December 2010

You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2010.

The notion of Islam’s Jihad, life as a demanding struggle: a truth for all – for all of time.

But in some times of political polemic – to die in, to die for, a holy cause, the notion of Jihad can be invoked as a war of righteousness posed against whatever is proclaimed evil.

The confusion: a distinction…between what is life and what is not; what is real…and what is not.

The imagination that we know and also think that we can know: what are the limitations, what the form of the human imagination?

The story that is often depicted for the Sioux at Wounded Knee, battling for the land, the place which is the home and the Mother of all of Being: “Today!” “Today,” they say, “is a good day to die.” And who can say that is not a truth?

It is to take some notion of the inevitable, and turn it into the hardest of life’s currencies. We all (I suspect) have a possession which is such a story (even if it is a story about how not to have such a story…yet!).

Age and aging: the accession to progressive visions of death…The story expands in its nearing and hearing.

Finally: a theory located about the nature of what is progress and why is futurity!

Death and life. Life and death. Puzzles? Solutions?

The power of death: to inform life’s visions of death, and of life, and of all possibilities.

Life: which seems more important, seems to have less power – at least in its theoretical nature. But, the arts, especially music – for me – have great power also.

Life as struggle…death as…?

Ahh-h, today is another day. What day is it? Well, I don’t really know. The weather is, well, regular for this time of year.

Awake, my love.

Time to get up.

What time?

Time to get up. Another day. Who am I, you ask? That’s a silly question. I am your husband, your life’s companion.

Get up. Don’t dawdle, thinking, brooding. What’s there to think about.

Now. Get up. Another day.

What time, what day, what weather? Where are we?

Right here, right now. Time to get up. Another day. Just like the others.

Just as good… No worse.

Now the earth is growing old. We are here, observers of the days of our lives, watching. But we have seen it all; all the stories have been told, and we have heard them several times; all the births, the deaths, the goings and comings, we know them.

Living out each day. They’re all the same. Growing older, I suppose, with the earth, yearning a little to rejoin some universal imagination.

No matter now, nor any tears to shed…