Travel
I found myself at another airport today and wondered why it is that I've never gotten used to them. On the road from Columbia, Missouri to Kansas City, I wondered why the eye will never tire from the beauty of nature, too. And I wondered why it is that the journey to the airport is always so full of ambiguity and irrational remorse. No matter where I am, or where I'm going, I always want to turn back. Why? Perhaps some sense of uncertaintly about the next place is at play.
I think there's some sense of peace to be found in the in-between. The second hand on the clock slows down and the car moves in slow motion, even at 80 miles per hour, when you're in the in-between. Beauty becomes daunting...almost painful to the body and soul. A state of suspension in which beauty and meaning recreate themselves--it's what I call the third space.
The other of the other of the other. Labels lose meaning here, in the margins of the margin. When you lose your shape and worldly exterior, what are you? Where are you? One foot here, one there, one hand in this corner, and the other somewhere else--and still they ask you, "Where are you?"
When you find yourself in the place where all you are taught to believe and all you thought and hoped existed fall apart, you are in the third space. When you begin seeing the threads that hold together the small pieces of fabric that compose the quilt of reality, and when you begin questioning whether you can undo the pieces, one by one, and what that would look like, you are in the third space. Something different is created here--something both beautiful and grotesque.
The third space is where the rational and irrational make friends; where making sense is independent of common sensibility; where apparent enemies learn to make eye-contact. The third space is where beauty molds and shapes itself as it wishes, without regard to the observer. It is as unconsciously aware of its power of persuasion as a rose garden in spring: it is as it knows itself to be, and no other way will do.
I think there's some sense of peace to be found in the in-between. The second hand on the clock slows down and the car moves in slow motion, even at 80 miles per hour, when you're in the in-between. Beauty becomes daunting...almost painful to the body and soul. A state of suspension in which beauty and meaning recreate themselves--it's what I call the third space.
The other of the other of the other. Labels lose meaning here, in the margins of the margin. When you lose your shape and worldly exterior, what are you? Where are you? One foot here, one there, one hand in this corner, and the other somewhere else--and still they ask you, "Where are you?"
When you find yourself in the place where all you are taught to believe and all you thought and hoped existed fall apart, you are in the third space. When you begin seeing the threads that hold together the small pieces of fabric that compose the quilt of reality, and when you begin questioning whether you can undo the pieces, one by one, and what that would look like, you are in the third space. Something different is created here--something both beautiful and grotesque.
The third space is where the rational and irrational make friends; where making sense is independent of common sensibility; where apparent enemies learn to make eye-contact. The third space is where beauty molds and shapes itself as it wishes, without regard to the observer. It is as unconsciously aware of its power of persuasion as a rose garden in spring: it is as it knows itself to be, and no other way will do.
posted by smokey spice at 3:53 AM
4 Comments:
That was moving ...thank you :)
That was moving ...thank you :)
Highlander
Inspired by our new (or not so new, but newly visible) fabulous Libyan poet. I've been meaning to put some writing up, but remain apprehensive. I'm also waiting for the response about whether we can feature her blog yet ;). God knows, the world's been waiting.
*sigh* that was absolutely beautiful. so eloquently written and perfectly described... :) mashallah.
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