Escape

We are defined by what we want to escape from.

These early hours of Sunday morning come as a reprieve from all that is dark in our world. The mist lifts to reveal an older, quieter world, one that was always close to us but never perceived. It is that second space that stands before and above all that is familiar. I know it will not last, will fall away again,but is none the less precious for being so fleeting. At least for now all is well.

I have found the perfect music. Not Morten Laurdisen's Lux Aeterna nor Jordi Savall -sublime though they are. I do not search that tune any more.

Now is the time to end this blog. I must pick up the strands again. Weave something of a pattern. Find my life again...

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Yesterday, I was told by an old aunt why my mother ran away. That sounds so like the swami. To fly, soar, and be done with it once and for all. To be drawn upwards by the open hand of the Sun, resting wherever one takes one's fancy. To float effortlessly over deep blue seas, wide pastures, the wild yonder, to understand something of the loneliness of the stars. To cut diagonally through space and time, feel the past rustling through one's very being. Upwards, straining like a Gothic arch, throwing off all semblance of weight. Burning, burning with a blackness that dazzles and extinguishes the self, fading, soaring, the beloved Goethe would say.

At last one becomes the pictures in one's mind. And even if it is only a moment, that moment is all. Nothing is foreign, all is embraced, the inheritance is passed down. The red mourns the loss of the blue. The stone remembers it was a diamond. The tree finds its voice. Someone calls my name.