I read a poem earlier this month, because a tiny snippet of it was posted on the wall of the library where I work. Here is the full text:
The Chance
by Arthur Sze
1950 –
The blue-black mountains are etched
with ice. I drive south in fading light.
The lights of my car set out before
me, and disappear before my very eyes.
And as I approach thirty, the distances
are shorter than I guess? The mind
travels at the speed of light. But for
how many people are the passions
ironwood, ironwood that hardens and hardens?
Take the ex-musician, insurance salesman,
who sells himself a policy on his own life;
or the magician who has himself locked
in a chest and thrown into the sea,
only to discover he is caught in his own chains.
I want a passion that grows and grows.
To feel, think, act, and be defined
by your actions, thoughts, feelings.
As in the bones of a hand in an X-ray,
I want the clear white light to work
against the fuzzy blurred edges of the darkness:
even if the darkness precedes and follows
us, we have a chance, briefly, to shine.
Your article felt like a wonderful stepping stone near this thought. I am 27 and trying to learn (as it feels more and more urgent) how to be with death and my own attention and how to choose in the places where I can choose—and how to be with the processes that I may not choose. It’s a puzzle—how do I become patient enough be like a slow growing tree on ruined ground, when there seem to be many different forms of ruin, new and old, aorund me. What ground do I go to hold with the roots I have? And, acknowledging, that what I do may be fully as slow as a single plant's roots (or slower! plants seem to get a lot done). It is especially mysterious because, I think I have not yet done all of the wandering and wondering that will lead to discovering the path of my life (though maybe everyone feels this way?). I have this constellation of different sparks and I am not sure how they link together, and which to coax now, and whether some will disappear forever while I choose to give my attention to others. It seems like some will, and so part of it is grief?
Your post feels like one I can come back to, to learn from in different ways.
I read a poem earlier this month, because a tiny snippet of it was posted on the wall of the library where I work. Here is the full text:
The Chance
by Arthur Sze
1950 –
The blue-black mountains are etched
with ice. I drive south in fading light.
The lights of my car set out before
me, and disappear before my very eyes.
And as I approach thirty, the distances
are shorter than I guess? The mind
travels at the speed of light. But for
how many people are the passions
ironwood, ironwood that hardens and hardens?
Take the ex-musician, insurance salesman,
who sells himself a policy on his own life;
or the magician who has himself locked
in a chest and thrown into the sea,
only to discover he is caught in his own chains.
I want a passion that grows and grows.
To feel, think, act, and be defined
by your actions, thoughts, feelings.
As in the bones of a hand in an X-ray,
I want the clear white light to work
against the fuzzy blurred edges of the darkness:
even if the darkness precedes and follows
us, we have a chance, briefly, to shine.
Your article felt like a wonderful stepping stone near this thought. I am 27 and trying to learn (as it feels more and more urgent) how to be with death and my own attention and how to choose in the places where I can choose—and how to be with the processes that I may not choose. It’s a puzzle—how do I become patient enough be like a slow growing tree on ruined ground, when there seem to be many different forms of ruin, new and old, aorund me. What ground do I go to hold with the roots I have? And, acknowledging, that what I do may be fully as slow as a single plant's roots (or slower! plants seem to get a lot done). It is especially mysterious because, I think I have not yet done all of the wandering and wondering that will lead to discovering the path of my life (though maybe everyone feels this way?). I have this constellation of different sparks and I am not sure how they link together, and which to coax now, and whether some will disappear forever while I choose to give my attention to others. It seems like some will, and so part of it is grief?
Your post feels like one I can come back to, to learn from in different ways.
thank you <3
Thanks so much for reading and sharing <3