{"id":20612,"date":"2018-10-19T13:14:21","date_gmt":"2018-10-19T17:14:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=20612"},"modified":"2018-10-19T13:14:21","modified_gmt":"2018-10-19T17:14:21","slug":"what-you-and-i-cannot-really-know","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2018\/10\/what-you-and-i-cannot-really-know\/","title":{"rendered":"What You (and I) Cannot Really Know"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Image:<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “Portrait of the Unknown Saxophonist,” by Tom Waterhouse. Found it on Flickr<\/a>, and use it here under a Creative Commons license (thank you!).<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

You may not feel outstandingly robust, but if you are an average-sized adult you will contain within your modest frame no less than 7 x 1018<\/sup> joules of potential energy—enough to explode with the force of thirty very large hydrogen bombs, assuming you knew how to liberate it and really wished to make a point.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Bill Bryson [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

A Face<\/strong><\/p>\n

It’s just by chance, who
\nyou are, but given myself
\nI take care of this being.
\nNobody else will remember
\nits hunger, cold, loneliness:
\nI will be reminded, and care.<\/p>\n

This face, like an old watch,
\nI carry wherever I go.
\nGrandmothers, grandfathers, you pictures,
\nyou should forgive my regret:
\nmy wanting another. I carry it
\nas you did. It belongs
\nsomewhere, and I am taking it there.<\/p>\n

On corners I let the wind
\nhave all the world, and I turn
\nas a ship accepts the waves
\nbut is itself and has a voyage
\nbuilt into it, stubbornly.<\/p>\n

The choice of being who you are
\nis offered us, or being nothing.
\nThe mask of myself is an old gift
\nnobody else took. So I brought it here.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(William Stafford [source<\/em>: various occurrences around the Web, none complete or canonical<\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Sometimes people think they know you. They know a few facts about you, and they piece you together in a way that makes sense to them. And if you don’t know yourself very well, you might even believe that they are right. But the truth is, that isn’t you. That isn’t you at all.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Leila Sales [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

What are we? A fleeting, intricate presence riding a tiny speck of water and rock, out here in the dark, sailing the ship of wonder ever more deeply into the void from which we came, that is our true home and mysterious destination.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Whitley Strieber and Jeffrey J. Kripal [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

A Ritual to Read to Each Other<\/strong><\/p>\n

If you don’t know the kind of person I am
\nand I don’t know the kind of person you are
\na pattern that others made may prevail in the world
\nand following the wrong god home we may miss our star.<\/p>\n

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
\na shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
\nsending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
\nstorming out to play through the broken dike.<\/p>\n

And as elephants parade holding each elephant’s tail,
\nbut if one wanders the circus won’t find the park,
\nI call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
\nto know what occurs but not recognize the fact.<\/p>\n

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
\na remote important region in all who talk;
\nthough we could fool each other, we should consider\u2014
\nlest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.<\/p>\n

For it is important that awake people be awake,
\nor a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
\nthe signals we give—yes or no, or maybe—
\nshould be clear: the darkness around us is deep.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(William Stafford [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

In a well-coordinated and well-designed room it can seem as though the armchair and its ottoman, a standing lamp and the adjoining side cabinet, are “conversing” with one another, such that a polite person would hesitate to disrupt the exchange by passing between them. When human beings stand side by side talking, is there a similar sense of coordination, of souls in deep and sympathetic converse that should not be lightly disrupted? I would say yes, but even more often no, at least on social occasions, which means on most occasions. The fact is, people seldom truly speak with or listen to one another; more often than they care to admit, they deliver soliloquies, with each individual using another’s remark merely as a launching pad for his or her own performance.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Tuan Yi-Fu [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Gay Pride Weekend, S.F., 1992<\/strong><\/p>\n

I forgot how lush and electrified
\nit was with you. The shaggy
\nfragrant zaps continually passing
\nback and forth, my fingertip
\nto your clavicle, or your wrist
\nrubbing mine to share gardenia
\noil. We so purred like dragonflies
\nwe kept the mosquitoes away
\nand the conversation was heavy,
\nmother-lacerated childhoods
\nand the sad way we’d both
\nbeen both ignored and touched
\nbadly. Knowing that being
\nfierce and proud and out and
\nloud was just a bright new way
\nto be needy. Please listen to me<\/em>, oh
\nwhat a buzz! you’re the only one<\/em>
\nI can tell<\/em>. Even with no secret,
\nI could come close to your ear
\nwith my mouth and that was
\necstasy, too. We barely touched
\neach other, we didn’t have to
\nspeak. The love we made leapt
\nto life like a cat in the space
\nbetween us (if there ever was
\nspace between us), and looked
\nback at us through fog. Sure,
\nthis was San Francisco, it was
\noften hard to see. But fog always
\nburned off, too, so we watched
\nthis creature to see if it knew
\nwhat it was doing. It didn’t.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Brenda Shaughnessy [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

___________________________<\/p>\n

Aside:<\/strong> Hurricane Michael completely defeated my hopes of continuing the “post every Friday” streak. I hope you were able to touch base with whiskey river<\/em> while I was away!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Portrait of the Unknown Saxophonist,” by Tom Waterhouse. Found it on Flickr, and use it here under a Creative Commons license (thank you!). From whiskey river: You may not feel outstandingly robust, but if you are an average-sized adult you will contain within your modest frame no less than 7 x 1018 joules of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":20618,"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":"William Stafford, Brenda Shaughnessy, et al: 'What You (and I) Cannot Really Know'","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":[183,247,1393,250,5,251,4159],"tags":[1345,1413,2095,4812,4813,4814,4815,4816,4817],"class_list":{"0":"post-20612","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-everyday-life","8":"category-ruminations","9":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","10":"category-art","11":"category-06_writing","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-essays","14":"tag-william-stafford","15":"tag-conversation","16":"tag-relationships","17":"tag-brenda-shaughnessy","18":"tag-tuan-yi-fu","19":"tag-whitley-strieber","20":"tag-jeffrey-j-kripal","21":"tag-leila-sales","22":"tag-knowing-thyself","23":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/10\/portraitofunknonsaxophonist_tomwaterhouse_thumb.jpg?fit=600%2C450&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-5ms","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20612","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=20612"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20612\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20620,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20612\/revisions\/20620"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20618"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20612"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20612"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20612"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}