I have been practicing e.e. cummings poem "anyone lived in a pretty how town", restarted memorization again last night. His ideas are tough to get, to put in order, but so, so lovely. One of my secret hobbies, memorizing poems. I have Coleridge's "Kubla Khan", Yeats "The Second Coming", and Emerson's "Brahmin" complete. Have to review from time to time, the old brain is fusty and jumbled.
An author's nuances and meaning turn me inside out in delight, for example, from Coleridge:
"But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon lover!"
What woman? Where'd she come from? A demon lover? What was she looking for from him,
was he late with something? "Where the hell were you, we missed the seven o'clock showing."
All sorts of visuals there. Ah but that's the thing, visuals.
Names give us a common reference identifying connections to each other, with whatever groups
we circle in throughout the day. People delight in wit, in being the clever one, or mostly, being
a friend of the clever one. We repeat what we hear in spite of thinking, do we really mean this,
is this phrase expressing our own hearts? Alliance forms from fear, of being the one left out, and
so we parrot whatever current group we are in.
So nice to see you's are spouted, but when in front of the other nasty mouths, the words turn
cartwheels to become agreement with whomever we regard as the most intrusive or feared, just
so's we don't get squashed ourselves. It doesn't stop when you get older, this relegation of
rank continues and lives on, fed by fear and self-loathing. But it is most painful to observe in
children being victimized by other children or adults.
Carving out social rank within a group is a safety feature of survival, no news there, but there are
way too many glitches along the way. These glitches are called nincompoops, and they live to make
their position seemingly secure by dumping venom on others not within their perimeters. Names
are the easiest, non-thinking way to cut someone off at the knees and then congratulate yourself
that you aren't one of them.
This whole train of thought was brought on by a friend's blog, as he reminisced about feelings
surrounding the names peers tagged him with. I was called names, others I love dearly have
suffered verbal bullying, and until you believe that you are a good person, these names cut your
soul to shreds. Self-doubt is magnified by the lens of scrutiny, and you better buck up and find
what you like about yourself and build on it, or the rabble will grind you in their maw until they
tire and find other victims to sustain their useless selves.
It is just so hard for children, teenagers, the lonely, introverted, or different. The can collecting man
has a degree in physics, the quiet child who can't read knows how to make beautiful pictures;
listening to them raises you up, smiling at them pleasantly isn't hard, use a kind word in front of
them and more importantly, display some integrity and refuse to play these horrible, empty games.
Go out and hang up some laundry or go find a new way to study turtles. For heaven's sake, do
something useful. I'll like you better.
And not always, but most of the time? The people who are drubbed and tormented turn out to be
fascinating adults, while the mouthy clique-y ones find that name callers stay just that. I know you
know someone who hasn't outgrown their high school role. Yet not all introverts are heroes, nor all
extraverts pains in the neck, you just know better where the extraverts are; 75% of the population,
for goodness sake.
One hundred percent of us need our sleep, and bless you if you can with a clear conscience. No demon
lovers necessary, we can take care of this ourselves. Be at peace with one another, all any of us
want is to be happy and toss over a grilled cheese on whole grain bread once in a while. Change
into jammies, say a prayer to whatever guides you, and let yourself fall innocently into the sleep
shared by every other living being on the planet. As the world spins, imagine the light switches
being clicked before head hits pillow. That will be interesting, a recorder in the high atmosphere,
able to pick up the changes of the hours as they rotate around the earth. Does Spain sound differently
from China? It would have to, but how? Ah well, sleep my dears, and heal. You are loved and shiny as
a new penny.
Sunset over the lake. Moonrise in the southern sky. Venus, Saturn, Mars, Jupiter, Uranus.
Good night from the city.
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