The text for this installment is taken from a poem in a series I am writing about (or from) pets.
What do you think about the relationship between creation and death? Does an awareness of death drive artists to create more urgent, more honest work?
Secret Vespers
by Patrick Edwards-Daugherty
Aren’t creation and death one and the same?
Kind of like, a chicken & egg scenario?
Nietzsche said it best, “We have art to save ourselves from the truth.” Great artists, writers and minds produce more honest work when faced with life’s struggles, to be a tortured artist allows one to dive into the depths of such emotion without hindrance and produce something that translates into a much purer form.
At least thats what I think.
And maybe puts things in perspective, puts sincerity ahead of perfection as an end goal.
What do you think about the relationship between creation and death?
First words that come to mind: God’s turf
Does an awareness of death drive artists to create more urgent, more honest work?
Maybe. Unless one has always done honest work.
As for urgency? I dunno… Some may rush or some may lose zest.
If anything, I feel more rather than less stifled by my impending demise. Given an infinite ability to screw up and move on, I would probably be more excited about trying new and more epic projects.
I sure am glad you have a variety of options.
There are those who do not. Because they can not. Or they aren’t allowed to.
But if I would never die I would have so many more options!
then count your blessings.
“and all the space I filled will empty”
To me, this phrase describes an expiration date to the impact of our actions. This may cause fear in some people, causing them to try to do something big and lasting. Of course there is merit to this drive. However I am a big believer in the ripple effect that every person has on others. Even if the things that we do are small, they touch many people every day – and that adds up to a lifetime of impact on the world.
Although ripples also dissipate and die, it is a nice thing to think we have an effect past what we will see. I hope it is true.
Space
The space that I filled will be empty,
except for the hearts of my loved ones…
No fatal fall from grace was mine nor,
a leap to the heavens.
Rather it was a resolute walk,
often stumbling towards my ideals,
towards the light I hope,
that took me into it’s grip
and tortuously at times,
other times like a fast and wild ride
down a waterfall.
It was not boring at least and
my tenuous grip on reality,
tho altered towards the sunny side of my disposition,
has not relinquished its grip.
I fear not of failure
as there is no standard,
other than my own.
It was and has not been merely survival
but rather an adventure
that was prolonged by
by ability to let the opinions of others fall off my back,
like water flows off the back of a duck. Quack, quack!
My smile is diminished only by disappointments,
but augmented by my acquired ability to see thru the moment
and put it into perspective.
While I live in the moment,
I live not for it but rather to continue
through the halls of hours and wonderment .
This abstruse narration has it’s own ends,
as it may provide a map for others to follow or avoid,
while passing through the minefields
and fields of flowers on their paths of living.
I grin a mischances grin to myself as I think
of all the pompous erudite pedants
who will boisterously choke on my discourse and
belch their comments to anyone who will listen.
He was a fool, an ass, a neurotic idiot!
Ha!
Double HA!
My point has been made.
I pass through veils or doors,
or mount summits everyday of my existence
and death while not a companion, or wizard, or angel, or portal,
may yet indeed claim to have been a marker post in my travels…
But surely not a destination, or means to an end.
I do not mourn my passing anymore than I shall mourn the changing of a shirt,
or shoes or pants,
although I might have developed a fondness
for wearing a particular outfit.
Tho this may be a self written eulogy,
I desire none and will that this be just a random report from a serendipiter on a road.
Like a traffic report or a weather report, this is a temporary picture of a piece of a roadside picture.
I shall continue on unencumbered by the past and continue to post reports as I see fit,
to toss to the roadside like bread crumbs in the forest to those who may have need of a new direction.
Adieu,
I continue my path.
Wish me well…
DRB copyright-2009
i’m praying.
for you. for me.
for humanity.
…yes, also for them.
sometimes, what we think is the end is just a beginning.
… and so we trudge forth on the road less traveled.
God bless us all.
Aye’
God Bless us all.
Thsi was an interesting topic, thread to start.
I hope others will follow- contribute their insights…
and doodles
that seemed empty.
life is more than emptiness, so is the space between
This is why the Hindus worship Kali, goddess of birth and death…
Yes, and why they would create a goddess to encompass both.
perhaps the purpose
is for transmutation…
Ancient Words Rephrased…
Though I be gold in the mud,
I still retain all that I am within.
Yet one day, upon illumination in this forge of form,
I too shall be raised up and seen for that which
I have always been…
Purge me and refine me for that certain end!
Light my acceleration,
forget me not my higher home.
Tear this illusion
from me asunder…
Forget me not
Oh Great Reward!
DRB copyright-2008
The mirror reflects back onto us;
if we see an empty slate then perhaps
that means we have yet to write…
The reason is personal..
empty doodles…
we see what we need to see,
self edification, or transmutation,
or becoming one with the promise that all religious thought has given us;
to “becoming home”.
Another view, perhaps no less valid.
Perhaps worth consideration….
Stream
The ripples in the stream are only me…
The sands of memories wash past me
as I flow through them like water.
They purify me and wash away the hardness in my heart.
They polish me up like a stone in the stream
to be tossed and tumbled until I become one with the water;
dissolved into it’s very essence.
The patterns only seem random…
My thoughts give me solace and comfort,
when they run across familiar ground,
warm,
not cold to the touch…
Past and yet present always,
a burden, a baggage, a driving grace;
all experience none the less a part of me: a part of who I have become.
DRB copyright-2009