OK Nithia. Here's my half of the blogswop.. and you are EVIL to email me a link to the worst poetry in the world!!! I thought I would keep -vaguely - the theme of the odious The Beautiful Sun, which "sheddest [its] effulgence among the yellow corn" (is that a joke web site? ag shame man):
One Billion suns
There are one billion suns I have looked into them I have hung in the spaces in betwen I gaze up and out
Those one billion suns Wait for me to get ready I look toward them Loud and silent in great space
They burn and tumble And I am set alight as I spin Though infinity Waiting to take my place
Among those one billion suns
I am not some lonely star I feel the bliss of hanging as an icy fiery supernova nebula I am, I will be, one of these one billion suns
I want to look towards this place, this now with light and beauty and no other self but dissolution into
one billion suns
I am all the galaxies they sing and spiral in my veins I am one billion suns one billion billion trillion suns
I have challenged Nithia to a blogswop. It's all in the comments. Let's see if it happens.
= Alka = 11:45
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Rex and Phil are the new kids on the blog. More South African bloggers at last! They easily post more often than I do - not difficult. I've worked out that I post in sync with my menstrual cycle - too wierd. Now, Golby... that's a different story. An epic, different, powerfully written story. I load his page in fear of timeout but it's usually worth it.
= Alka = 10:42
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= 21.6.02 =
I’ve been rediscovering poetry lately. Nithia gave me a collection of Pablo Neruda’s poetry for my birthday this year and I love it so much. He won the Nobel Prize for Literature in the year I was born, so it was … a good one. Neruda had such passion and genius. I look over my poetry and feel even less convinced that I should attempt to publish it or share it at all. How can I write anything after poems like his have been written? Although, they just make me want to live in a cave near the sea and wait for the big emptiness to talk to me too. It does sometimes. When I’m sitting with people being loud or walking up the road with the wind and the day so grey and all these words just start flowing through my head. When I start writing prose and suddenly, suddenly, verses and lines form into perfection. It’s not a decision I take: write a poem about this or that. It’s just that sometimes I get overwhelmed, and then don’t speak, don’t touch me – I’ll explode or be self-immolated if anything has to be disturbed while this happens – just leave me be and let these words feeling emotions flow.
But I don’t often write it down and then, words and phrases follow me like orphans for days and weeks and I have to resist them. No, I have to stop resisting them. I have to sit down and write them and love them and laugh and go wild with them; they are dancers and I need them expressed. I don’t know why. When I read this - I see that it’s felt by others: god, just like this:
And it was at that age...Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when, no, they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence, but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there I was without a face and it touched me. - Pablo Neruda, Poetry
And... who cares if noone likes it, or thinks it’s crap? Actually it’s just funny then, funny-sad. When I write it it’s beautiful and it means something and then it’s blown away like dry seedwings in autumn.
I discovered a new poet – Joop Bersee. Just read some of his poems – I loved his poem They Won’t Leave Me Alone....Look at those lines; those lines say everything; how can I comment and try to express it more? That’s making poetry not poetry. Unless somehow, someday, there’s a perfect glimpse and understanding and it’s seen perfectly. I sent the url to a friend and he picked out the same three lines which had gobsmacked me about it in the first place, and I loved that I had shared something with someone who just got it.
And I have to write more, to blog more, to be more still with this. It’s such a joy in aloneness when I do that. I can’t explain more.
= Alka = 17:12
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= 20.6.02 =
I finally have comments working, thanks to my new commenting system, courtesy of enetation. Looks good! I thought I would have to queue for Yaccs but luckily not.
= Alka = 12:41
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= 12.6.02 =
But this dedication is for others to read: These are private words addressed to you in public. - TS Eliot, A dedication to my wife
I promised myself I wouldn't contact you anymore, and now all I can think is that it is so hard to break these habits. When I want to share something, when I want to say, “No, this is wrong - I know we can be friends” – it’s incredibly difficult not to call you or email you. So I’m chickening out by blogging instead because I tell myself that I only blog for me, even though that’s laughable because it’s ridiculous to do that, by definition. But it feels right to do this. I don’t know if you will read it but to anyone who does, all I can give you really is the beautiful insight I learned about love.
I want to call you, I really do. I went to Kobu Jitsu last night and I thought how much fun we would have had, starting together. God, it just hurts so much when you let me down and I don't want to blame you or me or anyone, I just don't want to feel like that anymore. Can you understand? I don't want to be the friend of someone I love but who can't give me the things I expect.
I'm sorry if I ask too much. You see, I know love - true love - isn't a bargain; a trade. "I'll love you if you give me these things: be on time. Keep your commitments. Return my calls and those three messages I left. Tell me honestly when you can't make it." But I also know that it isn't simple for you just because I see it a certain way and you don't do it a certain way. I know that you have suffering or pain or hurt that I don't fully understand. So I don't judge you.
A part of me feels angry and hurt but I see it in a strangely detached way now. I know you do care. I know that you just have other things in your being that take up more space than meeting my expectations. And I don't limit you to that. I know how fast you grow and how much power and love and gentleness you are capable of. And I’m certain that one day you will have taken the things that are available to you and have used the alchemy of self-love to nurture yourself into someone who can love another human being without all that crazy painful stuff that gets in the way right now. I also think that deep down you understand what I feel, so I don't really feel it too badly. It's more of an aching regret at bad timing. I didn’t want to hear you when you said that before.
I could beg you (again) to get to therapy and to find your way back to your spiritual path, because I know that helps you and I truly want to see you released from suffering. And I hope you don't have to get too desparate before you do that. But that is none of my business, that's just one of my desires.
Thich Nhat Hanh says that true love requires deep understanding of the suffering of the other; I know that's true. He also says that when you truly love someone you can't help loving them, no matter what they do: because you have true understanding. When I read that I felt so small. I've been sititng with that for ages and trying to let it sink in. I think it is. Slowly. Because I do love you, no matter what. I don't mean I love you lets-be-man-and-wife. I don't mean I love you lets-be friends. I don't mean I love you let's-never-ever-break-our-word-to-each-other. I just mean that in this universe, in this moment, there is a woman called Alka who loves you because I have seen you are beautiful and it feels good to know that. And I hope you can see it too. Soon.
= Alka = 12:30
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= 10.6.02 =
Back on the blog
I had to go right inside for a couple of weeks there. It's so nice and simple to have calmed down and relaxed a little. I don't know what happened over the the last month or so - I think I just survived one of those life-changing inner metamorphosis times. So many things have been tormenting me for ages and I've had the keys; I just couldn't quite figure out how to turn them, or which locks to slot them into. Reading over my blogging and other writings has been alarming - I sound insane. I geuss it happens from time to time.
I don't know if this is sanity, but it is a hell of a lot closer to serenity. I put away a major obsession. It's so gone and I feel free and happy. The place where it was attached is a bit of a raw patch, but I'm closer to waking up and not caring about it any more. Perhpas it's obvious by now that I'm writing about love that didn't work, not even as friendship. I think fear is so sad, it's almost immeasurable. But the really immeasurable thing that happens between people is compassion and love. I'll go there if it comes my way. I won't try to push someone else over the edge with me. Especially if they are scared. I had to try, but I have. I gave it everything, at an incredible cost to myself, but I had to know absolutely that it couldn't be on any level I know. I thought it would burn but it feels okay.
I pause to wonder why I make something so private public, but it doesn't matter anymore. I feel so filled with peace and happiness and relief that I can easily share this. One of my favourite realisations about this is that everybody has to jump into their abyss sooner or later and I geuss I jumped with a bit too much gusto. Hey, it was worth it. I paid in every way you can imagine - spiritually, emotionally, physically, intellectually, materially, psychologically. When I fuck up I do it totally. And when I recover I embrace this universe with all it's nutty beauty and ugliness and mystery, because I've learned so much and every morning I bow down to the lessons. What else is there?
she's got herself a universe.. quicker than the ray of light she's flying Madonna, Ray of light