Musical Rambling V: Alice's Nomads

She has been for so long my absolute standard of style. It was nice spotting her on YouTube, after many nomadic years along the tracks of the world.

Who? Carla Bissi, aka Alice Visconti, at the very height of her career.

I shall find the inscrutable dimension at the end of the road, wondrous Alice, and before passing over to the other side, a last fleeting thought will be for you.

Yours

PolyMathicus

Nomadi

Nomadi che cercano gli angoli della tranquillità
nelle nebbie del nord e nei tumulti delle civiltà,
tra i chiariscuri e la monotonia dei giorni che passano.

Camminatore che vai cercando la pace al crepuscolo,
la troverai la troverai alla fine della strada.

Lungo il transito dell´apparente dualità,
la pioggia di settembre risveglia i vuoti della mia stanza
ed i lamenti della solitudine si prolungano.

Come uno straniero non sento legami di sentimento
e me ne andrò dalle città nell´attesa del risveglio.

I viandanti vanno in cerca di ospitalità
nei villaggi assolati e nei bassifondi dell´immensità
e si addormentano sopra i guanciali della terra.

Forestiero che cerchi la dimensione insondabile,
la troverai, fuori città,alla fine della strada.

Poetry Readings II: A Pound of Gold

It was in my college years in Pisa. It was perhaps springtime. It was a gorgeous morning.

I grabbed a copy of the Pisan Cantos, and walked along the Lungarno Pacinotti, trying to fathom the arcane abundance of cross-references, of ostentatious unmitigated erudition, of sparkles of divine beauties disseminated throughout this maddest of poems.

Then, as if struck by lightning, I stopped.

Those magic lines from the Canto LXXXI, the lines that redeem forever the sick life of Ezra Loomis Pound, il Miglior Fabbro:

What thou lovest well remains,

the rest is dross

What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee

What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage

Whose world, or mine or theirs

or is it of none?

First came the seen, then thus the palpable

Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,

What thou lovest well is thy true heritage

What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee

Hear them, fellow reader, ponder them, one by one, line by line, and never, ever forget them. This is the speck of gold that shined in the darkest of muds

Nisargadatta, between Wisdom and Love

It was long ago. I had copiously indoctrinated R.C., a college friend of mine, with a lot of "hermetic" nonsense. She, on the other hand, just gave me one book: I AM THAT, a collection of talks by Nisargadatta Maharaj. One single book that burned like hell in my hands, a book that I sifted through with an insatiable craving.

The craving for TRUTH.

Let me tell you what I found inside.

One thing I immediately understood was the stature of the man and his teaching: instead of giving you a recipe for eternal life, for power, for becoming a superman, for attaining heaven, for some improbable freedom from suffering, he taught you how to die. I do not mean to commit suicide, of course, but how to die to the endless illusions about life, starting from the biggest one, the very root of illusions:

that we, as individuals, exist.

Well, many years have passed, and in the last few days I found myself having great conversations with a new friend & fellow seeker, mostly based on this incredible book.

I have just picked one quote, to which I am particularly attached. My wish to you all, friend and seekers, is that you too will be able to flow between the two great voices of Love and Wisdom.
Because Life is that flow.

My Very Best Wishes To You All.





I find that somehow, by shifting the focus of attention, I become the very thing I look at, and experience the kind of consciousness it has; I become the inner witness of the thing. I call this capacity of entering other focal points of consciousness, love; you may give it any name you like.





Love says "I am everything".

Wisdom says "I am nothing".

Between the two, my life flows.