He found himself weeping uncontrollably in the isolated starlight, and this was utterly unforgivable. Not striped and alone, but fully armed and useless. And then again in public, twice, running for the mens room, at the brute mercilessness of the memory - that one insights first appearance. Not unlike projectile vomiting. No other thing ever approached it for explaining the trajectory of his life through all his known world, and for all time to come. From now on he would leave the dead to bury the dead. Who were they? And the living, even in deep caves, he would locate their potential. Emerald, sapphires encased in filthy ore, or shining before the miners helmet, in substantial relief in a wall, its shoulders and breast almost proud, were we not miles underground. But then I had my perfect lesson. And probably somebody elses ideal vocation. Walking on with guarded pace. Passing from the lightened meadow beside the great cave. The thousand fireflies assembling. Passing always onward, out from one stars light... into the intelligence and authority of another. This other, in space, was so far from its brother, no amount of lifetimes would take you from one to the other. But down here it is easy as stepping over the next meadows wooden fence. I must go to Italy. When is not important. Light contains adjusted events, portrayed ahead of time.
Posted on: Tue, 13 Jan 2015 17:22:33 +0000
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