- We are shadows moving over an ephemeral surface. Our goal -- Shangri-La -- like a rainbow, exists in an unobtainable sphere. The way leading toward it exists not in space, but in dreams.
The buried dreams
My buried dreams
Rose into the skies with Icarus
On the way it encountered the fallen angel
And they merged
And fell together.
- Yeats/Eternal Recurrence
"Cast a cold eye
On life, on death,
Horseman, pass by!"
Even the most meaningless existence becomes meaningful by its continuation and/or its repetitiveness. It is like order, pattern, part of a ballet. And the horseman acknowledges and passes by, undaunted.
- The great silence
Don't stir the great silence -- all you can do is to lift the mud from the bottom.
For the animals and primitive man, the great silence serves as territory for their rituals.
In the great silence, amble other territories, other dimensions -- ourselves. We interact with this exterior great silence, we create our thunders, our muds. But the great silence itself remains unaffected, immuable, like the moon in its solitudes.
- The desperation of passing instants
The spirits go away . . .
Above: clouds are passing
Below: people pass like ghosts.
When the humans go away, when the ghosts go away, why is it such a parade of sorrow? Perhaps because passing introduces the past to the present and to the inflexible future, as youth introduces old age and old age introduces death.
With ghosts you will not straighten your accounts.
- The gods
have carved vessels out of negative space
which started to exist
when filled with love
Those which remain empty
Try to forget their shape.
- Climb the mountain
to the world of subconscious
where strangers relate to us
where everything has sense
where eyes open to a gray sky
escape the pain, nourish the mind
where spirits don't see words, only their shadows
[Back to beginning of the chapter]