There is danger in knowing our other selves, danger in remembering too much, too soon, of what lay beyond the stiff portal of birth. Yet life itself in its endless wheelings through the blur of feathers, through wind and sun brings us face to face with the Other - face of desire, face of the heart’s highest longing, face of red hatred, face of cold fear - and we are called, backward or forward (whose time prevails now?) into another life, and the forking paths of soul. - Lines from a poem I wrote on a napkin in a New York pub nearly 20 years ago.
Posted on: Thu, 22 Aug 2013 04:36:17 +0000