Poetry: passing through words into silence, into the nameless. Mathematics: passing through forms into the formless.

~ Simone W

It's been one of those weeks... of longing. For the fragrance of creosote after a hot monsoon shower. For the spartan pines, solitary and enduring atop a mesa. For the silence of a desert night nested under a thousand stars.

Keeping up with civilization seems like the least of worthy tasks. Particularly as it (the civilization) is in the midst of a mad dash of consumerist self-destruction. Truth is forgotten. I think it has gone off to the silent, waiting place.

Prophecy: a blue star appears above the lake

Now the vines are growing around the pearls. The vine leaves are gold and they glow from the impact of the sun streaming through white clouds. I pick a leaf and eat it. It is hot, it burns as I chew it, it burns as it travels down my throat and into my body. When it reaches my eyes, the path before me begins to glow with a golden hue. The vine forest drops away and a vast lake of gold appears.

(Should I have eaten a pearl? The opportunity is now gone. Did I just piss away my most important task?)

***


Language sinks its roots into this world but transforms its juices and reactions into signs and symbols. Language is the consequence (or the cause) of our exile from the universe, signifying the distance between things and ourselves. If our exile were to come to an end, language would come to an end.

~ Octavio Paz