THE VAST SUBCONSCIOUS UNDERGROUND OF OUR VISITED WORLD

259. THE VAST SUBCONSCIOUS UNDERGROUND OF OUR VISITED WORLD (the crazy man of old Union Square, nyc, 1971):

'Follow my life - take the piece from the source and hold something to your ear and listen well : The intellect of man is forced to choose perfection of the life or of the work and if it take the second it must refuse a heavenly mansion instead raging in the dark and morality is made by humans - not found in the world - and man must have an intellectual temperament with a delight in muscular language and the power to shock and the idea although a bit banal is that a person is responsible for his own life and external forces and events are merely the raw materials out of which we make a life and we therefore have no right to blame anyone else for the result because it was ours to make or muff and this is a philosophy or a psychology which is basically optimistic cheerful and a forward-looking one of self-assertion of liberation from oppressive frameworks such as those created by religions or other dogmas [AND] it has been said -

Sadness comes in three sizes :

Wind in the pines / Tears on my sleeve / Spaghetti :

while the Buddha's body cannot measured.

- this is truly remarkable -
-
"Esta buchiamento elanestreo tria enomble tolerado myanaro dustimistus aeroda telerado myanaro riligant et yatdo bosta bosta tiriamis trex no ! no ah dey wayamo lagdo tipes ayvama norto ex clamata emdicta tert !"
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Strange foreign man:

He is measuring the sky he is lighting fires with his eyes and the outland rages in his flames and distorting horizons far awkward already by refraction and in stealth he walks away HE IS WALKING without limbs and he covets whatever he wishes and 'in strictures so defined he widely carries forth' along and over as people listen and so I wonder from what is he gathering strength and why from them as at that moment something flutters past me and I see it is merely old newsprint some sailing old page of nothing the same as the rest of the debris flying around the windy park and I see the words partial 'get your mind off the plow' and with everything else that too has lost meaning and I think I will just stop reading after this crazy guy is done reciting his words : 'off the ware on to the mantle the frantic matter seems to dismantle - and isn't that all like our very LIVES itself?' and as the hour though late is still enough for watching the fading light take away the far fading moon so fat still and settling as it sinks in whatever horizon is left FOR WE ARE ALL SO DIFFERENT NOW and far from any place we've lived before ('meadows in the field cardinals in the air that 1952 Chevy parked over there belongs to the soldier with the one-eyed girl - she was brought here from Cleveland and hasn't a care!') and oh delicate flower WITHER NOT NOW but stay until Spring and let me know you are here once more 'I love the laughing vale I love the echoing hill I love the oaken seat beneath the oaken tree where all the villagers meet and laugh our sports to see' and sitting here by myself I am awed too by age and its distance - soldiers on the field schooners on the water dock master trodding the old waterfront the shed and the shanties rank with odor and filled with all the overflow of the watery ages the spars and the ropes and the hooks and containers and the seaman's' salty tastes for food and drink - that knife slammed flat or thrown hard down into the tabletop wherein it stands and all the people straining to see out far to that watery horizon what sails approach and whose flag of endeavor it will be what journey closes in for AS LARGE AS IT IS IT'S A SMALL WORLD TOO and it's marked by craft and the line as on the maps and charts the conquerors can come or the peacemakers arrive NO ONE EVER KNOWS they just stare out : and on the maps and calendars of all men and maidens it is written - 'Father my Father you have brought forth a northern God to protect us yet it is He who maims us too and He will do no good here for there are not enough vessels to contain Him and 'ere long we must go anyway to other places and His hand cannot protect us from evils and the travails of travel and wander - men with messengers of gold and iron and weapons of fire and tongues of flame and magical weaving and dark smokes of falsehood and and they too shall bow down before that as quickly as you are gone from sight - Golden Calf Lucre Moloch Ogre each as insatiable as you - incendiary sacrifices lambs love maidens men - and your words shall be forgotten and twisted and even less heard and it shall be as if you had never lived nor been nor appeared here except as stories and lore NEVER LIVED and NEVER BROUGHT HIM HERE!!' and so they built three churches on the hills around as the landed people traveled wherever they went there would be a place for them to enter and think of the God or at least consider His ways as they passed on their Earthly missions and these ghostly places still stand broken bereft and forlorn and emptied of all pitiable screams and smokes and grown now dense and covered with weeds magical towers and flagrant tears in the fabric of daily life : the vast subconscious underground of our visited world : the gravelly stations and the holes they once covered for on THIS Earth the light is as darkness and the shadows are dense and the winged butterfly alighting stays not long or withers in the heat of fire and windward yonder blows sea breezes where STILL men stare out and pine to go as each and every seeks to leave but cannot move (mortal fabric heavy coil tarnished effect of man's first toil) and those who stay remain unhappy in their lot but steady they try and THUS THIS is our land today : for even as we may conquer the stars (as some will say) even as we have conquered the Moon we stumble over space.