andalus: (silence)
[personal profile] andalus
There is a crack
a crack
in everything.
That's how the light gets in.

Date: 2016-11-20 09:04 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I was thinking about this the other day and about a person's relationship with their impossible perfect offering. Sad he had to go but I guess he was ready. Reading those words here I think of Isaac Luria, about whom I know nothing.

Date: 2016-11-21 07:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I always found something frightening in Cohen's version of Luria. Of course nothing in this world allows perfection, and it is the overabundance of perfection poured into imperfect vessels which caused the shattering that we see around us every day. But that suggests perfection is least ideal. But to Cohen (I don't suggest he is original here, but embodying some sort of counterculture ethos from the 60s and 70s) perfection is not ideal but a tendency, a short-sighted tendency, to enclose; even the perfection of such perfection is imperfect. What is one's perfect offering? Is it one's self, wrapped up tight so it can be delivered, whole, to one's divinity? But there is no whole, because whole demands an exterior, and exterior which is all light, whose existence is to sneak inside that which is enclosed. (Light the impossibility of perfection?) Which makes light so close to chaos. And chaos frightens me, in a way that feels like vertigo --- it beckons, begs, one to dive in and explode. We all explode eventually, our job in the brief present seems to not explode. At least until such time as one is 82 and well-prepared, like a Buddhist, one's self's new place in the universe.

Maybe this is why trees frighten me. Look at all those leaves! Could you count them? And counting them, could you contain them? And then the wind, and the seasons, and time? Looking at them to me is shattering, in a delicious squalid rainbow of form... but still it's my job not to shatter. Because there is work to do. The naming of trees, for example. I've never known the name of even one tree. Gingkgo's are sometimes smelly, right? If I've met two in my life I couldn't even tell a story about it.

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