Wind blows through a quiet city, whistling between buildings
Greenwhite fields of countryside grass, and occasional flower
Towering monument, the umbral judge
The face of love and of life, ruddy, smiling, intent
Autoassociations not of our choosing, nor befitted
Have you seen a greenwhite countryside of rolling hills? Would it mean anything to you if it did?
Images too of joy, of wholeness or bereaevement
Refracted through each eye, pointwise average.
Does my joy look like yours?
Fodder for a Schelling game, act as you wish to be seen
But all these reflections, where therein am I?
My noos a prism refracting prisms refracting prisms - how little light it needs to keep in motion, how little we can truly see for ourselves. I contain multitudes indeed - but never more than one of each.
Everything slips away, the day to the year, eternity in a moment, as always
Have I seen enough to know I needn’t regret it?
And of imagination indeed I am bereft, so afraid but to dream others’ dreams
What then imagine? Who must I become so I can see enough to want to see?
What to me the symbol of happiness, of wholeness, lust, or sorrow?
I must imagine a more suitable world for the man I must become,
Imagine not the aspect but the sensation of love - a hundred gentle lettings go, a gut-deep sense of honour, always the fear that I am too coarse. Even in parting, an ardent willing to keep safe, willing to flourish and grow strong without me. An urgent prayer that I have done more good than harm - that I did enough to act as representative of a world that cares and is good.
Imagine not wealth aureal number-measured - quiet reading, days when the mind is clear enough to see itself, a gratitude for those I have learned from. Freedom from want or from fear, temporary or not. Even knowing is not quite the thing, but the mind it supports.
Image of tranquility - the bladesman’s dance fought flawless liquid, no lethargic surplus of motion. The perfect day must change and grow with you, but still you must respect its dictates on pain of human diminution.
There are no images of true despair nor of pain - they don’t need them. What of them seems storied or grand better belongs to another heartpart.
And first of all imagine seeing, imagine imagining. Don’t let yourself forget how important it is to see, how rigid the mind becomes if it is long untorqued. Your new world, your greater self, assembled by mere noticing - imagine what a beautiful thing it could be.