Unique Forms of Continuity in Threads

CelaPlusAimaple
Fri, 13 Aug 2010 16:05:05 +0000

The sun makes light patches on the dirty window panes as though it were falling on semi-opaque cloth that is blowing in the wind - wind that touches each and every one of us: we share it, yet we don’t know where it has been, what greatness it has inspired on its eternal journey around this celestial sphere.

Four beautiful things: the sun setting on the ocean; the shade of a tree that is seemingly older than time itself; the clouds in the sky at once menacing and stormy and docile and fluffy as though painted by the hand of Vermeer, Ruisdael, Constable, or Veronese; and the words of the past that come just to us and have force although they are nothing - that change our worlds without ever having a life for themselves.

The voices of the past are silent as I call out to them. I can hear them, they can never reply to my entreaties. John Milton, even if you must say noli me tangere come and tell me which way I must go.