There is a willow.

“There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name  But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes  ;A s one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element: but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death.”

This has to be one of my favourite ever passages, just the sad and dreamy imagery it pulls to mind. Of course the passage deals with death, but almost adds a romantic element, a bitter sweet melancholy that eludes and entices.

Life, death and nature rolled into one, the complete cycle.

Death and darkness my thoughts constant companions of late, there is a beauty in death as well as a darkness.

Little flickers of light in the dark, dancing for a while, in elegance a rare and hidden beauty, then snuffed out, gone as if it never were.

In my isolation I have become lost in thought as the waves of darkness wash a new over me, sometimes I think there are more than one of me, conflicting conversations of the mind, rational and reasonable, insane and crazy, sweet and light, hidden and dark.

Even Satre now rarely bounces light his words lost in the endless darkness.

But its ok, I am exploring now the waves that wash upon my mind, “As one incapable of her own distress” letting reality drift.

If only life was like a book, I could edit and re-write, change characters, scenes, balance the unfair with the just and write a happy ever after.

Is there ever really ever going to be a happy ever after, cracks now form in the very fabric of the reality in which we built this world, over and over we try to paper them up, plug the leak, but still the water seeps, spring a fresh from something now.

Can I really be the only one who see’s what a fucked up messed up place this worlds become?

People they come, they choose to come onto your path and think its ok to fuck your life around and just then walk away with no regard for what they chose to do.

May be I was once one of those people, all I know now is I must remind myself to avoid people.

Some crazy thoughts from the early morning light.



~ by Duma Key on July 26, 2013.

One Response to “There is a willow.”

  1. No Duma, you are not on your own to see the Mess we have made of this world… And yes the battles will rage within as the darkness still tries to keep its hold.. I have had many a two way conversation believe me!..

    The problem is we live in a world of duality.. black white, up down, right wrong, Good Bad,.. Positive and Negative..
    Without the Darkness we would not know the light…

    Awakening up to the world and who we are sends us through many a mind tunnel of discovery.. Sometimes we uncover that which we would much prefer to lay hidden ,, and we feel exposed to emotions we have hidden for so long, covered in the various masks we give them.. As we deal with them in our various ways…

    Our inner selves come into conflict with our Ego.. and we do battle constantly literally having ‘duels’ with ourselves over he basic of decisions.

    I have diced with death and won… And our chapters of our books are always being written..
    We are the ones who choose to give them words.. We do so by creating first our story..
    We have to have a story-line a plot, a middle and and ending in mind..

    Once we have the ending in mind of our journey.. then we imagine the story and write the chapters.. filling it with interest .. But always the focus is on the end result..

    Life is a series of chapters, some calm, some chaotic, some happy and some sad… but all go to making the story of our lives… The ending is up to us.. For we may not be the one who publishes the book, or the one who reads it, but we are the ones who create it into being… And as authors we control our lives by our choices.. The words with which we choose to write..

    I choose to be me…. and I choose to like Me, with all my faults… I choose to love me.. ( though it took many years to do that ) .. I choose LIFE because I know Death is just another door, and I will still have to face ME on the other side of it.. and I don’t happen to want to make those same mistakes a second time and come back to go through the same old same old over again… thank you very much..

    I can not make the world a happier place… or mend the cracks…

    All I can do is mend my own faults and try to be happier within the world… And if each of us did that and looked at our own reflections, and stopped judging others but put right our own wrongs.. Then the world would soon heal…
    I can only hope to throw a pebble or two and make some ripples…

    Keep on Keeping On Duma…. You are doing fine… 🙂

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