'We are reaching into the silence.
Are we the music, whilst the music plays?
Between the un-being and the being,
sounds a hollow rumbling of wings...
Am I here, or there, or elsewhere?'
(With My apologies to T.S. Eliot)
Sunday, 31 October 2010
We shall grow older and our hair turn from darkness to light, yet our same heart is in there beating its melody every second. Beating, beating, bathing our brain that's keeping some of us sane and able to perform intricate tasks. Instructing our limbs, nerves and organs and at the merest hint of a thought from us, our brains can conjure up a picture of a person, a place, a painting. I am thinking of a painting. The Fighting Temeraire, by Turner, a painting I had on my bedroom wall when I was thirteen.There was something in that painting that made me feel calm. Maybe it was the great ghostly ship smoothly emerging from the mist accompanied by the vibrant tugboat in the glory of a golden sunset. Turner referred to this painting as "My Darling" and apparently refused to sell it. I still love it!