MY THREE EARTH HOURS
Handling the remains of a day sometimes only seems
easy : we retreat to twilight; tea and coffee, water and
ale. The shadows seem gathering across the walls -
dim lights with a yellow glow cast palls of happiness
as best they can. Slowly, and quietly, a thick music
pervades the air - cello, oboe, viola, bass.
-
If I were to list excuses for not being, there would have
to be this one, for sure : time and presence often work
at odds from each other. We want to be somewhere, but
haven't the time, and, equally, we have the time, but we
wish we were never here. It's a paradox of living, a real
quandary of the blood. Always looking for a way out;
talking to everyone to see what they know. They all
do know - sooner or later it comes.
-
Some are making plans for the exit.
Others rue the day they will have to leave.
-
In any case, please listen : 'You are the end result of all
your efforts, all your goals. They commingle, they mix,
to express just what you are and what your world has
been about. Follow me. I have been a soldier of this.
Just as you cannot 'change' a name because of all else
that is in it, so too your own life draws everything along.
The ribald and the evil, at some level, are all the same.'
-
Man invented all things but this one.
The heart is an anvil of all creation.
The system has a perfect imagination.
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