Languaging and the Worlding of the World

Yes, writing takes time... And we have to take the time or time disappears, evaporates without any words to mark its passing.

Now that I feel the end of my time passing faster and faster, I regret all the poems unwritten, all the songs still inside, all the music left in the silence... The books unwritten...

Wait! Just one more moment!  Ah... Now the saying "time waits for no one" tolls like an ostinato across the emptiness of mind...

Howl is such a great movie. It has just been released for the home market. As good as the poem is, the movie may be better... Howl is about language... The essence of words and the eloquence of their sounds that transcend meaning...

I seem to have lost power like a car running out of gas or a blackout that suddenly descends upon a city... Not without warning... But with an impersonal  indifference ...

This text is empty... Just clicks across the screen... Taps of the true digital wasteland of fingers and thumbs eking out letters and words...

I am a romantic. I do believe in forever, even though I know I will soon disappear as everyone has before me and as will those who follow.  Yet for me,  forever persists as a premonition of a deeper truth. It flies in the face of the reality of the universe. Newtonian Physics describes a universe that  disperses energy so that eventually existence as we know it comes to a close, the law of Entropy.

Believing in forever is like believing in fairy tales. But it is the stuff that drives us to great achievements. The stuff that dreams are made of.

My friend says compose something, create something to pull you through nights of despair. But nothing comes... except I find myself echoing the Cole Porter song In the Still of the Night  because I recently had an epiphany that Cole Porter was summing up the existential question:

Do you love me, as I love you
Are you my life to be, my dream come true
Or will this dream of mine fade out of sight
Like the moon growing dim, on the rim of the hill
In the chill, still, of the night

This is sung to the night, to the universe... wondering if the love we feel in being alive will be returned by the world, the life we love. Or is our place in existence just a dream that fades out of sight like the moon growing dim....

In the chill,

Still,

of the night.

The hoped-for return of the world loving us is an illusion fading out of sight, like the moon that will be lost to the earth as it escapes its orbit... we see our hope growing dim on the rim of the hill until it is gone.  And all that we thought was as enduring as the universe is just illusion...

There is this shimmering moment in time that I think is forever...It is in the fire of imagination and the inspiration of those that inhabit my experience and my world...

Creating new work is more than refuting despair, it is making the world and creating ourselves in the emerging moments... evidence that we here and we are enduring... it is the worlding of the world.