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Dec. 30th, 2016 02:38 amI heard behind, while going further in,
The voice that all the shocks of life comprise
Reply to me, "You search where I have been,
Forgetting that I never leave your eyes."
The charge was just. Each of us knows it's just.
We dig and prod and angle and digress,
Unearthing spectres born from what's discussed,
But what's so isn't captured by a guess.
And yet we know it. Knowing doesn't seize
And take it into us, but makes us feel
Where we are seized by it; and all judged real
Is real because that tautness self-agrees.
Tension fraught with changes is vibration.
All vibrations die when touching stone.
Something rocklike anchors cerebration,
Otherwise who'd catch the dying tone?
Some say tones that stay become the rock.
What might tones condition but their like?
What appeals to that so-saying flock
Must be that what's struck must also strike.
What it makes of us we make of it,
Neither quite existing till disturbed.
Though I'll grant this saying seems to fit,
Hopes for corollaries should be curbed.
We're not it and it is not an us.
If we're one same something, there's a twist
That matters more than matter. Möbius
Was clever, but the two sides still exist.
What we search for isn't it, but in it,
Something not yet in us that we dream
Might stay knotted through the awful minute
Re-raveling far Is as local Seem.
Lost sparks of self, some phrase it, finding fire
A metaphor that captures our reliance
And violent effect on and entire
Scorn for what enables that defiance:
Earth. From which we flee, to which we go,
Abandoning these solaces of seeming,
Recalling there's a music to what's so
Essential to the song-escape we're scheming.
The voice that all the shocks of life comprise
Reply to me, "You search where I have been,
Forgetting that I never leave your eyes."
The charge was just. Each of us knows it's just.
We dig and prod and angle and digress,
Unearthing spectres born from what's discussed,
But what's so isn't captured by a guess.
And yet we know it. Knowing doesn't seize
And take it into us, but makes us feel
Where we are seized by it; and all judged real
Is real because that tautness self-agrees.
Tension fraught with changes is vibration.
All vibrations die when touching stone.
Something rocklike anchors cerebration,
Otherwise who'd catch the dying tone?
Some say tones that stay become the rock.
What might tones condition but their like?
What appeals to that so-saying flock
Must be that what's struck must also strike.
What it makes of us we make of it,
Neither quite existing till disturbed.
Though I'll grant this saying seems to fit,
Hopes for corollaries should be curbed.
We're not it and it is not an us.
If we're one same something, there's a twist
That matters more than matter. Möbius
Was clever, but the two sides still exist.
What we search for isn't it, but in it,
Something not yet in us that we dream
Might stay knotted through the awful minute
Re-raveling far Is as local Seem.
Lost sparks of self, some phrase it, finding fire
A metaphor that captures our reliance
And violent effect on and entire
Scorn for what enables that defiance:
Earth. From which we flee, to which we go,
Abandoning these solaces of seeming,
Recalling there's a music to what's so
Essential to the song-escape we're scheming.
