A Grace for your pleasure, she is one of three that inspires the Muses of the arts…
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
Over thirty years ago
Finding a red rose
At a common thrift store
then, upon my wall
after, a gift to mother
upon her wall.
Now upon my wall, again
now I know
it means good magic
“Midsummer night upon the sword,
Knights and squires are standing guard,
In the grove knightly dance they tread
With torches and garlands of roses red”
~ Johannes Steenstrup, CHR The Medieval Popular Ballad, 1968
“Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.”
― William Shakespeare,
A Matter of Life and Death (1946) Conductor 71, professor Snape in Harry Potter 7, and President Obama recently came together for me via a tear. A film, a book and a real life happening. It could be life imitating art or art imitating life. All three made an impression of me within the last couple months.
It was a tear in a film that was captured by a character from a woman in love. He put the tear on his rose and inspired a lawyer in heaven to win a case for a man in love.
It was in a book where a dying man gave a tear to someone to show his love for another. To save and share a memory.
It was a real life tear that the President shed today, a tear for lost children due to a terrible act of violence.
All three came together for me today. It is a synchronicity experience in a symbolic tear and a real tear that to me represents a subjective feeling part of my human soul and conscience.
To cry for love, grief, joy or saddens inspired by the art of a writer or real life person is a worthy experience. I was touched by a film, book and the act of a real person and I feel that for me it is wonderful that I can have art imitate life, or life imitate art in my own inward experience.
In one of my first college English classes I was taught that the objective and the subjective can cross over as in a metaphor yet more often as a simile.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate” … Sonnet 18 Shakespeare
It may be existential and philosophical to be inspired by a book or a film, and real life tear expressed freely and sincerely shared with the world.
Why a tear comes to mean something to me is amazing. Why it clicked together in my mind and caught the attention of my heart who can say. Yet I know poets and writers ponder on many things… and I am sure I am not the first to wonder about a tear romantically, lovingly, or sadly. Be it form a book, a film or real life experience.
In the Creative Process:
“Make your obstructions or limitations productive by stimulating greater intensity of thought and a deeper sense of spiritual freedom” ~ The William Blake Tarot Cards
“1940 is the year when we approach the meridian of the first star in Aquarius. It is the premonitory earthquake of the New Age.” We see how Jung considered earthly occurrences in a cosmic context, with an eye toward the approach of the Age of Aquarius, which was supposed to come after the Age of Pisces in the global calendar. This fact, differently interpreted by the various esoteric groups, was frequently connected with an “age of enlightenment” and great steps forward in spiritual progress. But it is not seldom forgotten that spiritual maturity carries the price of great suffering and severe trials. As Jung was certainly clearly aware of this aspect…” Pg. 333-334, The Second World War, Jung: A biography.
New Age, Age of Aquarius and “age of enlightenment” always put a little fear in me. At this time of the year the dead whisper their stories through dreams, books and biographies. This Sunday I pulled my random book. I started reading randomly. The above quote from Carl Jung’s biography pulled at me. Directly pulling at reflections and meditations of the day.
After an early meditation outside near the bomb shelter; small rough golden and dark green leaves falling from the Cyprus tree onto my head, then down to my lap. Looking up I saw a small song bird right above me on a branch chirping and giving itself a cleaning. I was focused on it. The coolness in the air calmed me as I looked up away further to see another bird flying. A white bird; a seagul or maybe an owl. It was flying South West. A large bright bird highlighted by the rising sun. In my wonder I then looked down to see that the little song bird had left a white bird poop on my lap.
“Nasty little bird…I think I get the hint!!”
I got up and walked towards the house. Both female cats disturbed by my movement, as they had found a temporary warm home near my legs and feet.
On this Super Full Moon in Pisces where my emotions take over every little hair on my body. I think the long hand of mantis is pulling randomly. A green-golden flash pulls forth a book dusty on the shelve. Portraits and Observations The Essays of Truman Capote. The book is opened to A Voice from a Cloud. I usually only read the first paragraph but so satisfied , my eyes wander with my desire to read two.
“…mysterious, deep, very clear creek…wade and swim in the pure water…”
“One frosty December afternoon I was far from home, walking in a forest along the bank of a mysterious, deep, very clear creek, a route that led eventually to a place called Hatter’s Mill. The mill, which straddles the creek, had been abandoned long ago; it was a place where farmers had brought their corn to be ground into cornmeal. As a child, I’d often gone there with cousins to fish and swim; it was while exploring under the mill that I’d been bitten in the knee by a by a cottonmouth moccasin-precisely as happens to Joel Knox. And now as I came upon the forlorn mill with its sagging silver-gray timbers, the remembered shock of the snakebite returned; and other memories too-of Idabel, or rather the girl who was the counterpart of Idabel, and how we used to wade and swim in the pure waters, where fat speckled fish lolled in sunlit pools; Idabel was always trying to reach out and grab one.” Pg. 283 Par. 2.
“In toto” as a whole : totally or completely
” Excitement-a variety of creative coma-overcame me. Walking home, I lost my way and moved in circles round the woods, for my mind was reeling with the whole book. Usually when a story comes to me, it arrives, or seems to, in toto: a long sustained streak of lighting that darkens the tangible, so-called real world, and leaves illuminated only this suddenly seen pseudo-imaginary landscape, a terrain alive with fingers, voices, rooms, atmospheres, weather. And all of it, at birth, is like an angry, wrathful tiger cub; one must sooth and tame it. Which, of course, is an artist’s principal task: to tame and shape the raw creative vision.” Page 283, Par 3.
“Believe it or not, authenticity wins out over popularity in the end.” ~ Unknown
“At length, sick with longing for those glittering sunset streets and cryptical hill lanes among ancient tiled roofs, nor able sleeping or waking to drive them from his mind, Carter resolved to go with bold entreaty whither no man had gone before, and dare the icy deserts through the dark to where unknown Kadath, veiled in cloud and crowned with unimagined stars, holds secret and nocturnal the onyx castle of the Great Ones.” Pg. 165 Par. 2
~ The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, H.P. Lovecraft
I never imagined bringing H.P. Lovecraft and Elvis Costello together. Maybe it is because they both represent something lost in my life, such as the wild nature of randomness or the trek it took to find something new. Ones creative spark of unknown possibilities ? It was like galloping the hills of unknown mountains, or driving to new clubs to find ground breaking music. Only needing a loose possibility of familiar faces.