Thursday, December 4, 2008

This time last year

The spirits of the dead miss each other.

We know they do, because occasionally their whispered, lost communications go astray and drift across our mind. The human mind sympathizes with the loss, the grief and creates its own story, without really knowing why. That discontentment breeds and broods in the souls of poets and on the minds of thinkers and in the hands of artists until it metamorphoses into something beautiful. Until it does so it is excruciating.

The pain of butterflies is in their fragility, knowing that the slightest push results in a tear, the loss of a crystal so delicate and beautiful that it has no material value. This is our legacy, the production of the crystal, regardless of the pain and the cost, regardless of the value.

3 comments:

~kitticus~ said...

It's like you dug into my thoughts, and then stole them. Get out of my head!!!

It's kind of funny how I was feeling this way today, and then ran across your blog. I was also thinking about the elderly couple I saw on Trax yesterday. They spent so much time talking to this homeless man. They were genuinely interested in him and engaged in what he had to say. I bet they voted for Obama. I think they're the start of our revolution....

Lindsey said...

What was this time last year? I'm probably missing something obvious, but nothing comes to mind.

Der Blaue Reiter said...

I fell out of love :).

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