Danny James

Tag: impression

373

Once in a while expose your bones to cold weather, and take with a break-away suddenness, a walk into the Winter morning to exhilarate your torpid nerves before you perpend yourself out of the experience. Let lead for once the thrill of sensation. The speed of touch and affect over bracing. Bracing means a gap of preparations, and I am calling for an instance free of the constructions and mental entanglements we’ve spun to hold on and make it through what’s yet to arrive and may never, and so make it rather difficult to just. Let. Go.
And exist. Right where you are, as you are and not between points or making ground. Connected and attuned. We’re too oft in our heads and not enough in the pulse. We read terrain and trajectory of obstacles like puddles and misremember the lawless joy of our childhoods when kicking Autumn leaves and standing in the grass with no shoes on our feet was as natural as smiling, and we’ve forgotten too; that smiling can in fact precede the feeling it represents.

I went out so this morning near as blank and perfect as when I was born, as the last of the blue-dark sky paled and revealed to me a restlessness in the horizon toward which I went unguarded and presenting the senses bare to the rush of impressions all. You forget, how an Arctic air can quicken the spirits, and silence the mind. You forget.

It helps if there is little sun, or none to spoil the honest intimacy with its bursts of cosy cheerfulness, but above all, be absorbed, and let that be all then. Depart from your schedule with zeal into an engagement with your surroundings and open entirely to the emotional resonance with which the Universe reaches you. Receive the scene and its vastness for what it is. Embrace the rain of innervation. Permit the air to bite your lungs and tighten your flesh. Your muscles to contract and shudder, and to shake your speculating loose of taking root. A keen awareness will awaken, dilate, and throb in you, coursing your halls, weaving and electrifying, threading you back into a supernal fold, to which you belong. You are an organic being. Not simply the sum of the things that you’ve done, will do or concentrate on. It is not so much what you feel that counts, but what you think about how you feel, when you do.

342: Torrent

Why is it then, that you think and do the things that you do? Consider the outcomes but too, weigh the process and go back to the beginning of your provocation, and study the source of it. What experiences past have led to your present reactions, and would threaten still to ruin your growth and future?

329: Light reveals wonder

Hurling toward thee, o herald of the Auroral sky, I bring news of many revolutions. So much has changed again, I wonder if you’ll perceive me anymore, as much to myself am I unfamiliar anew. But o, the things you must have seen of the world while I slept. How fares my neighbours on the other side? What colours of expression will you carry for the impression? Our reconciliations bear an amnesic appeal, that every colloquy is the first and no other and we are at once the oldest of friends and loving strangers, by attached we know not what.

Bondi, 2013

Bondi, 2013

262

It is not the impression, but your interpretation of the impressions. Things are simply happening, not happening to you.

181: With vanity before reason, is Winter every season

What then, is impressing on you this tension that you seem unable to dissolve? That knows you through, and hits on the mark with perfect, disabling blows, and yet you cannot name or touch. It is you sir, the source as well remedy, of your cold anxieties. It is not with reason you have pitted yourself, but conceit against.

148

Your faults, in seeming and actuality like rivers can surge and subside at a breeze. Trust not what first reflects on the surface will resemble a later form, or imply its final force. Temper the impression by warmer seasons of thought, as can pressing winds goad the climate and patterns of water. Choose to see balm, and so happen that Nature. Or exhaust your Winter conclusions and accustom to the frozen form of your shimmering follies, apathy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

136: Babel

Two days home, and events are still very much impressing though they have ended. It will be some time until they settle, and stay enough to sort. What seems longest gone is the present in passing, woven with melancholic hints that dissipate only with it and are absent in recollections of the experience. Those moments missed the most are as they leave, for it cannot injure that has surely gone like it does happening where spins the hope of length and only the threat of a loss. This Summers turn seems soon like it never happened; the seasons warmth has already become unfamiliar, and the glaciers hard to picture now. How does one make mindful and ethical progress in the world, without a certain rational detachment?