Life is impervious to your attempts at spiritualizing it. It cannot be spiritualized. Its cycles will not be broken. Elements are elements. Bodies are bodies. Thoughts are thoughts. Dreams are dreams. Anger is anger. Loneliness is loneliness. Fondness is fondness. The only alchemy, the only transformation, yes, the only spirituality is the ending of spirituality, the ending of levels, the ending of parts…and, yes, dare I say it, the ending of consciousness. Bang!
Looking at that great summer giant from inside his moving car, its magnificent stillness and volume all the more arresting as the passing landscape flashed by underneath, there was a sense of solidarity and closeness that only strangers know.
Hello beautiful, he offered. Where are you from? Have you travelled far? What was that sense of familiarity, he wondered. Ah yes, he thought. Yes, I knew we had something in common, relieved to have been able to put his finger on it.
They were both orphans, you see. Orphans could always recognize each other. He felt the same resonance with people, more often in recent days, as if there was something of an orphan in everyone.
The old lady he’d just passed about the cross the road once his car had passed. I see you, darling, and I feel your tired lonely heart, weary of this foreign place. And she was gone from his rear view mirror, just like that cumulus, and he wondered what would become of them.
Something about the rain
Always put him in his place
Regardless of time and circumstance
He sat obediently
Schoolboy gripped by spectacle
Steady, silent specks darkening dry dirt
Lifting scents of damp dust
Colouring summer’s tiring leaves
That lay so lightly on the lawn
Chiding him for truanting
Daydreaming, forgetful child
The softest of scoldings for the man