Conversation

 A CONVERSATION

"Did we both speak the truth- or one of us did- or neither?..."

The law of probability. If the law covers all probabilities, we just keep waiting for Time to speak. the truth.

Yours are always amazingly inspiring insights. It's been (and still it is) a period of doubts and reflections. Concerning the truth of the Being, the beings and of what are simply appearances, I'd rather not to answer here but to post something in the future. Something I've already in mind and concerns the lottery and the universe of all its possible results. 

The priestess wishes that all your speculative concerns may load the dice favorably and Time may be a fair judge. :):):)

What Lord Jim taught me is that while we presume to choose (or escape) our destiny, in the end what belongs to us is inexorably given back to us.. 

Oh, the man of law! :) Then we must say, Time is just. But our human failing, we say, 'Justice delayed is justice denied' Each one abides by their own conception of justice and law. That is why the necessity for a uniform code of justice.

And that is why also the need for Conrad and Lord Jim who view it from the inexorable laws of destiny.

And also the need for philosophy, art and poetry which help us retain equanimity.

Men of God and men of law have strange affinities. Maybe it's a matter of the equanimity indeed. The equanimity we seek every day, walking down the way to dusty death.

Rules, order, proportions... the stuff for both law and art.

Something destined to be put down by Time itself.

Chronos, the great Junk Dealer, the leveler who has deceived us, concealing the fact that our ultimate destination is unspeakable and calamitous beyond reckoning.

our ultimate destination is unspeakable and calamitous beyond reckoning.

A strange dream it was;
a strange congregation they were,
a group of people heading for the north
and I among them :
a barefoot, barebreasted mother.
They never stared at my nakedness.
For the rigours of the journey
and the challenges had cleansed them all.

And just as we were nearing the goal
and bracing ourselves
for the last test of endurance,
I heard,
 you,heading for south, had camped for awhile
on the other side of the road.

Barefoot and barebreasted though I was,
I rushed across.
You were not alone; you were isolated.
They, the barbarians were haranguing you
for your heresies
and pronouncing death as I entered your camp.
But before I could comprehend,
their eyes fell on me :
I standing at their door,
barefoot without a cover on my breasts,
frantic to reach out to you.
It was not a sight that lured them;
it was another proof of your sacrilege.
I saw their meaning as they glowered at me viciously.

I stood stunned, suddenly conscious of my bare breasts and empty hands,
and my alienness above all.
I could neither cross over nor turn back.
At that moment I suddenly knew the meaning of the body as shame;
a body, my body, suddenly sen from an alien eye:
it turned into a mass of unenhanced physicality.

The meeting of our eyes in that moment of trauma
was more than what they could understand
in their reproachful piety.
Before they could reach me in my vulnerability
you moved forward and threw a shawl of yours,
and in a split moment wrapped me around and retreated to their side quietly