Dark blue sky over this stark, winter scene-
the world a stringent, atonal display,
a fevered version of itself, a dream
of time frozen white; life, a tired cliche.
Allan DiBiase
3/18/2013 11:27:11 pm

Presently, being consumed with extracting the marrow from Thoreau's bones, I'm given to think that it's the natural world that gives us constant displays of the vital. Demonstrations that quite transcend our feeble concepts of life and death.

And that it's when we see our selves, our concepts of a "self", as integral within that those larger animating principles that we learn that from the beginning and in the end, we are at home.

3/19/2013 12:05:15 am

For me, the natural world is the vital--there's not a moment when that's not so, not even in what appears to be the deep white space of snow. Always, always the world speaks to us--we spend a life learning the grammar of the world, learning to listen and remember.

I'm very moved by what you say in your second paragraph;, but I've not crossed that line where metaphor becomes a living truth.


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