Saturday, August 13, 2011

let it be

Truth and love are such pesky, unwieldy things. Like astrophysics, I should leave these unfathomable subjects alone, really. But fuck it, sometimes one needs to try and grasp them, in some unfashionable way. As Lawrence Durrel so aptly penned:

“ …The best lines of English poetry ever written were by Coventry Patmore. They were:

The truth is great and will prevail

When none care whether it prevail or not.

And their true beauty resides in the fact that Patmore, when he wrote them, did not know what he meant…” - The Alexandria Quartet.

Know this, as far as truth is concerned, there isn’t one. There are as many as there are souls alive and dead. That’s why I despise evangelists and fundamentalists. Everyone has their own truth and perspective. Allow it, why can’t you? How can you be so startlingly and unashamedly clear cut? Does it make you feel safe, hanging onto certainties when, no matter how incomprehensible it is, everything is an illusion? And that perhaps, by some wicked and amusing trickery, there isn’t actually a God? How can you be so certain? The only certainty on this sad, slow twirling blue planet of ours, is its, along with our own, meaningless death.

I am intrigued when people smugly shape their world with big black solid straight lines, with a Rolf Harris speed, precision and ingenuity. How, without knowing someone, or those glittering overseen details which, like the star constellations, etch the shape of each person, can you attach, with such glib certainty, such tags, solid lines, grand statements and truths? Every single person has their very own truths and no one should deem to know them. It’s, well, unkind. You can be interested in someone’s truths. I am, intensely. They are the colour of life. They are why I love people. Gently discovering their truth reveals gems and poisons…it’s who they are. It’s the very reason why I love people, unconditionally. My life is my dream struggling itself into reality. I am its weaver. Don’t poke your sticks at it please. It breaks the delicate pattern of my particular web, woven with uncertainty and heart. Let my little Black Widow be.

Which brings me to my next Big Thing Point: Love. There isn’t one. There are many kinds. But in the make up, the essence, it’s the same thing. Carefully construed and constructed to be a spinning, fast flying curved ball to side wind you, bonk you on the side of the head. Wake up, it says. There are no words for it. Call it folly, call it what you will. It makes you helpless. It’s disarming. It’s bewildering. It’s uncontrollable. It’s a Catherine Wheel burning wildly through the sky, spinning, tearing, goddamn beautiful, burning itself out, killing, in fact. The love that blossoms wildly, thick jungle vines dripping in giant wax deep purple flowers wrapping themselves around you, as you stare bewildered into the creased pathetic face of your new born child. The love that is born from sunrays in mirrors, making rapacious fires from a distance, burning bushes from the sky. It is extraordinary and unique. It is not flippant. It is not chosen. It is inexplicable. It goes beyond the physical. It transcends itself physically but sits it out with the stars and falling comets. Let it be, as the Beatles so aptly and succinctly sang. Why can’t you?

I think the easy option is to turn away from it, if you can. The treacherous option, the one that will, and it will, break you, is to follow it. Indecision creates stagnancy. Norman always said that if you were unsure which way to go, always choose the hardest route. It's likely to be the correct one. I am sure of it but I am no guru. No. Not at all. In fact, I know sweet nothing. I only know the soul recognizes and yearns it. For reasons we will never know. So people, don’t be smug, be afraid, in a way which makes you alive. Walk the line. Don’t point your fingers at it, tying your monochrome labels on it, burning witches and wizards at the stake as you froth from your priest’s pulpit. You don’t know. You Don’t Know, ok? And that's fine with me too. For those poor souls, at which this extraordinary love has never struck, I wish with the entirety of my tired, broken-but-still-beating, patched up ole heart, that it does. Because that, my friends, is life and love at its best and its worst; and that, oh bestests, is where your truth lies. Being safe and unruffled isn’t, in my humblest opinion.

Be scared. Be lost. You’ll see.

Kitchen Board: on a grey, cold Ngorobob afternoon:


and next time i post, oh bestests, i shall weave tales of zanzibar and sweet papaya. bisous x.x.x. unfathomably tender ones x. j

17 comments:

Reluctant Memsahib said...

"My life is my dream struggling itself into reality. I am its weaver. Don’t poke your sticks at it please. It breaks the delicate pattern of my particular web, woven with uncertainty and heart. Let my little Black Widow be."

Beautiful, beautiful words and so true.

Linda Sue said...

Stirring post- I will be here all day- Sends me into the deep and back out again gasping for air and then soaring into the pale blue lofty thoughts above it all, with clear-ish vision. Thank you for this post - a real gripper for me! You are awesome indeed! Thank you.

Dumdad said...

Um, one of our toilets is leaking too but the plumber, like the rest of Paris, is away in August. And I'm hopeless: I could fix the old-fashioned loos with ballcock and thingies but this modern one is screwed in tight behind the wall. Now that's Truth and I'd Love to be able to mend it but I can't. So. I. Let it be.

Bill said...

Nicely said. Interesting sub-currents too.

B

fushandchips said...

Beautiful, oil-on-canvass post.

Janelle said...

why thank y'all kindly. and, um, truly. and DD i hope the loo does in fact get fixed. mine's bust too....monday chore....scintillatin'.

Val said...

no small subjects to ponder here! dont go poking sticks in spiders webs - ha. great stuff. thanks xx

Val said...

lovely advice from Norman too xx

Angela said...

I love your poetry even if I hardly understand all your words. But I love the core of your thoughts, and I know what you say is the plain truth. we know nothing for sure, and all we can do is love. And choose the hardest way. And enjoy every step. I am all for impossible loves, too. They are the real ones.

toomuchaugust said...

here, there are those who will not travel. not because of a fear of flying, say....but because they fear finding out the world continues past the borders they've defined.

i love what you say about scared. yes. do, be scared: leap.

elizabeth said...

I think my comment got lost.
Gosh, Janelle
this is a deep, powerful one

sending lots of love

Mark said...

"on a grey, cold Ngorobob afternoon:"...good company, warm conversation, hole in the wall coffee shop, rain on the street, lost in being lost... When you say cold, it looks like it's been in the 60's there...currently 109 here and humid, feels like hell...literally ;). Blessings can be well disguised it seems.

Mark said...

one more...I own a Stylophone. Haven't heard Rolf Harris' name mentioned in some time..how long, I'd rather not mention.

Janelle said...

thanks y'all for your comments...will google stylophone. take it easy. xj

family Affairs said...

Holy crap you're good....

SO what I keep saying in my book about everybody's different version of the truth....and what is love and why it's better to fall off the trodden path sometime and get lost in thick areas of jungle you have to hack through......

It all makes for an interesting life rather than a bland one and this, my darling is your destiny x

This is going in my book and I'm stealing it for an upcoming blog post if you don't mind .... truth and love - that's what it's all about Lx

Kelloggsville said...

I came via FamilyAffairs and I stayed. Thank you for making me want to x

Izzy said...

Lovely :), thats all I can say really.. I absolutely love, love love it. Hope all is well with you Mrs D,
love Inez xx