6/9/98

Had it not
come at last,
the expanse of
vision he'd been
waiting for all
his life? Still,
he'd not expected
the rhythms to be
so continuous, the
quality of no
particle of stopping,
the pushing on
further at every
coming interval,
no pause even for
breath because the
connection is at all
times complete. Nothing
can be unimportant
because it is only
the next feeling which
is important, because
it proceeds, at times
quickly, at times,
slowly, but always
connecting every
moment. It almost
proceeds like a
story, it is so
logical and self-
explanatory in its
unfoldings. The
secret of the past
is always in the
present; the
underlying meaning
of the present
is always in
the past. This
is why it seems
like sadness
but it isn't.
The next- like a
sunset after a day,
a hug before leaving,
waving, kissing,
holding. Holding,
holding it always
should be holding.
We are closer than
we can dare
admit. Even the
air we breathe is
the same. There
can be no waiting
because something
is always happening
which is connecting
every moment in an
uninterrupted song,
a succession of
notes which can only
explain each other.
What you thought
you were waiting for
you've had so much
longer than you
would like to
admit. The words
hold hands, the
sky and the earth
pull and push
away from each
other in a dance,
a passionate
embrace. For
some moments, full.
The words speak
themselves to
themselves, uttered
in a progression
of proportionate
silences, speaking
and hearing, translating
themselves through each
other. At times still,
even sleeping, forgetting,
confusing, losing,
slipping in hesitations,
angers, doubts, hurts,
memories, delusions,
fantasies. So
much, at times, is
happening, that once
in awhile it must be
told in a great
rush. This hurrying
seems, in a sense,
to be rushing
towards the end,
but this is only
because, at last
it must come, if
only as a measure.
Perhaps in this
terrific rush, this
hurry to get to
what? A kind of
understanding, or a
hurried glimpse of
something, or perhaps
trying to catch
up to it, rushing
behind it to catch
up to it, but
still in all this
pushing forward,
there is the
constant mixture
of sadness and joy,
whether at times
the tempo changes,
which also records
the excited dance
between the piano
and orchestra which
continuously seems to
be climaxing, but this
coming towards is also
an eloquent
introduction to what
emerges next.

(listening to
Marta Argarich playing the
Rachmaninoff 3rd Piano
concerto)

*

Believe it or not, I read all the blogs I put on my Crush Lists, and since
I included Kasey's blog about his college class concerning Zombie
films, I read through all his students' blogs very quickly and my votes for the best student blogs are those of Janna and Keith. I did read through them fast.

And, may I add, you college teachers deserve a lot of credit and *more money*!