cross posting ;-) and a dance

[Guest guest]

Thank you for this sharing. One of the most wondrous works I have

ever read. I must dance with her words.;-)

 

l.

 

In the beginning

the world opened

and I fell to earth here I sat

wondering,

miracles of how clouds

float by

and how the sky fits the earth,

 

2.

 

There's a light in the window

a candle is flickering...

 

when I was a moth,

I fell in love

with its fire,

 

When I was a believer

I looked into the darkness

into shadows dancing

into the long lonely night.

when I was a song we sang

I became One... with the Light... in any window.

 

3.

 

I am learning how to live in the abyss

of myself

flying ever-so-often

with a flock of seagulls

just inside my awareness,

just outside my window

here,

where the wind lifts me

and carries me home.

 

Love,

Ana

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, whatever has a beginning, ends. Thanks to Tykal (from

years back on the old group), here's something from Laura (Riding)

Jackson about the end:

 

 

 

The end of the world was that there was no sky. There came to be no

sky! Of the sky only the moon was left. And the moon was as the

inside of the world, which now had no outside. And that which had

once been the earth was now the inner surface of the world. The end

of the world was a change from outside to inside. There was still a

world, but it was not as it had been-it was not as a family which is

scattered abroad and become everywhere a stranger to itself, so that

there are scarcely to be found two who can speak together in their

household-tongue. There was still a world, but it was a single

house.

And everything which was in the world now was in the house.

And there was no outside. It could not be said that the earth had

been destroyed, but it was not as it had been; the world was not as

it had been. The world was a house. It was a small world but

a large house. The walls were what had once been the earth. The

light which filled the house was what had once been the moon. In

some rooms the light was darker than in others, according to the use

of the room and the nature of the lord of the room. But nowhere was

there darkness. There was no time which was night, no time which was

day.

There was no sleeping and waking up. There was no division of rooms

according to sleeping and waking uses. The uses of the rooms were

according to the nature of the lord of the room.

And no people dwelt in this house who were not of a nature

distinct from all the rest. For if there were any of a nature like

any other, these were all the same person. Indeed, every person

living in this house was many persons, all perfectly alike-as many

persons as there was need of movement from one room to another. For

no person was ever absent from the room proper to him, and yet each

person moved from one room to another according to his need. And yet

it could not be said that the people in this house moved as people

had moved in the outside world. They did not move. If they had need

to move from one room to a close or far room, it came about that in

the close or far room others were who were themselves also. And thus

there were many people here, and yet few people. And there were no

people who were somewhat like this one and somewhat

like that one. Each person was like only to himself. And there were

thirty-two kinds of people, and each kind was all the same person,

so that there were thirty-two people.

And each of these people was a man. For though there was one

woman in this house, she was of none of the thirty-two kinds

peculiarly; nor was she somewhat of this kind, somewhat of that. She

was distinct from all the kinds; and yet she was not a separate

kind. She was distinct from all the kinds as the house was distinct

from all the people who lived in it. She was the whole, and yet she

was another person to them, as to say that there were thirty-three

of them. And there was no room which was hers, and yet the house was

hers. And each person was the lord of the room which was his room.

But she was lady of the house; the house was hers though no room in

it was hers. And she, too, moved from room to room, but according to

her kindness, not according to her need. And she had thirty-two

kindnesses, according to the number of kinds.

And she was in all the rooms at once, always moving from one

to the other, always in all of them, at each moment in each of them.

And her look differed according to the use of the room, as her

kindness differed according to the kind. And to each kind she seemed

familiarly herself, though what they saw was only part. To each kind

she seemed the essence of this world, though none saw it as a whole,

as a house: as separate rooms only all saw it. For as a whole it was

the light by which it was lighted. And they did not see the light:

they saw only by the light. And in each room she was called 'our

lady.' But the lord of each room was called 'my lord.' There was no

man who could be

called 'our lord.' For each was lord of his own room only: there was

no lord of the house.

And the lady of the house was seen only as she appeared in

each room, according to the nature of the lord of the room. None saw

the whole of her, none but herself. For the light which she was was

both her mirror and her body. None could tell the whole of her,

none but herself. For the house which she was was both her story and

her mind. And its walls were what had once been the earth; the inner

surface of this house was what had once been an outer surface.

For indeed the earth had been never any more than a surface.

When the surface was called the earth it was as a lining turned

outwards to seem the very thing it is meant

to line. Thus the earth seemed a world. And since it was not truly a

world-since it was only the lining of the true world turned outwards

against its destined use - instead of the true world there was only

an

inner surface without an inside. Instead of an inside there was only

an outside; instead of a house there was only an emptiness; instead

of a place to live in there was only a surface to cling to, against

the fear of falling into the emptiness which began with the sky.

And the cause of all this was the sun, which kept the earth

turned inside out against its fated use from hate of the moon, to

which alone the earth could be a lining. The sun, in fact, was the

vanity of the earth to be both the lining and the place which it

lined. And the earth was permitted to be all that it had need to be

to be a lining, but it was not permitted to be the place of which it

could be no more than the lining. And so for a time it seemed that

men lived on the earth, though this could not be. The were permitted

to seem to live there, as if the earth were a place, because of

their fear of falling into the emptiness which began with the sky.

For this fear was their confession that by itself the earth was only

the lining of an emptiness. By clinging to the earth they told the

truth: that they knew that the world which they tried themselves to

be, as a world in itself, was only a lining and an emptiness.

And this false world began to end when men began to let

themselves fall into the emptiness-when men began to fly. And the

number of those who could thus fly was the uncountable number of

those who were of mixed nature-those who both told the truth

and told otherwise. And there were a few who could not fly, who

could not tell otherwise.

There were thirty-two who could not fly, who could not tell

otherwise. And these were of a distinct nature each, and the nature

of each was distinct from the nature of the other. They were of a

distinct nature each because they could only tell the truth. And the

nature of each was distinct

from the other because, although all understood that the earth could

be but the lining and not the place as well, each understood but

little of the kind of place to which it might be a lining. Each

understood only according to the thirty-two ages of man-which age he

was, what understanding he had come into. Each kept his mind apart

from the other ages, the other minds, not to make with them in his

fancy a mind falsely whole, a false place, a false world, a false

house. Each understood that neither he nor any other man might be

called 'our lord.' But when men began to fly, those who flew made

themselves falsely into a whole mind. They said, " We are the lining

of the place, but we are also the place. " And they closed round the

place which they thought they were. And this was only that the sky

and the further degrees of empty outerness closed round the sun.

And the sky and the further degrees of empty outerness

destroyed the sun and were destroyed by the sun. The vain were

destroyed by their vanity. And now the moon could permit the earth to

have the use it was destined to have, since all vanity had gone from

it. And the earth began turning outside in, and the moon slid inside

it and was surrounded by it. And it was clear now what the moon

really was: she was the lady of the house.

And what had once been the earth was now the walls of the

house; the earth folded in and became walls. It folded in according

to the thirty-two kinds which were left when the mixed kinds began to

fly. It folded in according to the thirty-two men, each of a nature

distinct from the other, who were left on the earth when the mixed

kinds began to fly. And the

thirty-two men were in the house, each in the room proper to his

nature, his understanding. And there was only one woman in this

house, in thirty-two appearances.

Never truly had there been any woman on the earth, never had

she been on the earth. For a woman is an inside, and to the earth

there had been no insideness. As it had seemed to them that they

lived, so it had seemed to them that there were women in their

houses. But these had been empty houses, and the women only mirrors

of their desire to dwell finally in the true house.

And in the true house, the true world, the new world which

came after an old world that had never truly been, there were no

windows, since all the light came from inside. And there were no

doors, since if a man had need to move from his own room

to another, someone who was also himself was thereupon in the room

into which he had need to go. And in whatever other room a man might

be, still he was not absent from his own room. And each of these men

was one of the thirty-two ages of man. And all these ages were now

going on at one time, in one house-each in its own time, in its own

room, under its own lord. And the lady of the house was present in

every time, in every

room. All of these ages were now going on at one time, but this time

was no new age, thought it was a new world. For there could be no

age beyond the thirty-two ages of man; the thirty-third age was the

age of the lady of the house, the age of woman. For there were no

ages of woman, there was but one age of her; she was ageless. The men

who had

flown off from the earth had thought to make a new age of man, they

had thought to steal the age of woman, her agelessness. But they had

only made the age of flying - the age of their destruction by the sun

and the sun's destruction by them. They had only made the end of the

old world that had never truly been.

And in the new world there was no sky, no emptiness, no

outerness. All was inside the house which the new world was. And as

the walls which had once been the earth made the picture within which

the lord of each room dwelt, so the water which had once been the

careless ignorance that the earth had of how things were to be in the

end became as the fullness with which each picture continually flowed

into itself-as the loving ignorance which the lord of each room had

of all the other rooms.

For if he went from his room into another, from his picture into

another, he did not know the use of the room he went into, or its

name, or the name

of the lord of the room; he did not see the picture which it was. He

had no understanding of the room, or of the lord of the room-no

sight of the picture. If he went from his room into another it was

for love of the lady of the house. For sometimes, when he was with

her as she appeared to him in his own room, he would grow loving to

know more of her, as if to have her in her entire appearance in his

room, which could not be. And since it could not be, he would go

into another room to enjoy, at least, the appearance of her which

was in that room. And it might be that he would go into all the

rooms at once, and at the same time enjoy the entire appearance of

her as a single appearance either in his own room or in any other

room.

And never did any of the different appearances of her please

him so well as that appearance of her which was proper to his own

room. And the walls of his room were as the beginning of the picture

which the room was. And the content of the room, its depth and

height and fullness, was as the end of the picture, and as the end

of his mind. The end of his mind was as water. For even on the earth

water had been the questioning of what was not understood, an

unphrased questioning, to which there could be but a silent answer,

as to self-singing ears. And this is the whole story of how it was

in the end.

And this is one account of the thirty-two ages of man-for

you may give as many accounts as you please, so long as each account

has the fullness of its ignorance. This is an account of the ages of

man which, in its fullness, speaks all the present ignorance your

ancient understanding is so rich in. And the ages of man, by its

dull-wise sense, are these:

the age of learning that one man does not love another, and the age

of learning that women have ways of their own, that children are

omens of despair, that beasts are omens of familiar evil-

 

that the same home is not for many,

that travel takes not far,

that eyes are the slaves of suspicion,

that hands cannot do all the work,

that silence is safer than speech,

that speech is more profitable than silence,

that time is the length of uncertainty,

that yesterday only lies were told,

that it is honorable to die,

that remembrance is a hunger of what never sated,

that sleep is loss of days never lived,

that the sun is lunatic,

that the stars are bewildered,

that the moon watches,

that trees haunt,

that flowers envy,

that rocks scorn,

that water feigns,

that fire mocks,

that earth equivocates,

that air betrays,

that pain does not pass,

that pleasure is self-love,

that sorrow is self-hate,

that desire is doubt,

that ignorance is a fear of false understanding,

that understanding is a fear of false wisdom,

 

and the age of learning that in the end the account which has

the fullness of its wisdom shall never yet have been given.

 

 

 

__/\__

 

 

 

LoveAlways