Sunday, August 15, 2010

Weaving Light

"The word "compassion" generally inspires suspicion; it designates what is considered inferior, second-rate sentiment that has little to do with love. To love someone out of compassion means not really to love.

In languages that form the word "compassion" not from the root "suffering" but from the root word "feeling," the word is used in approximately the same way, but to contend that it designates a bad or inferior sentiment is difficult. The secret strength of its etymology floods the word with another light and gives it a broader meaning: to have compassion (co-feeling) means not only to be able to live with the other's misfortune but also to feel with him any emotion - joy, anxiety, happiness, pain.

This kind of compassion therefore signifies the maximal capacity of affective imagination, the art of emotional telepathy. In the hierarchy of sentiments, then, it is supreme."

- Milan Kundera,
The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I have entered a new stage of my life. Things have signaled that. I have been given this task of weaving that takes me far from my old self to the places where weaving light is possible, and I need you. I need you to come with me because I have been told I can’t do it alone. Have you the courage? Will you come? Will you even notice I have asked? You know who you are.

Weaving Light

It's impossible to
weave the strands of light without
your help or your song
to back the long work
of photon cloth, shades of color
the like of which are
never seen nearby.

That's why I've called you farther
than ever before.

June 27, 2009 3:05 PM


  1. By the way, to give credit where credit is due, Ghost Dansing sent me this photo of the internet connectivity web.

  2. Do we have choices in these matters?

    Driving to work today I was struck by a recurring image that I have of a wound in the side. I wrote about it a while back in Theodora Blue. Is it biblical? I don't know, but I smell the blood and feel it somehow.

    While reading this I felt my wound. It is a place that reminds me of my vulnerability but it is also a place I draw strength from.

    Are we always entering our next phase? I wonder on this.


  3. Erin, St Paul claimed a thorn in his side, I presume why you are feeling your wound is biblical. The standard interpretation is some kind of defect in his character and perhaps even behavior that had him falling far short of the man he yearned to be. He also said that he would do things he should not and not do things he should. I can easily match that with his complaint of a thorn.

    I have lived a punctuated life. There have been certain large moments different from all the others. I want them; I fear them. When I was a Hippie I thought I was overtly working to produce a moment like that on a global scale. It seemed possible in those days.

    Those who were like me joined me in despair as little by little the moment of possiblility passed without the change. We held on with all we could but we were foolish (and possibly holy) in the end. All we could do was make that Viet Nam war sputter to a stop and we were so ineffective at that that the outcome was insipid and nearly useless. We went to the country, escaped the co-opting of our hope, the arrival of the insane and criminal, the twisting away of all recognizable aim by those who were effective but not aligned with us. After time no one holds to the dream. Instead we put a life back together. I am only writing of a relatively small group, you understand. This was one big moment that either was a fantasy or was prevented by forces against it. I am still not sure of how to read it. I think it was a war of ideologies in some sense.

    I have not followed any typical path. My marriage partner, education and career, all three were strange events, rather than some track based on planning in any way. Because of that, I am sensitive to the fact that much of life is punctuated in a similar manner.

    I think in this way there are certain large moments in life that stand out from others and form natural shifts, like movements in a symphony.

  4. Really, I think you are right in this. I was only thinking aloud, acknowledging that for me there have been shifts below the surface when I thought I had been standing on solid ground, but your metaphor of the changes in a symphoney are perfection. Didn't I hear somewhere recently that our life is like music in a forest? Oh, no, I didn't hear those words but instead heard trumpets and tremors in a clip on CBC radio, literally a symphony in the forest. Can you imagine? At daybreak? At dusk? Uuuuhhhh.

    The wound I envisage is more than a thorn, but thank you for the reference. It is almost like female parts worn on the side, not sexually but as a vulnerability and it is always wet with blood. Perhaps I saw it in a movie or read it in a book? Ah, these things go into me and stay.


  5. I'm assuming a travel mate with less baggage is whom you speak, however I am happy to haul my trunks along anywhere you wish to go. No courage required. The farther, the better. Snacks provided or should I eat first?

    I got a song, on the back of work. A plantation song, choired by chains of determination. I don't count for much, but I can be counted on. Without question.

  6. Erin, what a visceral image. You keep this up and you are certain to become a crone, a full blood wise woman! I hope your man appreciates the depth of you.

  7. Annie, the trunks phase me. I think you need to stay a while and figure out what to leave behind. :D

    I smile when I say that, pardner. Don't shoot me or take pieces of me I cherish...

    You can only take a small bag for a few necessaries. Manna is provided. There are frequent stations for dining and bathing and other matters along the way. Or so I've been told.

  8. It's good you posted that map or I wood never have found this backwater poetorium.

  9. *glee*

    so much happiness floods my poor
    poor heart at your return

    Om shanti shanti shantihi

  10. glee indeed. i love it all. Count me in. Compassion, Love, strands of Light. Somehow to live like this, life becomes very simple. Your post here gives me the strength to trust in it.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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