Don't Let Go // Sojourns in the Parallel World [Zwei Seelen, ach...!]

dedicated to C

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I can't believe this moment's come
It's so incredible that we're alone
There's so much to be said and done
It's impossible not to be overcome
Will you forgive me if I feel this way
Cuz we've just met - tell me that's OK
So take this feeling'n make it grow
Never let it - never let it go
(Dont let go of the things you believe in)
You give me something that I can believe in
(Dont' let go of this moment in time)
Go of this moment in time
(Don't let go of things that you're feeling)
I can't explain the things that I'm feeling
(Dont' let go)
No, I won't let go

Now would you mind if I bared my soul
If I came right out and said your'e beautiful
Cuz there's something here I can't explain
I feel I'm diving into driving rain
You get my senses running wild
I can't resist your sweet, sweet smile
So take this feeling'n make it grow
Never let it - never let it go

[Chorus:]
I've been waiting all my life
To make this moment feel so right
The feel of you just fills the night
So c'mon - just hold on tight

~ Bryan Adams ~

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We live our lives of human passions,
cruelties, dreams, concepts,
crimes and the exercise of virtue
in and beside a world devoid
of our preoccupations, free
from apprehension – though affected,
certainly, by our actions. A world
parallel to our own though overlapping.
We call it "Nature"; only reluctantly
admitting ourselves to be "Nature" too.
Whenever we lose track of our own obsessions,
our self-concerns, because we drift for a minute,
an hour even, of pure (almost pure)
response to that insouciant life:
cloud, bird, fox, the flow of light, the dancing
pilgrimage of water, vast stillness
of spellbound ephemerae on a lit windowpane,
animal voices, mineral hum, wind
conversing with rain, ocean with rock, stuttering
of fire to coal – then something tethered
in us, hobbled like a donkey on its patch
of gnawed grass and thistles, breaks free.
No one discovers
just where we've been, when we're caught up again
into our own sphere (where we must
return, indeed, to evolve our destinies)
– but we have changed, a little.

~ Denise Levertov ~

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friends

Two of my three cats, 13 and 15 years old; sometimes, when I overlook the years we spent together, I think (and I feel and I know) that they are among the best friends I ever had.


My friends do not know.
But what could my friends not know?
About what? What friends?

~ James A. Emanuel ~

more than myself [selfreflexion]

Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning
in that narrow diary of my mind,
in the commonplaces of the asylum
where the cracked mirror
or my own selfish death
outstared me...
I tapped my own head;
it was glass, an inverted bowl.
It's small thing
to rage inside your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself.

~ Anne Sexton ~

The Play [selfreflexion]

I am the only actor.
It is difficult for one woman
to act out a whole play.
The play is my life,
my solo act.
My running after the hands
and never catching up.
(The hands are out of sight -
that is, offstage.)
All I am doing onstage is running,
running to keep up,
but never making it.

Suddenly I stop running.
(This moves the plot along a bit.)
I give speeches, hundreds,
all prayers, all soliloquies.
I say absurd things like:
egss must not quarrel with stones
or, keep your broken arm inside your sleeve
or, I am standing upright
but my shadow is crooked.
And such and such.
Many boos. Many boos.

Despite that I go on to the last lines:
To be without God is to be a snake
who wants to swallow an elephant.
The curtain falls.
The audience rushes out.
It was a bad performance.
That’s because I’m the only actor
and there are few humans whose lives
will make an interesting play.
Don’t you agree?

~ Anne Sexton ~

inverse world

On the other side of a mirror there's an inverse world,
where the insane go sane; where bones climb out of the
earth and recede to the first slime of love.

And in the evening the sun is just rising.

Lovers cry because they are a day younger, and soon
childhood robs them of their pleasure.

In such a world there is much sadness which, of course,
is joy.

~ Russell Edson ~

Ghost Shadow [selfreflexion]

she looks at the world from
another side of the window

her essence a sandy presence
before an astral stage curtain

elevator hallucinations
my mind caught
between piped ideas and
tea cloud beams

my heart waiting
with anticipation, struggling
with her nightmares

hour of solitary in meditation

I have looked into antiquity
to find her name waited for
her to show her self to me,

to disclose where I can find
her prediction, looking to
understand what is it that has
brought her here, what makes me
want to give my soul to her cause

I have told her I would
follow her wherever
she desires, to be with her,
our spirits as one
searching heavens eventide

looking to find the next
dimension, the meaning behind
death, before it’s too late

our souls binned outside life’s prisms,
her ghost shadow, waiting for me to
find the consequence of our purgatory

she looks at the world from
another side of the window

waiting for my resolve her love
comforting my soul, I would
destroy your world to free her

~ Joseph Mayo Wristen ~

fate [selfreflexion]

You may think, passer-by, that Fate
Is a pit-fall outside of yourself,
Around which you may walk by the use of foresight
And wisdom.
Thus you believe, viewing the lives of other men,
As one who in God-like fashion bends over an anthill,
Seeing how their difficulties could be avoided.
But pass on into life:
In time you shall see Fate approach you
In the shape of your own image in the mirror;
Or you shall sit alone by your own hearth,
And suddenly the chair by you shall hold a guest,
And you shall know that guest,
And read the authentic message of his eyes.

~ Edgar Lee Masters~

aliens [selfreflexion]

you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction or
distress.
they dress well, eat
well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they have moments of
grief
but all in all
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy
death, usually in their
sleep.
you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.
but I am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one
of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them
but they are
there
and I am
here.

~ Charles Bukowski ~

with both my hands [selfreflexion]

.
I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there --
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler --

[...]

~ Emily Dickinson ~
.

In case... [selfreflexion]

.
Perhaps I was born kneeling,
born coughing on the long winter,
born expecting the kiss of mercy,
born with a passion for quickness
and yet, as things progressed,
I learned early about the stockade
or taken out, the fume of the enema.
By two or three I learned not to kneel,
not to expect, to plant my fires underground
where none but the dolls, perfect and awful,
could be whispered to or laid down to die.

Now that I have written many words,
and let out so many loves, for so many,
and been altogether what I always was —
a woman of excess, of zeal and greed,
I find the effort useless.
Do I not look in the mirror,
these days,
and see a drunken rat avert her eyes?
Do I not feel the hunger so acutely
that I would rather die than look
into its face?
I kneel once more,
in case mercy should come
in the nick of time.

~ Anne Sexton ~
.

absence of silence [selfreflexion]

.
My mind was a mirror:
It saw what it saw, it knew what it knew.
In youth my mind was just a mirror
In a rapidly flying car,
Which catches and loses bits of the landscape.
Then in time
Great scratches were made on the mirror,
Letting the outside world come in,
And letting my inner self look out.
For this is the birth of the soul in sorrow,
A birth with gains and losses.
The mind sees the world as a thing apart,
And the soul makes the world at one with itself.
A mirror scratched reflects no image —
And this is the silence of wisdom.

~ Edgar Lee Masters ~
.

believe [selfreflexion]

.
the walls of a city
in the background

a walkway leading
to a scene where the sky is green

a reflection found in an artist’s mirror

abstract pictures of people
without faces

colors
immersed
between beams of light
filtering
shadows of purple
radiance

a procession of monks
walking
beyond a row of decorated pillars

watching the red sands of the desert
crashing against the black horizon

a symbol of life suspended at the edge of the dream

the eye of our awakening
looking
over the throne
of the muse

a figure of a man turned to stone

here
is where the statue of death
lies
standing
in the garden of the Lotus

the picture
of what might have been
had we
chosen to believe

~ Joseph Mayo Wristen ~
.

... only a door [selfreflexion]

.

Either you will
go through this door
or you will not go through.

If you go through
there is always the risk
of remembering your name.

Things look at you doubly
and you must look back
and let them happen.

If you do not go through
it is possible
to live worthily

to maintain your attitudes
to hold your position
to die bravely

but much will blind you,
much will evade you,
at what cost who knows?

The door itself
makes no promises.
It is only a door.

~ Adrienne Rich ~

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