I Wake By Starlight

i slept by twilight
and felt the godless grey;
i felt that godless grey
within me...

i wake by starlight
and hear the wind-swept waves;
i hear those wind-swept waves
calling me...

i'll stand at half-light
to see the dawning Day--
i'll see that dawning Day
upon me!

6 billion other people

6,000,000,000. 3 commas. nine zeros.
That's a lot. And of those 6 billion or so, i was just imagining that somewhere...someone is probably discovering a great novel. someone is skydiving, and screaming the whole way down. someone is breaking up with someone else. someone is writing the answer on the chalk board, and cursing life. someone is watching the paint dry. someone is--to their mother’s horror and consternation--innocently jumping from the roof of their house using a sheet as a cape and Superman-thoughts for wings. someone is getting kicked in the shins...and discovering a new emotion. someone is getting up really, really early. someone is yelling for no good reason. someone else is listening. someone is watching the sun set in splendor, just beyond the interminably rolling hills. someone is definitely going to the bathroom. someone is sitting on the side of an eclectic, dirt-road thoroughfare, drinking chai tea with a friend, smiling and enjoying the variety of cows, passersby, and motor-vehicles moving between destinations. someone is speaking german. poorly. someone is laughing (and i mean a good laugh--one that comes from down deep in your belly and begins to roll over you in uncontrollable waves:). someone is watching their favorite movie. someone is rolling a joint--lounging, listless, and to his mind, lucid. someone is having a baby. someone is making babies! someone is debating--white or wheat? someone is looking at their watch and wondering about more than what time it is. someone is studying for a spelling bee. someone is being stung by a bee. someone is dreaming of being stung by a bee, while running at an agonizingly slow speed. someone is thinking the exact same thing that i am. someone is getting married. someone is repeating themselves. someone is repeating themselves. someone is riding the subway to nanjing road, unwittingly trespassing on a foreigner's precious personal space. someone is facing their fears. someone is dancing. alone. someone is smoking a cuban. someone is playing spin the bottle. someone is taking someone else’s life. someone is praying - while light from a Russian sun is breaking through an early morning fog and splashing the cathedral in its brilliance. someone is walking down to the nearest tienda. with a friend. someone is crafting a resume. someone is voluntarily listening to bob marley. someone is helping a homeless man. someone is being taught to hate. someone is moving. again. someone is writing a blog.

Lincoln's Laughter

"Lincoln was the first true humorist to occupy the White House. No other President of the United States had come to be identified, for good or bad, with a relish for the comic . . . and some of his stories are certainly good . . . The Puritan familiarity without intention of irreverence we have in the camp story of the Colonel (reprinted in all American papers), who, hearing from his Baptist chaplain that there had been ten conversions in a rival regiment, exclaimed, 'Do you say so? Sergeant Jones! detail fifteen men of my regiment for immediate baptism.'
A California Republican, Cornelius Cole, called on business so tangled that it reminded Lincoln of a young Universalist preacher who came to Springfield. Three ministers of orthodox churches agreed "to take turns and preach this young fellow down." A Methodist preached the first sermon. "He commenced by telling his large congregation how happily they were all situated in Springfield. Launching into his sermon the Methodist shouted, 'And now comes a preacher preaching a doctrine that all men shall be saved. But, my brethren, let us hope for better things.'"
. . . The telegrapher Bates heard of Lincoln telling about a man going into an asylum and meeting a little old fellow who demanded a salute. 'I am Julius Ceasar.' The salute was given, the man went on his errand, and returned soon, and again the little fellow demanded a salute. 'I am Napoleon Bonaparte.' 'Yes, Napoleon, but a while ago you told me you were Julius Ceasar.' 'Yes, but that was by another mother!'"
-Carl Sandburg
(Abraham Lincoln: The Prairie Years and the War Years)

On Beauty-and The Idiot

“My intention is to portray a truly beautiful soul”-Dostoevsky

I love and hate Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Idiot. There is no urbane feeling in me when I think of the novel and of its hero, Prince Myshkin. Even the title itself, and its ironic significance, strikes me again and again and sets off in my mind the contrast, and I should say, for Dostoevsky--the paradoxical relationship, between light and darkness, wisdom and foolishness, beauty and poverty. I say I love it, and I do, because of its emotional power, its unforgettable characters, and its message of unconditional love; I also say I hate it...well, I can’t tell you why because I don't want to give away the ending! (but therein lies the mystery and the reason for my animus)

“Happy? You know how to be happy?” cried Aglaia. Then how can you say you didn’t learn to see things? You might teach us even.”

“At such moments I was sometimes overcome with great restlessness; sometimes too at midday I wandered on the mountains, and stood alone halfway up a mountain surrounded by great ancient resinous pine trees; on the crest of the rock and old mediaeval castle in ruins; our little village far, far below, scarcely visible; bright sunshine, blue sky, and the terrible stillness. At such times I felt something was drawing me away, and I kept fancying that if I walked straight on, far, far away and reached that line where sky and earth meet, there I should find the key to the mystery, there I should see a new life a thousand times richer and more turbulent than ours.” (p. 55)

“There is not one person here who is worth such words,” Aglaia burst out. “There’s no one here, no one, who is worth your little finger, nor your mind, nor your heart! You are more honourable than any of them, nobler, better, kinder, cleverer than any of them! Some of them are not worthy to stoop to pick up the handkerchief you have just dropped...Why do you humble yourself and put yourself below them? Why do you distort everything in yourself? Why have you no pride?” (p. 332)

“You want to change crosses? Certainly, Parfyon, I am delighted. We will be brothers!” Myshkin took off his tin cross, Parfyon his gold one, and they changed. (p. 214)

“From time to time Rogozhin began suddenly and incoherently muttering in a loud harsh voice, he began shouting and laughing. Then Myshkin stretched out his trembling hand to him and softly touched his head, hair, stroking them and stroking his cheeks...he could do nothing else! He began trembling again, and again his legs seemed suddenly to fail him. Quite a new sensation gnawed at his heart with infinite anguish. Meanwhile it had become quite light; at last he lay down on the pillow as though utterly helpless and despairing and put his face close to the pale and motionless face of Rogozhin; tears flowed from his eyes on to Rogozhin’s cheeks, but perhaps he did not notice then his own tears and was quite unaware of them.” (p. 594)

Throughout his novel, Dostoevsky shows us an uncommon understanding of Beauty and artfully paints us an image that, though not always pleasing, is altogether captivating.

When You are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with a love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

-W.B. Yeats