He who does not study the weather cannot measure the self.

That's about as clear as I can be about why I almost always begin with the weather, the light, for nothing begins without light. 

There's light; there's dark; there's what we make of this cycle.  It is wonderful, deep, and mysterious that light/dark not only limn our material journey but our internal one as well.  It seems one of the few truths that make humans a community, that explain us to ourselves.

Years ago I used to say that there are 360 degrees to a circle but only one center. And what I meant was that there are many ways to get to the one center. I still believe that.  It is one of the few things I believe.

What is the "personal"? Why would a writer tell the world his obsessions unless he can, like the Great Confessor, Whitman, turn them into a wind that blows away, explodes, the terrified, traumatized, stultifying conventions that stifle so many? And Whitman is one in a million.  He's only one degree in the circle. Where's Shakespeare? Is he Falstaff or Hamlet or Lear or Juliet or Desdemona or the various unnamed clowns? Or is he all of them? And, in this crass age, in which people tell everything out loud into their cell phones in waiting rooms, the noisy superficialities of ego mask what the "personal" really is.

Here's Jaques, the dark cynic in As You Like It--

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts. . .

The "personal" is the way a person makes his way through the light and dark, the way he chooses--or not--to use language to explore his journey.

Allan DiBiase
5/5/2013 03:13:55 am

The wind is in the east.
The bright day is waning
The barb snags the fox
All things come and go


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