Drifting in the afternoon

Last night I found myself sleeping rather badly.  Well the sleeping itself wasn't actually that bad, it was the getting off to sleep that was somewhat more arduous a task to achieve.  I lay there, reasonably comfortably, on my own, and although I felt rather sheepish and tired, I could not get to sleep.  I tried reading but I coudn't focus.  I tried to watch clips on Youtube and similar, that didn't work.  I tried to meditate, but my mind felt too alert to calm down.  In the end I fell asleep at arount 2am and slept until around 8am or so.  Even if I don't have anything planned or a specific objective for the day, I don't like having "lies-in" regardless of the weather, it just feels like a day has gone by and I have let myself down by not having achieved anything.  Today I have been rather insular, keeping myself to myself, without a desire for interaction nor human contact.  I ignored the phone when it rang and resisted the urge go into town with Neville for lunch at Prêt à Manger (consisting of crab meat and rocket sandwiches, and fresh soup) as is my norm on Saturdays, followed by trolling around the department stores, specifically menswear for him to look at clothes (Ralph Lauren and Belstaff in particular), and then, maybe, to slip in the odd bookshop along the way.  I was worried I would be either cranky or I woudn't want to say much, and that this would result in my subsequent condemnation, regardless of my course of action.  Damned if I do, damned if I don't, damned whatever happens.

So this afternoon has been spent largely reading interjected with a few short term naps in between.  Unusually for me, I decided against listening to music whilst reading, preferring to try and focus upon the words and let my mind attune to them rather than drifting to and from the music to the words on the page.  The weather has been mostly pleasant, I can see, from looking out the window. The sky has been mostly blue with patches of cloud from time to yet it has felt nippy, rather than fresh, outside.  So this afternoon, for the most part I have been warm, my toes have felt like blocks of ice.  To satisfy the occasional pangs of hunger I have been nibbling on IFA (Ivar F. Andresson) salt liquorice, one of the last remaining packs, which dear Heidi sent over from Finland, although IFA strictly speaking is from Norway.  Despite not having been back to Denmark in many years now, I still miss the taste of Danish food. Every now and then I seek to replicate it as best I can, simply because I do enjoy the taste of Scandivanian food.  I have a book of Scandinavian recipes that needs diving into and some culinary treats to be prepared from those delicious looking dishes on its pages.  Every Christmas when I have gone home to my parents in the Gironde (there are times when I so wish they were closer), we have had cold rice pudding and cherry sauce.  One of the sensations (in this case, taste) I always associate with Christmas, I used to eat bucket loads of the stuff.  Mostly because I genuinely do love the taste, not just the hope of winning the marzipan pig (or other such novelty) - as I am far from competitive in nature.  The last Christmas I was at my parents I admittedly found it in two mouthfuls, but still ate plenty more after.  Hence the ensuing podginess and the diet of carrots, celery, rice cakes and water for eight weeks after.

IFA salt lakris, Norwegian salt liquorice.

Other Danish/Scandinavian delights include Gajol, asier, ymer, gammel ost, sødmælk, pebernødder, and pickled herrings on rye bread.  Also Danish pølser made by Tulip with lots of onions, sweet ketchup and mustard.  Strangely enough the last time I had pølser was about four years ago, when I saw a genuine pølservogn in London's Soho of all places (!!).  I had to have two just for old time's sake.   There is also an abundance of potatoes served with most every meal, but I have never, generally been the greatest fan of boiled potatoes, skinned boiled potatoes but new ones with butter and dill, that's something else.

Therefore, being on my own this afternoon I started to read Man and his Symbols (ed. Carl Jung), a book which I have refered to upon occasion but have not actually read to from cover to cover, so now I felt the time was right.  The idea of signs, symbols, semiotics, and allegory continues to inspire and increase in interest within me, so I felt that this was an appropriate place to understand, from a Jungian perspective, interpretations of symbols, etc.  However, owing to the desire to shut off at times, rather than boredom at the subject matter I was reading (anything but, as I have respect for Jung and his theories), I felt my eyes grow heavy and the need to drift off to sleep for a while.  I was conscious of doing so, in order that I wouldn't spend the afternoon in slumber I set my alarm to wake me up after 20 minutes.  Ultimately I drifted off for 18 minutes before my body clock woke me up and I went back to reading.

Man and His Symbols (ed. Carl Jung)

My dream:-  To start with I was walking up a long staircase.  Not a typical staircase but a winding one, all white, probably painted wood as it had an articial sheen to it so it wasn't marble.  It also was a spiral staircase that snaked upwards towards the heavens.  There was no banister to hold on to for support yet I felt comfortable and confident enough to mount it.  Some distance below me was a wide open countryside, suggesting I had already been walking up this stairwell for a considerable time.  No walls were thtoere  enclose me in.  I was watching myself ascend this staircase from a distance, almost a third person perspective, even though I was aware it was me that I was watching.  This allowed me to progress further upward, as quite probably had I been walking in the footsteps of myself as the walker - then my fears and hesitation would with taken over, and my agoraphobia/vertigo would have induced me to stop and not allowed me to carry on.

As I climbed further I reached some of the clouds which the staircase passed through.  I could see clearly the greenery of the countryside, mostly fields, uninterupted by houses and other buildings of human construct.  As I stood on the cloud, I seemed to have reached a plateau.  As I stood still the sky, a cerulean blue seemed to somehow draw in  closer to me, or else the cloud and the stairwell were moving closer towards the sky.  The sky had a cross dividing it in a similar manner to that of the Dannebrog is described by Christiern Petersen and by Saxo Grammaticus.  The sky then enveloped me.

Suddenly, I became aware that I was standing in front of a large white church or cathedral.  It was Gothic in design yet, once again, a brilliant white.  Although it had the feel of being mediaeval it equally had the feel of a church I remember driving past in San Diego just under ten years ago, in August, when Mike and I were driving across California over 6-8 days, from Los Angeles (where, two days into the trip I learned at 6am in the Red Roof Inn, Van Nuys that my father had been diagnosed with cancer), to San Francisco (a long long drive along the 5 highway) where we spent a weekend with the late, splendid David Hess and his family, and finally down to San Diego (to meet and record an interview with dear Beatrice).  Over those days, we covered a huge amount of mileage and interviewed six leads (not forgetting Carlo Rambaldi as part of the prep work for the documentary on Lizard in a Woman's Skin) for four DVDs in that time.  Our interviewees included two porno actors, one of them being the infamous Jeff Stryker(!)  When we asked the offices in New York to wire the monies owed to us, we were initially told that we were asking "too much" (two months pay for two months work!) and it was considered that we hadn't done much in that time.  The month before we had been in Paris and Rome. No pay for that month.   So when I left for the United States in mind August, despite promises of payment, I had less than $10 left on my overdraft and nearly missed the flight to Boston thanks to London Underground being completely screwed up.  So when we were finally paid (five days after arriving in the US), John suggested we were asking for a lot of money when in fact we were simply asking for money owing to us.  Words escaped me then, they still do!

Back to San Diego, though Mike and I never went into the church proper and only saw it from a considerable distance away and the just the one time, that is, driving into San Diego, somehow, I still remember it quite vividly.  In addition and in fact, despite the visit to California being emotionally rather fraught to say the very least, I still find myself able to remember a great deal of the time I spent there, and a lot of it was truly positive, not least owing to the people I met and befriended in those few days.

The "Temple" in San Diego.

Back to my dream.  The church externally had a similar aspect and appearance to it the one illustrated above.  Inside, it was like a typical Medieval Gothic cathedral in stark contrast to the glaring white, modern looking exterior.  The interior looked more like Wells Cathedral.  Initially when I stood outside the doors, I heard murmering from inside.  Upon entering the church itself I realised my thoughts and speech were in Latin. (N.B. Other than weddings and christenings, I have not attended a church service in over twenty years!!).  Suddenly, the booming sound of an organ filled my ears as well as the room as the priest entered.  The service and the hymn sung as the priest entered was extraordinary.  If one stood to the left hand side of the pews (which ran down the centre of the church so the priest had to walk down the congregation on the right hand side) the words were sung in English, and on the right hand side, the words were sung in Latin.  Where I was standing, in the middle, the first part of the hymn was sung in English, followed by the same verse yet repeated in Latin.  The words of devotion had a mediaeval feel and sentiment behind them, extolling devotion, yet were bright, jaunty, more like troubador songs rather than pious and solemn.  There was no smell of incense, and the overwhelming senses I felt were those of sight and sound.  The church itself, although the walls were elaborate, were not gaudily decorated.  The priest was dressed in late sixteenth century robes.  The congregation were dressed in a mix of fashion eras, some in modern dress and some in mediaeval garb.  I recognised some of the faces but now I cannot remember who they were.  I cannot remember how I was dressed, yet I remember my hair being down to several inches below my shoulders, loose, slightly wavy and curly and lightened from having been in the sunshine.  Some people in the congregation were appearing to be making notes as the hymn was sung.  One of the individuals dressed in modern, smart clothing immediately in front of me turned to ask, in Latin, if he could borrow a pen as only fountain pens were allowed - biros had been banned lest they damaged the books.  The verger walking along the aisle glared and told us to be quiet, the priest then mounted the steps towards the altar. Bells rang out, followed by silence in the hall.  Then I woke up... 

Wells Cathedral.

Reflective Oblivion

There are many spirits, both light and dark.  We should, therefore, be prepared to accept the view that spirit is not absolute, but something relative that needs completing and perfecting through life.

This morning, my Swedish friend (yes, I can have Danish blood and put aside the old prejudices and have Swedish friends), Fred, asked for expressions for a dull, ordinary person.  I came up with the adjectives "dull" "banal" "drab" "bland".  For a fleeting moment of low self worth I thought to myself of myself, because, well, that's how I have been known to see myself.  This temporary low opinion was perhaps bolstered by the truly miserable weather at the moment, no rain, no sun - just a dull, bleak grey sky, devoid of colour, expression, or emotion.  Ideal breeding ground for my SAD in other words.  That aside, this thought was only momentary and brief because, no matter how badly I feel about myself, I don't think I could ever be accused of being "dull" "banal" "drab" "bland" nor "ordinary", and if I am, well it's by people who don't, won't, or will refuse to understand me.


In turn, this led me to thinking of a conversation I was having last night with Heidi, my Finnish friend. Contrary to popular belief not all my friends are Scandinavian; this is not an instance of "birds of a feather flock together" - well certainly not consciously.  I thoroughly enjoy my lengthy conversations with her; English is not her first language, and all too often she worries that her English is "clumsy" (her words).  Yet I really enjoy it when we catch up; it's never a case of "How you are?" "I'm quite fine, and you?", etc...  Our conversations can be silly, fun, yet at the same time can turn out to be serious and profound.  Heidi has gone through a lot in her life so far, but she doesn't seem to have lost her joie de vivre -  despite adversity trying it's damnedest at times to do so.  I find our conversations to be beautiful and honest; they transcend the occasional misspelling, banality, or wrong tense being used.  Her English is spoken from the heart, not from Fowler's Modern English (and it's eons ahead of my Finnish!!)  We were talking last night about sides to people's personalities and I was saying how all people in my life seem to see different sides to me and my being.  She promptly threw the names of various friends and acquaintances at me of  people which I or we have talked about, and asked which and what side(s) they saw of me, and I told her what I believed them to see. 

Recently I was told that part of my "charm" is the fact that I am direct with people, and try not to paint a picture of me as being something that I am not.  I guess some people are disconcerted by this idea; the norm being to paint a wonderful enlightened well rounded individual upon first meeting, and as time progresses the cracks and flaws to start to show through; but always in the hope that the person will like you just the same despite these flaws.  And that this is one's humanity starting to shine through.  Apparently I don't do that.  I let people see most of my being and who I am from the outset.  Admittedly I probably tailor myself to fit in to an extent with the person I am interacting with so as to find common ground and share interests, enthusiasm, knowledge, or whatever.  But I am still myself...  Hopefully I no longer feel the need to wear masks or pretend to be something I am not, I just am.


Talking to Neville about a month ago he said to me at one point that he didn't feel he knew me anymore.  Neville has known me for many years through good times and bad times.  I am the first to admit I have changed from the person whom he first met.  When he first met me I was sheltered, skinny (29 inch waist), shy, stressed, nervous and extremely introverted with little sense of self confidence.  I also had other traits I am even less proud of but I feel that enough of a a picture has been painted of me as the insecure 21 year old that I was.  I have expanded my knowledge, I am not as innocent and naive as I once was, and my waist has gone up and down.  I have changed, I don't feel the need to hide, to pretend, to not be any more.  Yes, I am more set in my ways, although I still am continuing to expand my mind, knowledge, interests, passions.  I try not to make the same mistakes I once did, yet I no longer admonish myself to the extent that I once did for making those fatal errors of judgment.  To quote Jung:-  Error is just as important a condition of life's progress as truth. 


Look in the mirror and you will see just the one reflection (in my case it is admittedly one that has changed in various ways over the years), but I feel that my soul, mind and being have altered.  That said, some of the fundamental traits are still there.  I may well be set in my ways but I do enjoy to expand my repertoire of knowledge and to further grow intellectually and spiritually.  Well, actually, that isn't entirely true, there are days when I wish I had a more simplistic outlook on life, as I feel jealous at times of those who don't feel the need to grow and can just settle for "simple pleasures" or see their lives/interests in black and white.  I am not talking of the minimalist existence as portrayed in Bertold Brecht's "How Fortunate the Man with None" (later sung by Brendan Perry of The Dead Can Dance).  To quote the opening stanzas:-


You saw sagacious Solomon
You know what came of him,
To him complexities seemed plain.
He cursed the hour that gave birth to him
And saw that everything was vain.
How great and wise was Solomon.
The world however did not wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's wisdom that had brought him to this state.
How fortunate the man with none.

Upon reading and hearing these words, one cannot help but think and reflect.  The words speak of having none yet the "none" appears to that of gnosis or sophia, i.e. an absence of knowledge, understanding, wisdom.  Though these attributes may appear a curse at times, I feel I should be grateful that I am imbued with such qualities.  Though once again, I suppose if I wasn't aware of such gifts then I would be none the wiser.  With that in mind, I think someone who doesn't possess intelligence and wisdom is somehow aware of the fact, to a greater or lesser extent.  This feeling will either manifest itself in a form of paranoia, where there will be a sense of either others discussing them either front of them or behind their back, or else they will display simple indifference to the fact.  I suppose that is where I am jealous, of those who are indifferent or unaware or the contempt others may have for them, and this acts as self defense to protect themselves against any self-contempt which they might harbour. Again to quote Jung: If one does not understand a person, one tends to regard him as a fool. 


So what does this make me?  It makes me just that - me; and no one else.  Despite being not always understood, or categorized or branded by others, rightly or wrongly, I still will endeavor to retain my identity and individuality.  The lack of self worth has mostly arisen from external forces, and of those, a significant number of which have been beyond my control or of others misconception (despite my bravest attempts to rectify otherwise) of who I am, internally and externally.  I can only hope that some will hope to see beyond and discover more than so many have ignored, forgotten, disregarded or simply not appreciated.


Maybe too much thinking is a dangerous thing.  I will close with the words of Dylan Thomas.

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

Of Narcissus and Calidore

It's difficult to determine how I am feeling this weekend.  I am feeling insular, withdrawn and yet at same time detached from myself and everything else around me.  Yesterday morning, the weather took a turn for the worse and the absence of sunshine allowed my SAD to kick in and my mood to plummet somewhat, making my self worth and belief, which, on certain levels has fluctuated considerably over the last few weeks between one extreme and the other, drop once again.  And other than this absence of warmth, sunshine (awakening the inner Akhenaten in me perhaps and that need for the solar disc) it has made me painfully aware of my other "failings" (although that is rather a strong word) in other departments in my being.

Yet, as I say, I felt and still feel oddly removed from myself, so this isn't narcissism nor self pity nor an egocentric state of mind I find myself in.  Jung suggested that this concept was not that of narcissism and was one of individuation, however, that this state of mind was more evident as one approached old age than in one's youth or middle age (a bench I feel I uncomfortably fall between at this time of life); and that indivuation is contrary to that narcissism.  So am I being narcissist? Or individuist? Consciously or subconsciously?  Jung suggests that narcissism is doomed to fail, despite it being a defence mechanism against aging and death, however that ultimately a higher goal, an inner quest to discover a/the meaning (perhaps the elusive spark of gnosis if you will) in one's lifetime is beyond such things.  These narcissistic needs, be they gratification, validation or otherwise are mere illusions and the striving towards self-knowledge is the way out of the shackles of "the petty, oversensitive world of the ego."

The doomed Narcissus, by Caravaggio

At the moment I suppose I am wishing to flee from, for the most part of an existence I am currently entertaining.  It lacks any sort of enlightenment in any shape or form outside of music and books, if I cannot find in terms of (physical) rays of sunshine (which lifts my emotional self worth out of doldrums), I somehow need to find it on an intellectual level.  This intellectual enlightenment has been sorely lacking in my being for sometime now, yet it has allowed itself to be re-ignited for short periods of time.  For the most part, and as observed by some of those around me, that for the most part, when I discuss subjects that interest me, too much of the time it tends to be on the level of an educator (me) and student rather than enjoying an enjoyable two way conversation.  Either that or we are just talking at each other, no traffic in either direction.  Extremely rarely is it intellectual two way traffic.  The reality was first awakened in late 2010 when I enjoyed an all too brief conversation with Dr. Alan Palmer on the subject of (cognitive) narratology.  Regrettably, our conversation was curtailed before it was allowed to truly develop, yet for me, it was only when Dr. Palmer bestowed me with the compliment demonstrating that I clearly understood the concepts of the theories of narratology, and that I "was clearly a narratologist at heart" based upon our relatively brief talk.  This validation elevated my spirits and self worth to a higher level than it had been for some considerable time in my lifespan, prior to our meeting and conversation.

Admittedly I am subscribed to the social networking phenomenon that is Facebook.  I have been for five years.  For the most part, and this still remains true, I subscribed to it for the purpose of sharing photos with those close to me.  It developed into an oppurtunity to catch up with friends and acquintances, being at long last, in certain instances to put a face to the name of various other writers (well, the ones I resepcted) I had corresponded with in my "filmic" years working on DVD extras as "supplement producer."  It also has allowed me to remain in contact with various individuals I contacted, befriended over those years.  Some of these actors, directors, etc appear to have used (and why not?) this as a forum to promote themselves and their work, rather than for friends, family, etc.

However, I retain my original reasoning behind joining, rather than to build up a "network" of contacts, etc.  Upon my first joining the site, and after the novelty of the silly games, apps, etc wore off - I would receive a significant number of friend requests from "movie fans" who recalled my work in the creation of DVD extras.  Yet my sense and need for validation and gratification, despite my (even moreso then) fragile ego, still did and does not accept these individuals into my world for the most part.  I simply don't want invasion into my private world, nor do I want people who will never say anything or just want to discuss film and nothing else.  I did accept a few at first, I confess, and after a few months of non-communication on either part, generally "unfriended" them.  That said, I corresponded with a few, all thoroughly pleasant, genuine fellows (Amicus F, Daniel G, Lionel G, and Laurent K), and this acquintanceship has developed to varying levels. Though I did lay down a ground rule that I didn't want to discuss just cinema and nothing else.  I have met with and exchanged messages/emails  with Amicus, and I have spoken at length on the phone with Mssrs. G and G), though I have yet to cross paths with Laurent. 

I still do get "friend requests" from time to time from these various film fans, but I must confess I do not need, seek, nor wish for their validation.  I need to be valued for me, not a past shadow of myself in what appears like a previous life.  Also, and to be honest, I feel that if anyone is likely to be disappointed in the resulting "friendship", it is those others, for I simply do not have much interest in discussing movies, the people I interviewed (other than as people) nor my past in DVD extras.  It took me five years to re-open and talk about this area of my life again.  Plus I simply do not fit into the world of gore loving, body-piercing, tattoos, black t-shirts, heavy metal listening types; I never did.  To each their own, but my world does not revolve around cinema, nor did it, certainly not to the extent that it (still) does to so many of these fans.  I don't live surrounded by props from movies nor do I have a film posters on my walls.  I find the topic of discussing just [horror] movies, (especially zombie films) dull. This was always the case, yet it could act as an escape from having to talk about myself.  However, I feel that chapter has closed (for the most part) in my being, and, other than occasional conversations with my dear friend Adam, I either have no wish to reopen it.  I retain friendships with the film people I met simply because I liked them as people, the "awe" that they worked in movies has long since gone I fear and I cherish them more for who they are.

To be true, the only friends I feel comfortable discussing these films with are Mark V (whom I have known for nearly two decades) and we rarely talk movies,  Adam F (his enthusiasm echoes that of Mark when our paths first crossed, and though it's not entirely infectious, it's pleasurable, amusing, as much as entertaining, and when that is exhausted he can discuss other things outside of movies. Yay!), and Amicus (who for some reason, best known to him, has a great deal of respect for me owing to the various people I met, interviewed and in certain cases, know or knew).  Also with Adam and Amicus, they have other planets orbiting their suns, and are happy to open up and talk about them.  Were it just movies, movies, movies, well, I think our friendship would have just fizzled out.

Yet supposedly in life, inspiration comes from many sources.  It is difficult to pin these down for me however I understand appreciate them when I encounter them.  Having toyed with the concepts and ideas of Theosophy (the infamous school of Mme. Blavatsky) and read Ouspensky's work In Search of the Miraculous (thanks Margaret) in my past, I must say that although both contained interesting concepts and ideas, I wasn't inspired to join either school of thought in any form.  My initial reaction against the latter was mostly due to Margaret's attempts at times to "convert" my way of thinking and to join her in her "Fourth Way" school of teaching and to visit her in California as a "student".  This very idea sent alarms ringing for the simple fact that clearly Margaret was still on her quest of personal development and towards achieving the miraculous, yet hadn't appeared to achive it in that time having undergone numerous tests on both body and soul, yet seems removed, to an extent, from the process.  Added to the simple fact, I do not like any attempt to goad or convert me in terms of religion or ideology, I simply shut down when that happens.  I prefer to make decisions that appeal to my being and soul, not in any way from another's coaxing and encouragement.

G.I. Gurdjieff, teacher of "The Work".

Add to this that I felt there was a degree of being controlled by others upon initiation into these "schools of thought".  There are obvious echoes of Theosophy in the teachings of Gurdjieff (or "G" as Ouspensky refers to him throughout ).  Furthermore the beliefs of the acolytes of Ospensky's "G" and his Fourth Way, have formed a belief system that reveres a higher being in the form of Gurdjieff.  Also the needto develop a soul via, albeit through personal development, a hodge-podge of religious ideology under one aegis, incorperating everything from Sufism to Christianity; and incorperating the three paths of the fakir, the monk and the yogi into a Fourth Way., Through such learning, in an abstract way without specific guidance, would lead to the eventual development of a soul within, but only through a series of "struggles" rather than apparent enlightenment. Furthermore, despite it's cofused theology being based upon some of the concepts in earlier faiths, it all seemed terribly contrived, manufactured, and for want of a better word, all too "modern". 

Much wondred Calidore at this straunge sight,
Whose like before his eye had never seene,
And standing long astonished in spright,
And rapt in pleasaunce, wist not to weene;

Calidore, upon hearing music from Mount Acilade (a hill sacred to Venus) decides to climb it to be greeted by the vision of a "troupe of Ladies dauncing".   Upon his arrival, Calidore's enthusiasm and/or curioisty disrupts the maidens' dance, perhaps in a mirroring of Orpheus leading Eurydice from the Underworld,  enchanted her soul and all around with his music until her footsteps appear to fade, becoming inaudiable, that the inevitable plays out:

As soon as he appeared to their vew,  
they vanished all away out of his sight.

The maidens are not perturbed by the presence of nor caused to flee by Colin Clout, a shepherd, singing and playing his bagpipes, but are by the presence of Calidore, diverted and distracted from his quest to vanquish the Blatant Beast.  Somehow, in my life, I feel such affinity with the Knight of Courtesy, and though I don't believe that have an obvious beast to vanquish (other than within myself), my sentiment is that if I get in "too deep" or seek to discover something enchanting in front of me, it simply vanishes from view.  Or as in my Orphean analogy, that when there is something wonderful there, before me or behind me, but nonetheless in my aura and immediate surroundings; I cease to believe in it or my own abilities to entice so much so that I turn around to be sure, and after a moment's glimpse of  my elusive "grail", it's gone, and taken from me. Possibly forever...

The forward Youth that would appear,
Must now forsake his Muses dear,
Nor in the Shadows sing
His Numbers languishing;
Tis time to leave the Books in dust,
And oyl th'Unused armours rust:

The opening words above, though possibly taken out of context, are taken from Andrew (he of His Coy Mistress) Marvell's An Horatian Ode.  The poem itself contains paradoxical themes and ideals, celebrating the return of Cromwell from Ireland, yet mourning the regicide incurred upon Charles I.  Again paradox and conflicting ideas prevail.  However, it's the opening words I recognise.  Despite being in my late 30's I still feel some of the spirit of youth within my soul, and apparantly retain some of my youthful looks, according to some of those around me, aside from my furrowed forehead which seems to have always been there, even when I did have youth on my side.  But the words reflect ideas that reverberate through my conscious; is it time to forsake my "muses", and "to leave books in dust"?  I do hope not.  Perhaps I am perhaps all too hasty in my acknowledgment that, as time goes by, that my "numbers" (ie years) are languishing.  Internally, I feel I am deteriorating, that I am not valued at my fullest either by myself nor by the majority of those around me, as so few allow me to demonstrate my worth. Intellectually, profesionally, emotionally.  In part, this is admittedly my own doing, not least, owing to some of the company that I keep, but to the inability to find nor nor move in likeminded circles.  These people largely elude me, and as soon as I happen upon them, the path I take will lead to the same conclusion as that of Orpheus' Eurydice or Calidore's maidens.

The sun is out, I need to drag myself into the fresh air, more later...