Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Arranging Wednesday

The self is not precisely what is experienced, nor is it what experiences, if that makes any sense. Krishnamurti remains helpful. If I decide to make some money, what then? D. writes, whose poems included that lovely baby fox at the dump. We are what we read yet often confuse ourselves with authors. A kiss can mean anything but not nothing. When you called the other day and we spoke briefly, arranging Wednesday, I saw again the straps of your sandal which held too tightly the hinge of your ankle and so asked what shoes you were wearing and you laughed quietly, knowing me, and said "as I fear you are bound by what you read." We arrange our selves in sentences of all kinds, don't we? D. blushed when I read her notes about Dickinson but it gave me great confidence in teaching that morning and for days after. Who is focused on offering is focused on salvation. Like Christ, bluets don't die, and even in winter you can put them into a poem. Tcherkassov was a dissident which you suggest is only possible if one is a lover first. How hard it is to avoid the pulse of certain ideas! As foxes do run through our field of vision, and you do step in and out of the lake with such delicacy, and I cannot decide whether to plant tomatoes or read Bohm or simply write . . . Chains everywhere, all radiant! The first cup of coffee is best but others always follow. In spring I begin to sleep outside, waking up now and then to billowy stars, and at dawn the smell of lilac. The new poverty is not so different from the old one, is it? Tcherkassov wrote "everything is not so bad, as long as the people have freedom to think, to discuss and to choose" and he begged the West to "not lose faith in us and our revolution." One lingers a while where the dream turns, one anticipates Wednesday, the happily given Да.

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