Here – as echoes in the disquiparancy of my mind – one recording of one performance by a harpist of such soundful beauty so numinously played that I cannot but help recall the sublimity of Life; and the why how where of such musick presenced as it moves us to be, to seek, beyond our selfish so often self-absorbed desire-enmeshed selves.
So reminded to recall through feeling images far beyond my broken fallible Thought, that it echoes still hours beyond while one causal form of Life walked where blue skies warm and sands and Sea greeted such humans as brought forth a silent Light beyond the light that day.
So I am become, became, all the flow of timeful past, future, present: nothing of that stupid-me remains to so despoil the scene where young children, free of future forms as yet undreamed unborn, lived as they lived in such Spaces as became, made, began to shape, them. No Time, feeling for, or recollection, there of how past three score years or more they may with dimming Light recall those who guard them now. But, by then they our parents may well be gone - images fading, framed perhaps, to recall in better perfection than memory he, she, who presenced us with this sublimity wrongly squeezed within this one word Life and who surely must and so often have placed us in our beginning times, first, often at so much cost to they themselves.
Such moments of such tears, as I remembering. And yet am I – you we – born for such as this? For such beauty as, so presenced, brings us here: here where sand, Sea, Sun meld with impermanence of self to breed such rememberings far beyond our selfish so self-absorbed desire-enmeshed silly stupid self.
That remembering for instance of such a love as moved us physically in its first meeting when we, the growing young, were enchanted, enthused, sometimes shaking, but where there were no difficulties, no obstacles, to still nor hold our passion back, and that passion of such a youthful love bade us run run run wide-eyed with psyche flailing to greet her there when she returned and we did not mind nor hear how others stared… Nor see that one, there, who smiled in silent Light far beyond that light that day.
Become – all the hope the love the tragic pain, so much so that I have to sit myself here, down to greet to meet the warmful sand. For I am, was, only this – only this, so meekly weekly captured in such words while Sun with seat-bearing heat drips beads to mingle with sea-salt tears: no clouds to pass below my dome of blue, sky and surf all from a Cosmos fallen, here where the child wobbly now running falls to splash in high-pitched laughter into foam of Sea, and I so sadly have no God to bring forth in hopeful protection against that adult life that so awaits. Nor hope of Heaven to redress by life beyond unfairness, sorrow, the still awaiting growth of pain. So that the Cosmos becomes only this, only this so meekly presenced here as one life so fragile in its childful growing: so full as yet of promise which Thought, Abstractions, Others, cannot yet discover nor as yet dishonour.
Such moments of such tears, remembering. And I am nothing – truely nothing but one so fleeting emanation of one mere ethos that as surf on sand is there and then is gone: one effect affecting so little yet born and borne of so many a tangled spawnful spawn. Moon beyond Sea and Sun as one Galaxy is of just one Cosmos borne.
For in truth we are, become, presenced for such as this – that one human dreaming Light beyond light can by such a form as musick form such gifts as bring such remembering as is the very quintessence of this our fleeting fragile life.
David Myatt
19 April 2011 CE
Image credit – NASA HST Orion Nebulae
Music credit – Aine (solo set, London March 2011 CE)
