poetry, prosetry

The Light That Sometimes Increases the Wisdom of Joy

Sometimes I’m alive. Look at the sky. Feel the breeze. Read Dante. Write a poem. Love/lose someone. Have hope/despair. Good morning/night. Enjoy a meal. Ponder existence. Learn a new word. Paint a dream. Hold your breath. Ride a car. Drive the train. Run. Be here. Get somewhere and make it strange. It’ll be hard to take anyone along with you on this, he said. You have no faith in medicine. No, oxygen—the peaks are craggy and daunting and altitude sickness will make fools of the best of us.

Sometimes my mind is a run-down tenement with a sparkle inside where best friend and worst enemy are principia interchangeabilia. It’s not art that’s at stake, it’s identity, slipped in with faux-Latin. It’s not art, it’s identity. I do not so much insist on that as acknowledge it, I swear, though there was a time when insistence was all I had and let’s not go back. The question is now, whether to hide behind or live through. To live through identity, live through creation, or get mixed up in the matter of the mortar for adding more bricks to the wall.

Sometimes seeking specifics, I wonder: how often do you like who you are? Fact is, I like who I am to you, enjoying the pleasure at being a cause. Seeing myself in the reflection from the liquid in my cup one morning as slivers of sunrise slipping through the cracked blinds marked my multiform alliterations with what was left of dreams of humble harmless hands around my neck slowly squeezing the life into what I write, I again chose to remain out of focus, glad nothing is still a thing sometimes.


5 thoughts on “The Light That Sometimes Increases the Wisdom of Joy

  1. anie says:

    It´s lovely, Mischa. We are all more or less alive sometimes….your identity is defined by lots of things, but also by your art of course…and to go through life can be a big art aswell, because you have do lots of improvisations and improovements. The most beautiful and most worthfull point is, that we all need to be a cause and our worth is not defined by visual nature or origin. Not even only defined by our acting and performing in life. Our worth is, what we mean to others….

    Liked by 1 person

  2. How beautiful you Said and defined it. Then it’s an opinion and a decision and the way for you is prepared. An artful life is certainly a wonderful way to live but certainly not that easy for different people with their personal circumstances.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: the light that sometimes increases the wisdom of joy – M.

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