WHEN ON THE HORIZON NOTHING IS LEFT

 60 of 100daychallenge

Paul McCartney ended up in my dream last night. We were at some sort of outdoor environmental consciousness and fund raising event. Paul was being lame and mischievous, a bit like his music to some extent. I don't believe I had ever dreamt about a Beatle before, although I did wait for luggage with Ringo Starr once. And I knew I recognized him but couldn't quite place him. 

I should not stay up until 2:00 am, but, you know, you get in the night groove and you just want to sail on to infinity. That gets me up a bit late and then the whole day is somehow off. As frequently mentioned here, Janet is hard to get moving. Thusly, we were late for yoga which always throws me off. 

Teaching yoga was a serious challenge today. Everyone was extra chatty, but Janet was awful. She was insolent, unfocussed, unruly, and rude. She interrupted me at almost every pose. I was hard pressed not to tell her to fuck off, but that didn't seem very teacherly at the moment. She had to bring attention to herself to the point where I had a very hard time concentrating and thinking about what I and everyone else was doing. In this class, I tend to make it up as I go along, trying to respond to the needs of the students, but achieving any kind of mental flow or quiet was impossible. When she got home from dominoes later, I told her if she continues to interrupt me and the class, there will not be any class. I guess that is better than telling her to fuck off in front of her friends.

Not a lot was accomplished, the usual state of things. I did listen to Ulysses as I spent some time on my needlework project. It doesn't look like much if you don't do needlework, but here it is.

Better and less self-destructive for self-soothing. Unfortunately, one can easily take food breaks.

AFTERGLOW

Sunset is always disturbing

whether theatrical or muted,

but still more disturbing

is that last desperate glow

that turns the plain to rust

when on the horizon nothing is left

of the pomp and clamor of the setting sun.

How hard holding on to that light, so tautly drawn and different,

that hallucination which the human fear of the dark

imposes on space

and which ceases at once

the moment we realize its falsity,

the way a dream is broken

the moment the sleeper knows he is dreaming.

—Jorge Luis Borges

(Translated from the Spanish by Norman Thomas de Giovanni) The New Yorker Book of Poems, Viking Press, New York, 1969

Siempre es conmovedor el ocaso

por indigente o charro que sea,

pero más conmovedor todavía

es aquel brillo desesperado y final

que herrumbra la llanura

cuando el sol último se ha hundido.

Nos duele sostener esa luz tirante y distinta,

esa alucinación que impone al espacio

el unánime miedo de la sombra

y que cesa de golpe

cuando notamos su falsía,

como cesan los sueños

cuando sabemos que soñamos.