cover of book, stray birds R.Tagore (1916)

 

CHAPTER ONE - Rabindranath Tagore

WEEK TWO.  conversation by simon and clair

  

2

 

O troupe of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words. R. Tagore

~  ~  ~ 


The only footprints you'll ever find in your words are your own. Do the vagrants need you to speak for them?
simon

mmm... yes but things, people and other animals, can inspire words...so words get tainted or painted ... what colour are your words?....what colour do they enjoy being/would you like them to be? 

can there possibly be a colour which is not enjoyable...?

ive been realising the absolute beauty of all emotions... for example, the absolute purity and beauty of anger ...this emotion is not a demon...no more than any other... its the way we use it (or abuse it) which causes the dis ease and recently, when i felt anger, inside, i felt like smiling...
clair

Words, whether beautiful or ugly, are always limited. Unlike silence. Emotions, whether pure or muddled, are never more than a small part of who we are.

S

is silence unlimited?  i guess silence in itself is never ending, ever growing!  as nothingness is... never ending and eternal ... 

the less there is of something, the less there is to disappear or fade away ... but! silence and nothingness have the following limitations - sound and somethingness.
c 

Silence and space enable sounds and things to exist and vice versa. A sound needs silence out of which to emerge. Without things there would be no space, as space can only exist between things. I like living in a universe that is beyond my imagination. 

S

so do you feel that you need to have something in order to have nothing?  i feel unsure...i think that nothingness is so cleaver and self sustaining that it needs absolutely nothing and it can go on f o r e v e r!  it never runs out.  

and is someone genius without something seeing that genius?  
and is someone loving without someone to love? 
c 

simons music is found : http://www.myspace.com/lunarians

  cover of book, stray birds R.Tagore (1916)
 

CHAPTER ONE - Rabindranath Tagore
WEEK ONE. conversation by clair and alex

1 

Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. R. Tagore.


~ ~ ~


everything is one. leaves whisper secrets of life and death round our feet and ankles, birds come and go in the same way. everything which is alive is dying.... is that true of everything?
clair
 
Everything is two, too. After I sigh I breathe in. Everything which is alive is living. Even as it dies. The end is in everything, but beginnings are too. The leaves underfoot may be dead, but look what they inspire. Breathe in...
alex
 
am i ready to really breathe?.... its a long time coming, shallow footsteps of breath have come awandering... but they must...or i must... push a little more deeply 
clair

Breathe. Push. Deeper. Birthing, or nine months earlier. Either way is creative. We dig through the ground and try and find the living. Is it all just struggling through rocks and earth? Sunlight dapples ground through leaves as they fall. Colour dances under footsteps. There are songs about autumn leaves. 

alex

      'we dig through the ground and try to find the living'.
  
i like that.

what is capable of loving...  is the sunshine? like honey it falls, getting smiles from faces as it does

...and animals who like to live alone, do they love less?

c

If I can love then so can you (and the sunshine and the honey and the lonely and the falls and the smiles and the faces).

So nothing can. Or everything. Is love? Everything is love. Nothing is.

The leaves don't crunch underfoot once the rain comes. Mulch underfoot. Something to grow out of.

When will I grow out of it.

Love. Mulch.
a

mmm.... lovely.  the trust...the surrender that we will feel where to grow from... and to.... it will be dark,  there will be roots and depth... 

...like intuition...is strong like special soft magic.  magic whos ears pick up the silence in things... the place where the feelings are... some feelings who get covered in soft blankets and some who wake up like flowers.
c 

Wake up. Can't see the trees. Can't see the birds. Everything is in mist. Clouded hidden and lost.

Want that autumn sadness back. Better than this bleak waiting to grow. Silent sleeping flowers must wake up soon.
Roots laid in autumn leaves wait patiently.

Can I?

a

what was nice about the autumn sadness?
c

There's nothing wrong with endings.
a

alexs blog is at 

http://unstruck.wordpress.com/