Total loving embrace of the unapproachable divine brilliance of the now-and-forever and never-to-be, of the nor-to-have been, of the once-and-future, of the infinite irreducible point of everywhere, and of the joyful child-yes to the forevermore-recurr, the great wheel of meat, the sacred all-encompassing heart, the blinding brilliant sun, the savage compassion, the gentle razor-soul-blade, the great destruction, seed of all life and compassion, the sacred holy terror of un-becoming, all made manifest in the intermingled blood of God and I as it splatters upon the bar room floor, and we stagger weave and smile and cut deep with cold steel past the superfluity, the ephemeral dross of mere identity, unleashing pure Gloria as we sing together the silent thundering songs of overcoming and surrender. It is to cry with grattitude.
If but some vengeful god would call to me From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing, Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy, That thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting!"
Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die, Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited; Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain, And why unblooms the best hope ever sown? -- Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain, And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan ... These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
Both are the by-products of pilgramage, of movement; Both are one, not only with each other, but with the pilgramage. They are the pilgramage - A Casualty not crass but, rather, sublime.
I'll grant Hardy was a bit of a doomster. Doubtless trained for 'casualtyBad' as well as the 'capriciousBad' he has so readily strown about our pilgrimage through his poem. Which is not a bad thing, thus we account his viewpoint good ;)
Yeah...and more than that, what we deserve is only what we really, deep deep down, BELEIVE we deserve. So we get the Gods that we WANT, and NEED. The world is full of junkies -addicted to hope, and to fear.
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There are no American infidels in Baghdad!
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( ... )
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From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting!"
Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown? --
Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan ...
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
-- Thomas Hardy
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Both are the by-products of pilgramage, of movement;
Both are one, not only with each other, but with the pilgramage. They are the pilgramage - A Casualty not crass but, rather, sublime.
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-a coil etching ov sorts...
thee pic reminded me ov it somehow...
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ah...thaz better... cd stopped had to put a new one in... and CAN ov all things popped into thee player...
by thee way, what is thee pink think in thee icon?
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And the pink thing he's holding is soap. Or the heart of a pig. Or maybe both, depending on what you like to lather up with... ;)
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