I do not invoke you to recall your person on these pages; not in the superficial sense, no I call you and what illuminates your person from within, I invoke that presence, I invite you to the table of words and grimaces, I invite you to the churning worlds debri stricken whirlpool; this is where the poets and artists must come forth, the philosophers. I invoke all that hidden and unnecessary thing, so it might be once again known and recalled in the brief fluttering of the dawn, the dusk, those slippery days we once again find ourselves in; I invite the light that dances upon the candle and the glass panes which behold of themselves. In this invisible light, like lightning, strikes the heart of things and leaves no room for doubt, or trust. I invoke not the cults or hidden dark things, for this would render them neither occluded nor sunlit; I invoke the contact and disregard all that has become fluttered in the eye-rolling of impatient guards at the city gates. Your cities and ironies do nothing for this disregarding power of powers; it has already seen your heart and the bellowing spectres of your soul, and it invokes you, calls you to the thundering silence of what amounts to revelation. Nevermind the paperworks or the timeliness or the palpitations of the clutching iconoclasts; I invoke you; you who have burrowed into the ages; I recall you, you who has become wrapped in the mundanity of moments and daydream revery. It is time we have recalled ourselves like a tapestry, undone. Ah! All of this can never be said--and the heart urges forward with the resounding call of what it knows but cannot speak. This, too, I invite to my presence. [Stream of consciousness 2 AM strike of inspiration ;)! This I can definitely say was inspired by... a struggled urge to bring to presence beyond the self-conscious irony of this time, this generation, this disregarding all to cult and cliche and group and period piece and all of that. A call to presencing something that is us even as it surprises us and disrupts our sense of who and what we are, and deliberately eliminating the natural choice for cliche words like infinite or eternal or soul or daimonic though in some sense, it is calling for exactly that. Yes, lets bring that to our public dances. Our writing. Our speech. The fire of the holy imagination burns through the words and perhaps renders the speech back to the forgotten language.]
Posted on: Mon, 28 Oct 2013 06:14:39 +0000
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