This body of clay and water and earth is my home. My temple. My indian mosque and my celtic shrubbery. I miss it. I am writing, and learning exactly what I came to graduate school to learn, which is that the realm of spirit and imagination is simply not for articulating.
My advisor is really working with me, as I try to explain the feeling of an embodied six pointed star while whirling, as I speak of love and suffering, and she gets angry and she laughs. Now we have a strategy, which consists of me recognizing that the ineffable just doesn't hang out with language, and that I am the barrier or bridge between these two things.
Sometimes, I have to be a body. Then I don't get any writing done. Sometimes, I write, and then I am bridge not between myself and all that experience, but between myself and others who would like to know about it. I can only hope to inspire others, not to give them experience.
I am a mirror then, and nothing more. Kind of scary, because I thought I was the Taj Mahal or something :) That is not me, but I live in it. A thousand beautiful fractals of light taking up residence.
In love~
2 comments:
There is a certain Love
that is formed out of the
elixir of the East.
There is a certain cloud,
impregnated with a
thousand lightnings.
There is my body,
in it an ocean formed of his glory,
all the creation,
all the universes,
all the galaxies,
are lost in it.
Mevlana Rumi
Beautifully written Hannah. If there is anyone who can articulate experience in the written form that can move and inspire, it's you. I hope the writing is going well. xox
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