Intro

O full-orb'd moon, did but thy rays

Their last upon mine anguish gaze!

Beside this desk, at dead of night,

Oft have I watched to hail thy light:

Then, pensive friend! o'er book and scroll,

With soothing power, thy radiance stole!

In thy dear light, ah, might I climb,

Freely, some mountain height sublime,

Round mountain caves with spirits ride,

In thy mild haze o'er meadows glide,

And, purged from knowledge-fumes, renew

My spirit, in thy healing dew!

Goethe: Faust I.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

In your lifetime and your days

בְּחַיֵּיכוֹן וּבְיוֹמֵיכוֹן

A Lament for the Living

We wake, we drink coffee. Some of us smoke cigarettes. Some of us drink juice or take other drugs. Whichever it is, we wake up. Personally, I invest much effort in staying asleep, which feels guilty like a contemptuous and ungrateful rejection of the gift that the magic that the day can provide. Even if that magic is only a skeleton, a sketch for the divine notions I experience in sleep. My favorite time.

Am I different? No more than anyone else. Am I well-adjusted? That's unnecessary rhetoric.

Oscar Wilde said:

"God knows; I won't be an Oxford don anyhow. I'll be a poet, a writer, a dramatist. Somehow or other I'll be famous, and if not famous, I'll be notorious. Or perhaps I'll lead the life of pleasure for a time and then—who knows?—rest and do nothing. What does Plato say* is the highest end that man can attain here below? To sit down and contemplate the good. Perhaps that will be the end of me too."

I like Oscar Wilde. I feel a bond when I see his jaded and beautiful levity.



* Can't source O. Wilde's bathroom wall graffiti on that.


"No human thing is of serious importance."
Plato's The Republic, X, 604-C works well though.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Say what you will.

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.