oh yeah.....!

I had forgotten about this blog until I commented on a friend's blog. Hmm, haven't decided if I'll post anything else, but it's good to know it's here. I'm not nearly as surly at the moment as I was when I wrote the last posts, that's for sure!

I wish for more connection with people. I had a flash of insight this morning, that what I would like is to work alongside one or two other people, sharing our thoughts without fear of judgment. Something rhythmic that doesn’t require focus, yet results in something tangible. It came to me because of the things I have read about children and how movement helps them process and remember the things that they learn. I move too little in my life. I feel scattered and unable to begin.

I want to talk about the deep things, the things I think about when I’m driving, or when I am laying in bed before sleep, or in the shower, or pausing between words in the book I’m reading. It is hard to sustain that thought process when I’m not in those meditative states. Those are the thoughts that are important to me, the ones I am interested in. The more mundane reality of my life can just go fuck itself, really. If I could write what I am thinking at those moments, then I would truly be a writer.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1819, John Keats

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said -
'I love thee true'.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! -
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!'

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.