the wedge

Saddened yellow came to me in a dream-in the shape of a star, not a flower. Nestling in the stillness of my heart. And words and image and colour were one. But still not the thing! In the dead of night a storm starts up, the door rattles (fixed by a slipper-come-wedge). Some ghost of the dead wants me to wake, sit up, and scribble her words down. But they're gone. Just a dream within a dream within a dream...

In the morning my eye becomes alert, fixes on everything that is yellow in the world-the soap, the plastic top, the strip of cardboard on the pack of shaving blades, the flowers strewn across the paths-as if I was seeing the colour for the first time today, fresh, quivering, vibrant, newly created. (In the same way, there is a green thread running through Bellow's Herzog-that wise fool!).

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Childhood: To be at the centre of a circle, a maze, and not know it, not be amazed by it. There is only the centre. One simply finds oneself there.

Adulthood: to renounce centre, long for boundaries, the periphery. Walk on! , said the Buddha. To wander, aimlessly.The 'knight's move'. The leap into the blue, the walk in the wild. To slow down, wait. Dream a lot. To become someone else.

Life: A broken circle.

A path is a prior interpretation..and to follow a route is to accept an interpretation or to stalk your predecessor on it..To walk the same way is to re-iterate something deep; to move through the same space the same way is a means of becoming the same person, thinking the same thoughts. It's a form of spatial theatre, but also spiritual theatre..in the hope of coming closer to them oneself.
--Rebecca Solnit.

The dream where you are always to be found

Love, oh my love, it will come
Sure enough. A storm
Broods over the dry earth all day

You are outside, lost somewhere
I find myself
Devouring verses of stranger passion
And exile. The exact words
Are fed into my blank hunger for you.
---G. Hill