November 22nd, 2008
Deep Enough
With enough determination it’s amazing what you can bury: treasure, evidence, love, your own personality. What is the biggest thing you have buried?
Transcriptorial: They say there isn't a hole deep enough. / How little they know us.
Everything, myself. For me it is memory that requires determination and precision.
In this blue light
I can take you there,
snow having made me
a world of bone
seen through to…
(from “San Sepolcro” by Jorie Graham)
Days the rituals of men and women feel eternal. And then this blue light.
I buried my dog with a big huge hole this august and I wanted to forget the sufferings.
a diary with pictures.
i wish i could have put on fire my thoughts,
because the diary is gone,
my memory is still there.
i wish for amnesia sometimes.
everyday i burn a little bit of myself
by the inside,
the past, the present
but it seems always empty
empty air balloon that i will never be able to make them disappear
each contains,….
(but there’s no secrets anymore- Internet ate all of them)
i wish i could put my appartment on fire for once;
and start again
with nothing,
no possession,
never get attached to anything,
because you may get hurts (in any kind way)
destruction is beautiful. thru the dead things.
I’m not sure whether Wall of Voodoo ‘Dark as a Donjon’ or KoRn ‘Head like a Hole’ is most appropriate.
Alice, read Harlan Ellison’s ‘Deathbird Stories’ collection, especially the title cut. You’re not alone, Harlan wrote of his dog’s passing too.
Why would I wanna bury anything?
Treasure ? Isn’t it meant to be, as the word states, “treasured”? How can you even treasure something buried?
I can’t bring myself to bury something precious and valuable.
Evidence? Of what? Anything I set my heart or willed my mind to do I can make a stand for.
Why hide something you can make a stand for?
Err… Or are we talking about manufactured evidence? That. That, I sure as smithereens don’t wanna bury.
Lemme, lemme dig up the hole with you and we’ll bring everything to the fore… I really, really wanna get to the very core.
Love? Na-ah! Never.
I may choose not to act on it. I may choose not to show it. I may opt to be nonchalant about it.
But bury it?
No.
Love is so precious a feeling for it to be just buried and laid to waste. Besides, love has a life all its own and it will find a way out however one may wanna curtail it.
Why would I let such a positive emotion fester and gnaw me from the inside if I have the option of nurturing the positive energy (thereby avoiding the negative ramifications of repressed passion?)
I love.
Despite and besides the love-worthiness of the person i may hold dear, I love.
Bury it? Na-ah.
Bury him?
Maybe.
…. in my arms.
My own personality?
Why would I? I’m quite content with the way I was and the way I turned out to be.
I’ve managed to make a stand for who I really am, back then and till now, despite the odds and despite the raised eyebrows of those who don’t wanna believe the fact that I am who i really am.
Hmmmm…. while you’re at it (burying what you wanna bury…), can I “unbury” some random treasures, evidences, love or some personalities? I wanna be interested, I wanna be wide-eyed with wonder, suspended in deep awe, magically thrown in a world of careless abandon and pure, unadulterated inspiration.
I seek to see the many facets of things – the nooks and crannies, the highs and lows…
You can’t fully treasure something you don’t have a firm grasp of, you can’t love a thing incompletely, you can’t fully embrace life when you’re at odds with your own personality.
so…
why bury?
I have to say, this particular post is quite ridiculously encouraging. It conveys power of the person and power of the character. Kudos.
I do have to admit, that while I find it inspirational, I do not think I can act upon it in my state. It is so… annoying to develop feelings towards every girl you meet, and if you are to keep good relations with that girl, these feelings must be removed.
Or, at least hidden.
I hope I’m good at it.
yeah, hidden.
i guess it’s the only option…
for me.
I am going to out on a limb and agree with Madness that ritz is inspiring and lovely.
Yeah, you’re good at it.
My regret at betraying one of my closest friends.
The person I used to be.
My heartbreak from my first love.
And yet sometimes they still creep back to haunt me.
yeah, hidden.
i guess it’s the only option.
for me.
In the past, I buried traumas…parts of myself that others didn’t like, in order to be liked and accepted…needs…anger.
It took many years of digging and spading over the ground to get the garbage out of my system.
And then I discovered I had a perfect plot to plant beautiful things in.
They have grown, even though I had to weed some things and people out of my life in the process. (Those who demanded the burials really, really didn’t like the exhumation or its results).
I now like myself and my life.
Il faut cultiver notre jardin.
I live across the street from a giant park full of gardens.
I’m currently studying garden poems that were written during the early modern period, specifically, right now, the work of Andrew Marvell. His poem “The Garden” is mind blowing. You should check it out if you’re not already familiar.
Dear Andrew Marvell…he’s not Donne, of course, but he is good.
No one is Donne, orinoco, although I haven’t lost hope yet. I’m glad to have found a fellow admirer of his writing! John Donne forever amen! I’ll be sure to cite his poetry here in future.
Once upon a time I buried a hole…
Have you seen “The Castle”? (Australian movie). I love when the father asks his son what he’s been doing today and gets that big grin: “I dug a hole!”
Last week I was there when they buried him. And with him, all their hopes and dreams and plans for the future. They buried son, husband, father, friend. They buried love and brilliance and kindness.
How did they fit so much into such a little box?
Though I was determined not to, though I spent every moment willing the events undone, we buried him, just last week.
i buried my soul
i’m not sure if i know
how to retrieve it
When I was seventeen, about to leave for Germany, my friends tore down the street signs where my mom and dad lived and brought them to my going-away party. I couldn’t bring them on the plane, so my best friend buried them, in the middle of the night, in my mother’s back yard.
Not as profound as burying a soul, but when I came back a year later we were able to dig them back up (also in the middle of the night) exactly where we’d hidden them. Maybe it works with souls, too.