{"id":19268,"date":"2017-05-05T09:25:43","date_gmt":"2017-05-05T13:25:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=19268"},"modified":"2017-05-05T09:25:43","modified_gmt":"2017-05-05T13:25:43","slug":"give-the-kaleidoscope-its-due","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2017\/05\/give-the-kaleidoscope-its-due\/","title":{"rendered":"Give the Kaleidoscope Its Due"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"'Quiet<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “Quiet Nature | Game of light,” by Vasile Hurghis. (Found on Flickr<\/a>; used here under a Creative Commons license — thank you!) The scene is a Romanian landscape. I don’t know about you, but my own eyes resist seeing the tower on the right as what it is… especially when looking at anything else in the photo. I keep seeing it as a doorway to a world of colors which don’t exist in the foreground world. And honestly, I guess there’s no reason it can’t be that, is there — no reason it can’t be <\/em>both that,<\/em> and a simple rustic silo?<\/em>]\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a> (including the first paragraph, found elsewhere):<\/p>\n

At 19, I read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: \u201cThe level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.\u201d<\/p>\n

In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing — not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.<\/p>\n

Each baby, then, is a unique collision — a cocktail, a remix — of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.<\/p>\n

When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes — we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely face of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Caitlin Moran [source<\/em>: well, the quote is everywhere<\/em>, dating back to at least 2014, but I don’t know the original])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

A Child is Something Else Again<\/strong><\/p>\n

A child is something else again. Wakes up
\nin the afternoon and in an instant he’s full of words,
\nin an instant he’s humming, in an instant warm,
\ninstant light, instant darkness.<\/p>\n

A child is Job. They’ve already placed their bets on him
\nbut he doesn’t know it. He scratches his body
\nfor pleasure. Nothing hurts yet.
\nThey’re training him to be a polite Job,
\nto say “Thank you” when the Lord has given,
\nto say “You’re welcome” when the Lord has taken away.<\/p>\n

A child is vengeance.
\nA child is a missile into the coming generations.
\nI launched him: I’m still trembling.<\/p>\n

A child is something else again: on a rainy spring day
\nglimpsing the Garden of Eden through the fence,
\nkissing him in his sleep,
\nhearing footsteps in the wet pine needles.
\nA child delivers you from death.
\nChild, Garden, Rain, Fate.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Yehuda Amichai, translated by Chana Bloch [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

In My Life, On My Life<\/strong>
\n(excerpt)<\/em><\/p>\n

9<\/em><\/p>\n

And every person is a damn between past and future.
\nWhen he dies the dam bursts, the past breaks into the future,
\nand there is no before or after. All time becomes one time
\nlike our God: our Time is One.
\nBlessed be the memory of the dam.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Yehuda Amichai [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

The art of living is based on rhythm, on give and take, ebb and flow, light and dark, life and death. By acceptance of all the aspects of life, good and bad, right and wrong, yours and mine, the static, defensive life, which is what most people are cursed with, is converted into a dance, “the dance of life” as Havelock Ellis called it. The real function of the dance is—metamorphosis<\/em>…<\/p>\n

But the point is that, by the mere act of dancing, the elements which compose it are transformed; the dance is an end in itself, just like life.The acceptance of the situation, any<\/em> situation, brings about a flow, a rhythmic impulse towards self-expression. To relax is, of course, the first thing a dancer has to learn… It is the first thing any one has to learn in order to live. It is extremely difficult, because it means surrender, full surrender.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Henry Miller [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

A Blind Woman<\/strong><\/p>\n

She had turned her face up into
\na rain of light, and came on smiling.<\/p>\n

The light trickled down her forehead
\nand into her eyes. It ran down<\/p>\n

into the neck of her sweatshirt
\nand wet the white tops of her breasts.<\/p>\n

Her brown shoes splashed on
\ninto the light. The moment was like<\/p>\n

a circus wagon rolling before her
\nthrough puddles of light, a cage on wheels,<\/p>\n

and she walked fast behind it,
\nexuberant, curious, pushing her cane<\/p>\n

through the bars, poking and prodding,
\nwhile the world cowered back in a corner.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Ted Kooser [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Quiet Nature | Game of light,” by Vasile Hurghis. (Found on Flickr; used here under a Creative Commons license — thank you!) The scene is a Romanian landscape. I don’t know about you, but my own eyes resist seeing the tower on the right as what it is… especially when looking at anything else […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":19275,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,250,5,50,251,4159],"tags":[1446,1994,2161,2491,3182,4526,4527],"class_list":{"0":"post-19268","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-art","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-language-writing_cat","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-essays","14":"tag-life","15":"tag-light","16":"tag-henry-miller","17":"tag-ted-kooser","18":"tag-yehuda-amichai","19":"tag-caitlin-moran","20":"tag-wonder","21":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/05\/quietnaturegameoflight_vasilehurghis_thumb.jpg?fit=480%2C319&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-50M","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19268","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19268"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19268\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19282,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19268\/revisions\/19282"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19275"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19268"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19268"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19268"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}