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Re: the ungathered

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  • Nicholas Widger
    Trinidad, I ve been so intrigued by your posts that I ve saved most of them. This post is no different. Our Moderator pointed out an important ... times, ...
    Message 1 of 2 , Aug 7, 2006

      I've been so intrigued by your posts that I've saved most of them.
      This post is no different.

      Our Moderator pointed out an important
      --- In existlist@yahoogroups.com, "Trinidad Cruz" <cruzprdb@...>
      > "Toward peace and the grey margins of the day.
      > I have drawn my hands away
      > The andante of vain hopes and lost regret
      > Falls like slow rain that whispers to forget,-
      > Like a song that neither questions nor replies
      > It laves with coolness tarnished lips and eyes.
      > I have drawn my hands away
      > At last to touch the ungathered rose. 0 stay,
      > Moment of dissolving happiness! Astir
      > Already in the sky, night's chorister
      > Has brushed a petal from the jasmine moon,
      > And the heron has passed by, alas, how soon!
      > I have drawn my hands away
      > Like ships for guidance in the lift and spray
      > Of stars that urge them toward an unknown goal.
      > Drift, 0 wakeful one, 0 restless soul,
      > Until the glittering white open hand
      > Of heaven thou shalt read and understand."
      > (Hart Crane)
      > In the end it is not so much that we can be what we want to be, but
      > rather that we can even be what we are. Often in the hardest of
      > we press harder against the work we are making of ourselves
      > to undo it. In thinking out a form of what we must somehow become
      > plan ourselves away. We are desolate and unguided together. We
      > remember what we are being for ouselves. It makes us, and then
      > us to its making in our own eye – to make what we cannot see. To
      > it, to touch it, is to not have it at all; for it is only in the
      > having what we are that we see it or touch it at all. What is an
      > existential project; but to make a human being of what our being
      > made of us. That is before us here in these days, all of us in our
      > same desolation. There blind and numb we all collide with one
      > and make the darkness out of which the eye begins to see – and the
      > first of the light will surely hurt. We are ungathered. Otherwise
      > see and touch only what is dead.
      > The human species is a whole thing. Changing one's religion is only
      > painful if one considers that being is constructed by religion; not
      > realizing that just the opposite is true. Changing one's skin
      > one's sexual orientation, in an attempt to survive prejudice is a
      > thing obviating of being in a way that religious angst can never
      > touch. It is a letting go of the actual existential
      > religion is just editing. Being a Jew, or a Muslim, or a Christian
      > not a matter of being at all, only an attempt to characterize being
      > that falls short of reason – an endeavor to appreciate a facsimile
      > what cannot be seen or touched. An adult is a child of him/herself.
      > The first parents, the goodness makers of our being, are not seen
      > touched beyond our maturity, actually only living to whatever
      > of goodness they have presented in what we are being, not in what
      > think we are being or even what we think we can make of ourselves.
      > Whatever we reason or choose can be changed. It is what we cannot
      > reason or choose that is actually us. Prejudice and religion alike
      > both thoughts – desolation wrought, blinding and numbing.
      > is an after the fact display of dialectical solidarity, not a race:
      > "Let's fumble around and screw up our existential project
      together. It
      > won't be so desolate, at least for a while."
      > Trinidad
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