(no subject)
May. 29th, 2008 01:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
siren_echoesThe golden notes from a piano fill this empty room I am in, projected from plastic speakers. An echo. A remnant of life... Sometimes it seems the sweeping, soaring myriad of colors and sound and texture and words and passion are a bard, weaving tales of some long-forgotten time when life was life, not this shallow pit of maddening mundanity it has become... not this meaninglessness. This art, this music and poetry and storytelling... they seem sometimes to be like the crumbling marble of Rome, like the ancient monoliths, a decaying, moss-drapped Mayan temple-- remnants. Memories.
How does one bring these remnants to life, to full, breathing color and sound that sweeps through the world, that reminds the sleeping ones to wake, to feel, to live?
Where is Home?
I'm not certain it is a place. These thoughts filled my sleep last night... home is the wind, the stars that spin through the night sky, those ancient dancers in the heavens that are so full of flaming, screaming passion that no mortal could move near them and live, the mountains and the mist-shrouded wood, the fierce cry of the ocean, the stinging rain and hail and billowing clouds and the lightning that slashes mercilessly at the darkened air, the silver glow of the moon, the swirling nebulae and the crushing cascade of the waterfall, the light with its rainbow of colors and burning intensity and healing touch and burning, consuming alchemical fire, the darkness that dances and shifts and breathes and caresses and stalks... the heart that touches it all, the heart that becomes it all. And those that I love... those who still remain in my heart even if my mind has forgotten them, these who are family, who are fragments of my soul, eyes and voices and silvery strains of ancient song, somewhere, felt and heard and seen but not always remembered, only whispers of mist in my dreams now, but for the scant few that I've found....
How does one bring these remnants to life, to full, breathing color and sound that sweeps through the world, that reminds the sleeping ones to wake, to feel, to live?
Where is Home?
I'm not certain it is a place. These thoughts filled my sleep last night... home is the wind, the stars that spin through the night sky, those ancient dancers in the heavens that are so full of flaming, screaming passion that no mortal could move near them and live, the mountains and the mist-shrouded wood, the fierce cry of the ocean, the stinging rain and hail and billowing clouds and the lightning that slashes mercilessly at the darkened air, the silver glow of the moon, the swirling nebulae and the crushing cascade of the waterfall, the light with its rainbow of colors and burning intensity and healing touch and burning, consuming alchemical fire, the darkness that dances and shifts and breathes and caresses and stalks... the heart that touches it all, the heart that becomes it all. And those that I love... those who still remain in my heart even if my mind has forgotten them, these who are family, who are fragments of my soul, eyes and voices and silvery strains of ancient song, somewhere, felt and heard and seen but not always remembered, only whispers of mist in my dreams now, but for the scant few that I've found....
