256 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/06 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The woman and i were travelling, moving west thru the northern states in the fall of 2016 listening to the Autobiography ‘Chronicles One’ by Bob Dylan when a man came on the radio telling me directly that My Dylan had won the Noble Prize for Literature….
i wrote this that night in a downtown hotel room off some highway in some Montana cowboy town, disguised as one of the gypsies.
Bob Dylan – Noble Prize for Literature…How does the Gypsy feel about that?
‘the Locusts sang and they were sangin for me’
The last few days i, the Gypsy, scrambled around my nature to find some denial for being lost. I am not lost because i don’t know where it’s at. I am lost because that is what we are and that is where it’s at. I don’t have one spec of truth tangled up inside or some myth hidden up my sleeve to soothe you from you or me. We are all lost whether we want to admit it or not. Anyone can believe they got the answer, got the right perspective on reality, anyone can do that, but we all know all serious endeavours into any discipline whatsoever is a small dot of the true nature of that subject whatever it is and we can feel that, feel it deep in our heart. The truth is, is that thought itself is limited like time and space, as if ‘every distance is not near’ and it is the creator of all the worlds it imagines, all the conclusions, all the beliefs in absolutes, the broken reasons, all the jokes are on us, ‘the Joker said to the Thief’, ‘there must be someway outa here’….and there is a way out, but it’s not here but then again, ’two riders were approaching and the wind began to howl’….well who from hell are those two riders, dualism itself? ‘And they’re breaking down the distance; Between right and wrong’ and ‘sometimes i think there are no words but these to say which are true, but there are no truths outside the gates of eden’.
People say that you can’t live without a belief system, something to believe in, even though you know in your heart it is just a facade to keep you from scaring yourself to suicide, physically or mentally; you feel compelled to feel secure with thoughts wrapped around your skull in complicated systems that prove themselves into truth, but they’re not. So what does one do when you come to the realization that one cannot know anything at all for certain? The tool is flawed, self serving, an illusion full of itself where as all reason stumbles across the heavens on its knees begging for awareness, a law that can never bend, one beyond time, a false ’Time out of Mind’.
Maybe this is freedom, and that the road to freedom is no road at all. I am not playing with words to confuse or avoid the seriousness of the absolute question of all questions. No question can be answered fully, complete, it is as simple as that. Thought itself is not capable of completeness, it is always fragmented, out of the present of the past, memory and we can see that, feel that and we are always that, an entity out of time, all about time, surreal time. Thought itself will always believe in itself, it is perpetual-believing in motion. It is indefinite, shallow, a ‘judge that is badly built and walks on stilts, watch out he don’t fall on you’.
‘But it’s alright Ma, it’s life and life only’. I could go on and on quoting Dylan and write a book on Dylans observations of the world, but ‘I’d forever talk to you and soon my words they would turn into a meaningless ring, for deep in my heart, love, i know there is no help i can bring……’and
‘In a soldier’s stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I’d become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My existence led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now’.
What is disturbing is that the world is awaking to the fact that this world is doomed. The validity of thought with all of our absolute beliefs are doomed, coming to an end, ‘God is Dead’. ‘It’s easy to see without looking too far that not much is really sacred’. Dylan addresses many issues, and at the end of every line it is still this, ‘we sit here stranded tho we all do our best to deny it’.
“So somehow it has been a sad understanding that the world is catching up to the facts that can only lead us to despair”, so the gypsy says. It is so obvious that we all are wanting desperately to know we got it right, but we constantly get rude awakenings to obscure that safe belief and we’re all alone again facing a death that ends the whole world that thought has put together. “Humpty Dumpty is Down and He ain’t gettin Back Up”, the joker says. The universe will continue without us, without thought, without god, without anything of us, “we are the illusion” so the Joker mumbled.
Bob has encouraged us to attempt to be ‘forever young’, and ‘I was so much older then, i’m younger than that now’, but ‘Life is Hard’ and ‘i used to care but times have changed’ and ‘this place don’t make sense to me no more’ so ‘disconnect the cables over turn the tables’ and ‘ the only thing i know how to do is to keep on keeping on’.
No matter how long you go on believing in where-ever thought has taken you, to, changing it, revising it, time comes to an end, ‘Time out of Mind’, you can hang on to it all right up to the last breath but eventually you’ll just have to let the great-mystery take you out and float into the space unknown, unthought about. Life can take you there in peace, to just melt into the silence without anything. “Freedom from the known”, some other gypsy said from the side, presumed this, and thought of that and who was right there ‘caught in the middle with you’, ‘jokers to the right of me, clowns to the left’.
I am glad i suppose that the world is catching up but it is also sad. Not much has changed, “the world is filled with beauty and grieve”, the Caretaker pursued.….”that is as certain as it gets”, but i don’t let these, ‘abstracts threat to noble to neglect’, i just let the ‘River Flow’ and keep walking.
Anyways, i know in your heart Bob that you don’t give a damn about any degree, prize or fortune, and once again for the Gypsy, for the Joker, for the Thief, the Hooligan, the Caretaker and all the identities, ‘the Locusts sang and they were sangin for me’.
and nobody could ever sing ‘Strike another match, go start anew’ with the menace of Dylan himself. ‘for it’s all over now baby blue’.
Image circa the 80’s, enhanced later, literature written autumn 2017