How does one stop falling apart? I don't think it possible. I am back to dreaming of monasteries and sanctuaries. The words spread across the distance for me like Xanadu. I'd take Coleridge's opium dreams right now. Anything. I'd pay someone to care for me, but everyone wants too much. Just to sit, I think, and be fed. But I am not truthful, fully. I know that I have made too many impossible places to which no one can go. The images we create are symbols for something else. It is not just "someone" to feed me. It is a whole tapestry of interwoven dreams.
I can't say today. Maybe tomorrow. Or after that.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
(from "Kubla Khan")
"the images we create are symbols for something else"
ReplyDeletedidn't I just say that??? :-)
Have some Redon. He always makes me feel better. or worse. but still. it is a better worse. I think.
http://journeymirror.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/venus_redon.jpg?w=480&h=1121
that tapestry of interwoven dreams can become threadbare at times...
ReplyDeleteL, Did you say that? I thought I did? You think that image helps me when I am dry as a bone? All that moist imagery? You only wish to push me over the edge, I know, to watch me break down and weep in sorrow : )
ReplyDeleteR, There you go! I'm living a threadbare dream! Perfect.