When it comes to true sadness over a meaningful loss, along with sadness I see much beauty.
Perhaps it is because True sorrow comes as a result of True love and care.
It is a feeling I can only describe as Soul chilling. As if through this Pure love I can understand better my true self, which transcends flesh and my full ability to comprehend.
Better still is sorrow affirmed as ecstasy. this is the nature of all true art. to manifest the eternal presence of beauty in all of it’s infinitous facets
Nietzsche blueprints it in The birth of Tragedy. but he doesnt perceive its true nature as noumenom. All things worthwhile in man’s existence derive from this beauty
I believe I have a very positive view of life, but that doesn’t mean that I’m an optimist. I would say that it is foolish too choose whether to be an optimist or pessimist, both are needed under the correct situations in order to maintain tranquility.
I have a soft spot for sorrowful stories and songs, but I don’t hear them as a bleeding heart would.
To me it’s as if tragedy is a women i’m in love with, who i find infatuating because she is such a contrast to my usual mood.
Check out these lines from Yeats’ poem “Easter, 1916.”
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
I agree. I wonder though, if you deleted all the trues and pures and didn’t capitalize Soul… would it be a meaningful loss? If so, maybe you could appreciate it as a beautiful one.
Soleil et chair
I miss the days of ancient youth,
Of lascivious satyrs, of animal fauns,
Gods who bit, because of love, the dark boughs
And in the midst of water lilies kissed the blond Nymph!
I miss the time when the world’s sap,
The river’s water, and the rose blood of green trees
Put a universe into the veins of Pan!
When the earth trembled, green, under his goatfeet;
When, softly kissing the fair Syrinx, his lips
Formed under heaven the great hymn of love;
When, standing on a plain, he heard about him
Living Nature answer his call;
When the mute trees, cradling the singing bird,
The earth cradling man, and the entire blue Ocean
And all animals loved, loved in God!
I miss the time of great Cybele
Who was said to traverse, gigantically beautiful,
In a great bronze chariot, magnificent cities;
Her two breasts poured into the immense depths
The pure stream of infinite life.
Man sucked joyfully at her blessed nipple,
Like a small child playing on her knees.
-Because he was strong, Man was chaste and gentle.
Woe! Now he says: I comprehend things,
And goes off, with eyes closed and ears closed:
-And yet, no more gods! no more gods! Man is King,
Man is God! But Love is the great Faith!
Oh! If man still drew strength from your nipple,
Great mother of gods and men, Cybele;
If only he had not abandoned immortal Astarte
Who, once, emerging in the immense light
Of blue waves, flower-fresh the wave perfumes,
Showed her rose-colored navel where the foam came snowing,
And- a Goddess with great conquering black eyes- made the
nightingale
Sing in the woods and love in the hearts!
I believe in you! I believe in you! Divine mother,
Aphrodite of the sea!- Oh! The way is bitter
Since the other God harnessed use to his cross;
Flesh, Marble, Flower, Venus, I believe in you!
-Yes, man is sad and ugly, sad under the vast sky.
He has clothes because he is no longer chaste,
Because he has defiled his proud head of a god,
And bent down, like an idol in the fire,
His Olympian body to base serfdom!
Yes, even after death, in pale skeletons
He wishes to live, insulting the original beauty!
-And the Idol in whom you placed such virginity,
In whom you made our clay divine, Woman,
So that Man might illuminate his poor soul
And slowly rise, in boundless love,
From the prison of earth to the beauty of day,
Woman no longer knows even how to be a Courtesan!
-It’s a good joke! And the world jeers
At the sweet and sacred name of great Venus!
If the times which have passed came back!
-For Man is finished! Man has played all roles!
By day, weary of smashing idols
He will revive, free of all his gods,
And, as he is of heaven, he will scan the skies!
The Ideal, the invincible eternal thought,
The whole god who lives, under his clay of flesh,
Will rise, will rise, and burn under his brow!
And when you see him sounding the whole horizon,
A despiser of old yoke, free from all fear,
You will come and give him holy Redemption!
-Resplendent, radiant, from the bosom of vast oceans
You will rise up, casting over the wide Universe,
Infinite Love in its infinite smile!
The World will vibrate like an immense lyre
In the trembling of an immense kiss
-The World thirsts for love: you will come and slake its thirst
True. It is the feeling of value being ripped away. No better moment to recognize what value is, to the grieving --thereby, what he is.
One has an opportunity to cultivate oneself in times of sorrow – a depth is laid bare. If this is not tended to, parasites will take hold there. Parasites survive by smelling the fertility of sorrow.
Beautiful. Comprehension is integration of new value into self-value. If the process is a full one, like a flower is full or a riverbed, then comprehension, for a time, supersedes itself, the spirit/mind is too active to settle into concepts/intellect.
The beauty of this stage in life is that one is free to choose – when one is not bound to interaction with others to establish a course, a thought, but can rely on the inner processes of revaluing the world in deepening, sharpening terms of self-value, one is truly free. The only thing one is not free from is ones primal self-value, which revolts against the loss, and asserts itself in soul-chilling love, sublime poetry, and other final means of the being to be.
I came to a similar conclusion once while pondering life and death. Death is uncertain, and a consistent source of fear and anxiety for that reason. I thought of the sorrow one must feel in his last moments at the thought of forgetting what he loved so passionately, and being forgotten himself. As if his all of his life will be dismissed away as an exercise in absurdity.
But then I couldn’t help but wonder why this must necessarily lead to sorrow. In our sorrow, we recount what has made the most significant impressions upon us. We remember the profundity and beauty of that which we spend our lives seeking for, and clinging to. After all of what this Earthly forum has given occasion for me, what more beautiful and fitting an end than my eventual return to the inorganic? That I might remain part of, and contribute back to, it is a beautiful notion. What a fucking honor.
I’d gladly accept an eternity in Hell at the price of having loved as I do.
O great creator of being Grant us
1 more hour to Perform our art
& perfect our lives The moths & atheists
are doubly divine & dying
We live, we die & death not ends it
Journey we more into the Nightmare
Cling to life Our passion’d flower
Cling to Cunts & cocks Of despair
We got our final vision By clap
Columbus groin got Filled w/ green death
(I touched her thigh & death smiled)
We have assembled inside this ancient & insane theatre
To propagate our lust for life
& flee the swarming wisdom Of the streets
The barns are stormed The windows kept
& only one of all the rest
To dance & save us W/ the divine mockery
Of words Music inflames temperament
(When the true King’s murderers Are allowed
to roam free A 1000 Magicians arise in the land)
Where are the feasts We are promised
Where is the wine The New Wine
(dying on the vine) Resident mockery
Give us an hour for magic We of the purple glove
We of the starling flight & velvet hour
We of arabic pleasures’s breed We of sundome &
the night Give us a creed
To believe A nightr of lust
Give us trust in The Night Give of color
Hundred hues A rich mandala
For me & for you & for your silky
Pillowed house A head, wisdom
& a bed Troubled decree
Resident mockery Has claimed thee
We used to believe In the good old days
We still receive In little ways
The things of Kindness & unsporting brow
Forget & allow Did you know freedom exists
In school books Did you know madmen are
Running our prisons W/in a jail, w/in a gaol
W/in a white free protestant Maelstrom
We’re perched headlong On the edge of boredom
We’re reaching for death On the end of a candle
We’re trying for something That’s already found us
Wow I’m sick of doubt Live in the light of certain
South Cruel bindings The sevants have the power
Dog-men & their mean women Pulling poor blankets over
Our sailors I’m sick of dour faces
Starong at me from the T.V. Tower, I want roses in
My garden bower; dig? Royal babies, rubies
Must now replace aborted Strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood-meal For the plant that’s plowed
They are waiting to take us into The severed garden
Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful
Comes death on a stranger hour Unannounced, unplanned for
Like a scaring over-friendly guest you’ve Brought to bed
Death makes angels of us all & gives us wings
Where we had shoulders Smooth as raven’s
Claws No more money, no more fancy dress
This other kingdom
seems by far the best
Until its other jaw reveals incest & loose obedience to a vegetable law
I will not go Prefer a feast of friends To the Giant family
This love you speak of is what life is all about, in my opinion.
It is that type of absolute conviction of devotion and affection that a woman gives a man, that truly is worth dying for.
I like this line of introspection
Maybe someone will find meaning in this. Its not a representation of my views but rather a very interesting curiosity. There is truth in here and gibberish, and perhaps outright falsity - some “gardening” is required.