Questions, I've got some questions
I want to know you
But what if I could ask you only one thing
Only this one time, what would you tell me?
Questions, of course I have questions. I want to know you. I want to know you so both of us can know ourselves. But, what if there is no time--what if I only have one chance? What if there is only one chance to ask you--about you? How would I know you? How would I know what to ask? I guess what I am asking (and this is already a question, so maybe it is already too late) how would I know how to know you?
Well maybe you could give me a suggestion
So I could know you, what would you tell me?
Maybe you could tell me what to ask you
Because then I'd know you, what would you tell me
Please tell me that there's time
To make this work for all intents and purposes
And what are your intentions, will you try?
Yes, maybe you could help me; maybe you could tell me how to know you. Is that cheating? Does that disqualify me? Does that mean the game is over before it has started?
Is it true? If you told me, would I know you? It seems like if I didn't already know what to ask, then you telling me wouldn't necessarily mean I would know you. It wouldn't mean I knew how to know you, either. Despite not knowing what question to ask, I already know the answer I want--the answer I want from any question: tell me there is time. Tell me there is time. For what? For knowing. Tell me there is time for knowing. Please.
Impressions, you've made impressions
They're going nowhere
They're just going to wait here if you let them
Please don't let them
I want to know you
And if they're going to haunt me
Please collect them
Please just collect them
Yes, you have made impressions. That's why I am asking in the first place; that is why--despite not knowing what to ask--I want time to figure it out. But, if there is not time for knowing maybe you should take those impressions back. Except, it is too late for that, isn't it? There is no collecting and there is no time. There are questions, hauntings, and . . .
And now I'm begging
I'm begging you to ask me just one question
One simple question
Because then you'd know me
I'll tell you that there's time
To make this work for all intents and purposes
At least for my own
Begging. Begging you for a question. Now I am begging you for a question and for an answer. It seems I am rather helpless. But, I do have an answer--at least one. There is time. Is there? Well, there is time to make it work--to make it work for my purposes, if not yours; if not ours.
What is a heart worth if it's just left all alone?
Leave it long enough and watch it turn into stone
Why must we always be untrue?
A heart left alone is akin to stone? Maybe. But, it isn't the fault of the questions. No, it is the fault of the heart. The questions come from a faulty heart--one that needs an answer in order to know.
You see--as the myth tells us--a heart doesn't need questions, and it certainly doesn't need answers. No, these have nothing to do with it.
It isn't a matter of questions or of answers.
It is a matter of just knowing.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes
Clear your heart...
Cut the cord
The call comes--just like the Call (Paul's or Augustine's or that of St. Francis)--unexpectedly. It comes after what seems an eternity of listening, a battle to stop listening, and an irrational willingness to continue to hear, among the crackling of fragmented voices, a call to . . .
A call to surrender. A call to be swept away. A call to step up on a platform that requires you to step down--to close your eyes and clear your heart--in order to let go. Why is it that the call always says the same thing? "Leave yourself and follow me"--Okay Jesus, okay Gandhi, okay love.
We all get nervous. Sometimes I get nervous. In fact, every time--not that there have been too many times--I get nervous. I like hearing the call. I like the fact that somehow I have the capacity to be called. But, the surrender--the stepping up to step down--that part makes me nervous, that part makes me want to close my eyes and stay still.
Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well..
You've gotta let me go
This saying goodbye--giving my regards in preparation of my and/or their absence--does it signify surpassing or overcoming? Am I leaving them behind as a matter of ascent to another level or overcoming their puniness in favor of something excessive--something transcendent?
You got to let me go--let go of the categories--the projections--the types--the planning--the figuring--the imagining--all of it. "Come follow me"--that is what the call says--that it is what it requires.
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
Answering this call--where does it lead? It leads to a question--are we human or dancer? Answering this call--letting myself be swept away--letting surrender constitute my existence--does it lead to being the human I am supposed to be--want to be--try to be--or to something different--to a dancer?
On the one hand, many--religious and not--would say that answering the call is the highest function of being human. Answering the call of love (or Love), is for many the very definition of being human. After all, how else could one be human without being constituted by a call--a transcendent source of their definition?
On the other, certain daring minds cringe at the idea. To them, the call is not a matter of fulfilling categories to be human, but of overcoming the human by dancing--by being swept up into a sea of singularities that plays endlessly, moves voraciously, and sings in rough, tumbling, unforgiving waves of inhuman tones, symphonies, and even silence. To them, dancing upon the surface motion--reveling in the incongruity of it all--is what it is all about.
Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight?
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know is your heart still beating
Does the latter mean dying? Does it mean leaving home for another? Does answering the call mean being swept away altogether?
I don't know.
I already said it makes me nervous and most times I don't answer.
But, I want to think--want to hope--that answering the call is a matter of being human by dancing.
I want to think that by being human I can get to the place where I want to dance--want to revel--yes, want to surrender on a platform in front of an audience--and be taken where the call will take me.
The trick--the concern--the idea--is to realize the call will come numerous times, in numerous places.
Yes, that's right: It is not a call from the One, but of one calling--asking--you to dance. It is a matter not of one in a lifetime, but of a life human enough to fulfill itself by dancing; a life human enough to be itself through surrender.
I get nervous.
I close my eyes.
I try.
One day the call will sweep me into an ocean of revelry. Until then, I'll wait--I'll try--and I'll continue to attempt to be human enough to be called again.
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes
Clear your heart...
Cut the cord
The call comes--just like the Call (Paul's or Augustine's or that of St. Francis)--unexpectedly. It comes after what seems an eternity of listening, a battle to stop listening, and an irrational willingness to continue to hear, among the crackling of fragmented voices, a call to . . .
A call to surrender. A call to be swept away. A call to step up on a platform that requires you to step down--to close your eyes and clear your heart--in order to let go. Why is it that the call always says the same thing? "Leave yourself and follow me"--Okay Jesus, okay Gandhi, okay love.
We all get nervous. Sometimes I get nervous. In fact, every time--not that there have been too many times--I get nervous. I like hearing the call. I like the fact that somehow I have the capacity to be called. But, the surrender--the stepping up to step down--that part makes me nervous, that part makes me want to close my eyes and stay still.
Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well..
You've gotta let me go
This saying goodbye--giving my regards in preparation of my and/or their absence--does it signify surpassing or overcoming? Am I leaving them behind as a matter of ascent to another level or overcoming their puniness in favor of something excessive--something transcendent?
You got to let me go--let go of the categories--the projections--the types--the planning--the figuring--the imagining--all of it. "Come follow me"--that is what the call says--that it is what it requires.
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
Answering this call--where does it lead? It leads to a question--are we human or dancer? Answering this call--letting myself be swept away--letting surrender constitute my existence--does it lead to being the human I am supposed to be--want to be--try to be--or to something different--to a dancer?
On the one hand, many--religious and not--would say that answering the call is the highest function of being human. Answering the call of love (or Love), is for many the very definition of being human. After all, how else could one be human without being constituted by a call--a transcendent source of their definition?
On the other, certain daring minds cringe at the idea. To them, the call is not a matter of fulfilling categories to be human, but of overcoming the human by dancing--by being swept up into a sea of singularities that plays endlessly, moves voraciously, and sings in rough, tumbling, unforgiving waves of inhuman tones, symphonies, and even silence. To them, dancing upon the surface motion--reveling in the incongruity of it all--is what it is all about.
Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight?
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know is your heart still beating
Does the latter mean dying? Does it mean leaving home for another? Does answering the call mean being swept away altogether?
I don't know.
I already said it makes me nervous and most times I don't answer.
But, I want to think--want to hope--that answering the call is a matter of being human by dancing.
I want to think that by being human I can get to the place where I want to dance--want to revel--yes, want to surrender on a platform in front of an audience--and be taken where the call will take me.
The trick--the concern--the idea--is to realize the call will come numerous times, in numerous places.
Yes, that's right: It is not a call from the One, but of one calling--asking--you to dance. It is a matter not of one in a lifetime, but of a life human enough to fulfill itself by dancing; a life human enough to be itself through surrender.
I get nervous.
I close my eyes.
I try.
One day the call will sweep me into an ocean of revelry. Until then, I'll wait--I'll try--and I'll continue to attempt to be human enough to be called again.
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