Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Know Not What They Do


Forgive them. Unforgiven. The places where the roads were dim, caught in a man-trap. I sit by the fountain and weep for what seems like years, the waters flooding the river beds and valleys, dripping down my age long hair, hands covering my eyes like window shutters. But to weep forever, when the rivers are full, is folly indeed. Forgive them for they know not what they do. I am one of those, too. Different degrees, deep in the freeze, now. Better, now understood. To look seemed like death, and it was, to a degree, because I am not the me I was forced to be, which I was, before. So - "Weep No More Sad Fountains" - I think it's better to be wide-eyed and forgiven, and extend this luxury, outward, in right seeing. Better to be dark and comely than be eclipsed by light, that would never understand the darkness, that it needs to, to live. So my fountain has a foundation, extended into the dark earth, old as the moaning stones and young as a green shoot. I sit by it's well-worn side, a song inside beginning to tune with the musical waters, that I had not heard before. In this water the creatures vibrate, knowing the tune to the skin. Life sustaining, life giving, flowing within. It is the song of the Lyrebird, splendid in the wood, and thinks nothing of using everything as it should. Lyrebird, my beauty, thrive with your art, fine claws clutching the earth and singing on high with the wind.
http://www.pemberley.com/JA_Music.html ("Weep No More Sad Fountains" - Music/Poetry notes from "Sense & Sensibility" - John Dowland and Jane Austen.)

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