a friend said, purgatory, and sent me on a spin
purgatory - now, that is an intractably difficult one...life without love (roots and connections...commitments) is purgatory, and life with love can be hell...but still, 'tis why we need magic, and poetry and the intermittent miracles that somehow, despite all the trials, make our spirits deign to soar and tip our hats to the sun, and we take a saxophone and twist our blues into sonorous, melifluous sculptures that place their echo at the ache in our hearts...Dante, and Shakespeare, and Spinoza, all are warm companions of the nomad..., and, perhaps, not an unwelcome visitor even when he finds a place to hang his hat...
the conundrum of meaning is a purgatorial trap, it is the penance of the philosopher, from which we are desperate for respite, but take heart, dear one, there is a beyond of that and music is the proof...
one of the pleasures that surprise me now and then are the buskers between the northern and victoria line platforms at Euston (via bank), or their counter parts on Le Metro, singing respite from intractable dedication to trying to get it right, whatever it is that one can't quite manage...some of them are an utter delight; a summersault through which one forgets it all...
another partaking in surreptitious joy came at the end of a day at the hamster wheel...taking up the offer from a rerun of the "The Shawshank Redemption"; not least in the moment when 'Andy Dufresne' plays the aria over the loudspeaker...bliss...a film about captivity and freedom, and friendship... somehow, for all the woes, there are antidotes, but they surprise us in their own time, and we surprise them when we consent to seek them.. if i manage to get around to the better things in life, it will be returning to yoga, learning to play an musical instrument...and spending more time in it's tender abandon...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8z_i3NAxbM
