We are seduced by pattern. We are seduced by the constructs of our own minds. We go to war over the stripes on a flag. We stare at the cracked paint on La Giaconda. Two lines cross at right angles, one short, one long somehow summarize the whole complexity of the Creation. That it is a logo for excruciating torture gets lost in the morass of associations. As a poet, symbols are my metier, my raison d’etre but I know their nature. They fit nicely in the niches of my toolbox. A symbol like the Crucifix has the weight of Uranium. It is too full of meaning. I have experienced spiritual ecstasy. When I am with the Divine there are no symbols. Clear spring water. Empty sky. Thoughtless thoughts. I make my Cross with empty space. I am removing the symbols from the walls of my mind. Ahhhhh.... eggshell white all around.
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