenderness, nostalgia, and even nausea! It is supposed to make us feel, and where you feel you’re open to the spontaneous current of life.
And this is what this piece is about: nothing. It’s just a journey, and I’m as clueless as you are regarding our destination. Fuck the destination! It’s more like a cruise: you can get out on any stop, stroll through the new landscape and return whenever you’re done so we can share another journey! All-inclusive and no kids!
This was perhaps just that opening through which light penetrates the underworld to bring my tendrils to dance, and it’s none of my business where and how they move. None can control life! Who could harness the wind? We can only position our sails in such a way that perhaps the winds of grace push us in some direction. And this I love more, the hither and thither of life. To wish to go elsewhere is like an ant rushing around on a sphere wishing to find the pole. Wherever you are, there is the pole if you wish. Elsewhere is an idea, a thought and a projection of an ideal place where you’ll be ok; and over the arc of this projection we have created a gulf, without clear permission, between what is and what ought to be, and we have filled up, minded up, that gulf with treacherous valleys and cannibal monsters that we must overcome in order to get to that elsewhere. But this elsewhere is nothing but the tail of the mind. Wherever the mind is, this tail would be wagging. When you arrive at your utopia, that elsewhere you have been anticipating for long, that same mind will produce a new elsewhere for you by normalizing what you have achieved. What was once a paradise is now the most mundane thing, and what was never a problem has now become a problem. Don’t be played by the mind. It’s a self-generating maze with no end in sight.
One sun and 11 reflections! Take every bite like it is the last supper. Savor the moment. Let the vine of Lazarus rise from the dead. Let your tendrils dance to the songs of the day; don’t guide them; let yourself be guided by them, for they always take the magical path whereas you always take the familiar road.
This was my shining! I broke through the cracks for the love of light. And let this be what it may for whoever rose with us today.
NOEMAYA 