{"id":23422,"date":"2020-09-04T08:14:21","date_gmt":"2020-09-04T12:14:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=23422"},"modified":"2020-09-04T08:14:26","modified_gmt":"2020-09-04T12:14:26","slug":"to-recognize-the-rarest-part-of-you","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2020\/09\/to-recognize-the-rarest-part-of-you\/","title":{"rendered":"To Recognize the Rarest Part of You"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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[Image: “<\/em>L’Empire des lumi\u00e8res” (commonly translated as “The Empire of Light,” although I’ve also seen it as “The Dominion of Light” — which I myself rather prefer), by Ren\u00e9 Magritte. This is one of somewhere between a dozen and sixteen works by Magritte bearing the same title, all on the same general theme: a quiet street scene at night, illuminated here and there by individual lamps… while overhead, the sky is a <\/em>daytime sky. All the paintings in the series were painted over the last couple decades of Magritte’s life. As for how I got to this painting for today’s post, let’s just say I blame Elizabeth Spires’s “Pome,” below.]<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Most people believe it is only by constraint they can get any good out of themselves, and so they live in a state of psychological distortion. It is his own self that each of them is most afraid of resembling. Each of them sets up a pattern and imitates it; he doesn’t even choose the pattern he imitates: he accepts a pattern that has been chosen for him. And yet I verily believe there are other things to be read in man. But people don’t dare to — they don’t dare to turn the page. Laws of imitation! Laws of fear, I call them. The fear of finding oneself alone — that is what they suffer from — and so they don’t find themselves at all. I detest such moral agoraphobia — the most odious cowardice I call it. Why, one always has to be alone to invent anything — but they don’t want to invent anything. The part in each of us that we feel is different from other people is just the part that is rare, the part that makes our special value — and that is the very thing people try to suppress. They go on imitating. And yet they think they love life.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Andr\u00e9 Gide [source<\/a><\/em> (in a slightly different translation)])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is in this darkness, when there is nothing left in us that can please or comfort our own minds, when we seem to be useless and worthy of all contempt, when we seem to have failed, when we seem to be destroyed and devoured, it is then that the deep and secret selfishness that is too close for us to identify is stripped away from our souls. It is in this darkness that we find true liberty. It is in this abandonment that we are made strong. This is the night which empties us and makes us pure. <\/p>

Do not look for rest in any pleasure, because you were not created for pleasure: you were created for spiritual JOY. And if you do not know the difference between pleasure and spiritual joy you have not yet begun to live.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Thomas Merton [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…and (from whiskey river’s commonplace book<\/a><\/em>):<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mindful<\/strong><\/p>

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less<\/p>

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle<\/p>

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for—
to look, to listen,<\/p>

to lose myself
inside this soft world—
to instruct myself
over and over<\/p>

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,<\/p>

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant—
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,<\/p>

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help<\/p>

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these—
the untrimmable light<\/p>

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Mary Oliver [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em> (or its commonplace book<\/em>):<\/p>\n\n\n\n

60<\/strong><\/p>

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
—long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame<\/p>

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
—long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung<\/p>

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common\u2019s rare and millstones float
—long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late<\/p>

worms are the words but joy’s the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
—time is a tree(this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(E.E. Cummings [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…and:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pome<\/strong><\/p>

From flowering gnarled trees
they come, weighing down
the branches, dropping
with a soft sound onto
the loamy ground. Falling
and fallen. That’s a pome.<\/p>

Common as an apple. Or
more rare. A quince or pear.
A knife paring away soft skin
exposes tart sweet flesh.
And deeper in, five seeds in a core
are there to make more pomes.<\/p>

Look how it fits in my hand.
What to do? What to do?
I could give it to you.
Or leave it on the table
with a note both true and untrue:
Ceci n’est pas un po\u00e8me<\/em>.<\/p>

I could paint it as a still life,
a small window of light
in the top right corner
(only a dab of the whitest white),
a place to peer in and watch it
change and darken as pomes will do.<\/p>

O I remember days…
Climbing the branches of a tree
ripe and heavy with pomes.
Taking whatever I wanted.
There were always enough then.
Always enough.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

(Elizabeth Spires [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n\n\n\n

_____<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Addendum:<\/strong> on the subject of Magritte, here’s a lovely little video promoting the opening of a museum dedicated to his work — by celebrating the animation of his favorite inanimate objects:<\/p>\n\n\n\n