Friends

Painting by Paul Gauguin


Picked up this lifted comment this morning from over
at Rick Mobb's site Mine Enemy Grows Older .
He had picked it up from Amurin, from her site
Stop and Wander .
The comment, for the moment is anonymous,
but the words, the language, the message(s)
snagged my interest Enjoy.

Glenn


“I sense your rhythms here (or do I imagine, project them?) – dear rhythms of breathing, waking and sleeping, tossing and turning, coming and going, moon rise and moon set, the waves – dark troughs and translucent spattering crests breaking, opening, merging, receiving. What else…?

Friends disappearing, vanishing, sometimes returning and time’s unrolling out to its end over nothing, or something? It’s all so confusing…the cave painters, Paul Gauguin, all of us scrawling the same questions on our art, sculpture, dance, film-making, our poetry, our stories, our singing: “Who are we? What are we? Where do we come from? Where are we going?”

You bring me into these places sometimes when I return here. It’s sort of like coming home. Serenity, melancholy, joy, love, sorrow, affection. The real deal, the real thing.”