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A Poet's Journal: March 17th, 2015

  March 17th, 2015 To see only what is different makes us indifferent to the slightest change.  It is not enough to note what comes and goes, what rises and falls, what gives and takes, but to acknowledge the background from which they have come forth, that part from which all our habits and tasks are ever fleeing.  When difference is no longer what we see but only the presence of seeing, change is no longer the fear of changing, but the acceptance of what has always been missing. Douglas Thornton

A Poet's Journal: March 24th, 2014

March 24th, 2014 We find that when we strive after something the true aim is always masked from us, so that even if we set out to attain it very quickly and it is as quickly attained, there is a part which is ulterior and unexpected.  What we are after then, is only another name for what we shall get, and what we take will always be other than what we were given.  But that our lives must run once over and have to watch in others what we have already experienced, gives to age a discerning eye, while those in youth seem to overstep us, or failing this, are content with being blind.  Age does not want youth to experience what we have, it wants it to learn, and puts down its triumphs and defeats as a means for something to strive upon--and how simple and uniform life would be, but how base and groveling each of us!  We do not believe that pain or emptiness can be a liberation, but when we separate and turn inward, it is so.  A motivation arises that was not in us before, that leads to

A Poet's Journal: March ?, 2014

March ?, 2014 I have never been one to believe dreams hold such a power over an individual that they could change his perception of reality or even the memory of past events.  They are nonetheless fascinating symbols of the mind, but rarely give us enough matter for thought in our waking hours.  However, it was only this morning that I confused a very deep and vivid dream for the real-life memory of one held in common with another. I found myself one pleasant day at a small tower that had been a part of a now ruined castle not far from the city where I was living.  Inside this tower, which had been completely renovated and was now situated in a finely kept park, was the public library of the district.  All of the books were neatly set-up and easily accessible considering the small circular space of the tower; but there was one part which had to be accessed by a ladder put there for that purpose; and once in this crawl space, which was only of a height for someone to lean on hi

A Poet's Journal: February 28th, 2014

February 28th, 2014 There is no greater feeling than the sense of going somewhere, and though the body may scarcely move, it seems as if we penetrate with bold action into an unexplored land--for it is just this newness and unfamiliarity that we search for in the everyday.  But what is it that has changed from the moment before: our humour, our mindset, the way the light of day inclines through the window?  There is much to be learned when the mind is vigorous and all our pursuits as a forthcoming wave to overtake at each break the land it has only newly breached.  For as soon as the waters recede we expect flowers and grass and other signs of imparting life to appear because that which endures and persists in unfulfilled eternity will be renewed and wasted in the overflowing wake of thought.  The whole subsuming principle of life is at our hands the necessary impetus of the incomplete, blinking slowly in a world that has become too fast for calming our arrival on the distant sho

A Poet's Journal: February 8th, 2014

February 8th, 2014 The urge that takes us and tells us to move on, pick things up, fall back, sleep silently, act loudly, must be followed before it is defeated in the mind.  Our logic and our reason have no use for it even though it is an expression of the same source and its foundation lies in what the exterior world makes us conscious of.  There is much negation involved of course; for every one of the elaborate urges that come over us, there is but a fraction that awaken the mind with the realization that something has been truly set forth.  Therefore it is not necessary to wait, to pick and choose, but merely to remain aware of the endless flow of perception present within us until there is something that undeniably goes beyond it.  It is in these instances that we see reality, that the whole weight of our burden is released, and instead of fatigue, vigour transports us a thousand miles inside the depth of a moment, and there lying within, awaits the realm of poetry. Dou

A Poet's Journal: February 4th, 2014

February 4th, 2014 It is in our nature to fashion understanding after intellect; from the first breath of consciousness it has been said that man is the thinking animal and whether we agree or not, the tradition with which our thoughts move is to place one object up against another, or one thought or memory up against another, and proceed through reasoning or logic to come up with a strategy that will invariably prove or not prove that one is better or worse than the other.  We place upon the scale of importance efficiency and fact, and hold with words those ideas and matters of thought that have not yet been fully understood.  To speak, or more generally, to use the senses, is our way to enlighten understanding, whereupon it is only those things that are left unsaid, or that have yet been revealed, that the intellect truly understands.  By the concept and definition of a word, we give boundary, by which is meant exclusion, so that the objective reality that we come to take as tru