June 24, 2004

Black Stone 64

DO WHAT IT takes to get in. Push through these things, every day—the little red wagon resting on its side, weeds and clover growing up around it. Or the woodpile haphazardly stacked with elm and broken pecan branches. Trust phenomena to get you inside, or to point to what you don't already know. "There is no other beginning in Philosophy than wondering," reads an obscure source open now. "Let not him that seeketh … cease until he find, and when he finds he shall wonder; wondering he shall reign, and reigning he shall rest." (Lactantius) I don't know about "rest," these divers energies pouring through secular vessels. Stir us up. Put us to action in the world. "Whence there is an excellent saying among the philosophers," writes Plutarch, "that those who do not learn how to hear names rightly, use things wrongly." Watch K play with sticks on the porch. Wash dishes. Hold Waylon, burping him. Then a mighty, rattling fart bursts out of him. K's cartoons sound out from another room. Hear Hoa chopping onions in the kitchen. These routines anchor the day, matter's lumen opening. The black core's eternal negative is milled hour-to-hour, perfecting apprehensions of day and night—gross rhythms hardwired to kinetic systems. Grey clouds break and at last some sun shines on the yard. New walnut leaves stand out tenderly on black, naked limbs. Damp air, moist wood. Swallows make arcs over phone lines.

Posted by Dale at June 24, 2004 03:23 PM
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