Friday, November 18, 2005
“I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,” says the memorable Prufrock whose voice resides in my consciousness and squeaks out at various moments when I am most parceled out and undecided and flotatious. Crazy how fine literature becomes embedded.
Or, perhaps I’m just tired and fear that my forthcoming bed is the most solid position available to me at the moment.
My spiritual life is where? Could it be defined as mature without need of corresponding emotion? Could it be defined as cold and waning? Could it be seen as core comfort? Like many relationships, I’ve always felt the definition of it to be a bit changeable. At one moment, it could be described as thick, uncrackable, ice-skatable. The next, a splintering sound denies any projection of weight, of claim.
“In the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo.”
I’ve entertained the same activity for several months now. Talking of something for the pleasure of the talk, the mouth, eyes, hair, friend behind the words. Bargaining with boredom for bits of diversion. Allowing the hour to hurry past within which I wander.
Like talking over coffee about Jesus and eyewitness differences.
How faith is not science.
How the afterlife is imaginative.
My preferred company of late is skeptical, material, satisfactorily diverting me to teaspoon talking on such subjects, Gentile to Jew who will refuse to ever believe in subjective signs of a spiritual nature. I’m paddling with our relational current, thinking I know my banks, solid ground, oak. One day, I could possibly be far out, though, left alone, and I will wonder how to get back home to solidity. And will it be worth it to linger in the chambers of the sea as Prufrock ultimately asks? To drown?
The swirl of the stirring by the teaspoon in the porcelain cup may break it. This I know which calls to consciousness his voice once more which says,
“And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.”
T.S. Eliot => quite the genius to spread it all out like that, like a patient needing to be examined.
Posted by Fieldfleur at 10:59 PM