Walpurgisnacht
Apr. 30th, 2017 09:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoThere's no frolicking around a bonfire tonight, as it's 43 degrees and a cold rain has been falling for 24 hours. Maybe this wouldn't have intimidated my hairy ancestors, but it does me. Instead, we've made a cozy fire in the fireplace (yes, it's chilly enough for that) and we're sitting in front of it listening to Beltane music on my laptop. We've been having another lazy day. The Sparrowhawk needed to rest and nap a bit more, and I was not reluctant to lounge beside him. I have sort of an abstract feeling that I should have been getting things done, but I've enjoyed doing nothing much. I worked on my novel revisions a bit. I have a busy week coming up, so perhaps it's just as well that I rested up.
We finally watched "Arrival," which we missed in the theater. It was very involving, and I couldn't take my eyes off the screen for most of it. It ended faster than I expected, leaving the viewer to put the story together. I liked the feeling of all the parts coming together in my mind. It seemed like a sad movie to me, though. I want the ending of every story to be "and they all lived happily ever after." But it seems that the real ending of every story is "and then they all died, the end." I already know time is a hologram, without assistance from the heptapods. Without them, I can't actually perceive it that way. But if I could, I don't know if it would be a good thing. I might just be too sad to continue on my moment by moment advance through the labyrinth to the completion of the pattern. I can see how a person might find the thought that all of time is coexistent, the beginning in the ending, to be comforting. But I'm not that person. Now I'm thinking of Walter de la Mare, and "Song of the Mad Prince:"
Who said, "Peacock Pie"?
The old King to the sparrow:
Who said, "Crops are ripe"?
Rust to the harrow:
Who said, "Where sleeps she now?
Where rests she now her head,
Bathed in eve's loveliness"? —
That's what I said.
Who said, "Ay, mum's the word"?
Sexton to willow:
Who said, "Green dusk for dreams,
Moss for a pillow"?
Who said, "All Time's delight
Hath she for narrow bed;
Life's troubled bubble broken"? —
That's what I said.
My uncle Gerald died a few days ago, and I was on the phone with my mother, helping her to pick out and order some flowers on the internet, which is quite a chore for her. Last night I dreamed that I went to see my father. People had brought him all kinds of flowers, but he was still sick. I asked my mother, "Do you think he still enjoys the flowers, or does he just not care any more?" But she could not answer me.
This is supposed to be a night of revelry! I should have stuck with the cheery music. Here's something jolly: The 2016 Helston Flora Day Hal-an-Tow.
"To welcome in the summer, to welcome in the May-O
For summer is a-comen in, and winter's gone away-O!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7T1YsrLaok
We finally watched "Arrival," which we missed in the theater. It was very involving, and I couldn't take my eyes off the screen for most of it. It ended faster than I expected, leaving the viewer to put the story together. I liked the feeling of all the parts coming together in my mind. It seemed like a sad movie to me, though. I want the ending of every story to be "and they all lived happily ever after." But it seems that the real ending of every story is "and then they all died, the end." I already know time is a hologram, without assistance from the heptapods. Without them, I can't actually perceive it that way. But if I could, I don't know if it would be a good thing. I might just be too sad to continue on my moment by moment advance through the labyrinth to the completion of the pattern. I can see how a person might find the thought that all of time is coexistent, the beginning in the ending, to be comforting. But I'm not that person. Now I'm thinking of Walter de la Mare, and "Song of the Mad Prince:"
Who said, "Peacock Pie"?
The old King to the sparrow:
Who said, "Crops are ripe"?
Rust to the harrow:
Who said, "Where sleeps she now?
Where rests she now her head,
Bathed in eve's loveliness"? —
That's what I said.
Who said, "Ay, mum's the word"?
Sexton to willow:
Who said, "Green dusk for dreams,
Moss for a pillow"?
Who said, "All Time's delight
Hath she for narrow bed;
Life's troubled bubble broken"? —
That's what I said.
My uncle Gerald died a few days ago, and I was on the phone with my mother, helping her to pick out and order some flowers on the internet, which is quite a chore for her. Last night I dreamed that I went to see my father. People had brought him all kinds of flowers, but he was still sick. I asked my mother, "Do you think he still enjoys the flowers, or does he just not care any more?" But she could not answer me.
This is supposed to be a night of revelry! I should have stuck with the cheery music. Here's something jolly: The 2016 Helston Flora Day Hal-an-Tow.
"To welcome in the summer, to welcome in the May-O
For summer is a-comen in, and winter's gone away-O!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7T1YsrLaok
no subject
Date: 2017-05-02 02:20 am (UTC)