Don Mclean, how beautifully you described Van Gogh!
A starry night, when I look into it and feel the pulse
of an eternal past, and then I draw courage, and then I should
persevere to believe! That all things so sorrowful meet their end before our own!
And Van Gogh’s soul was as beautiful and enrapturing as his art!
How beautiful is the truth, when spoken from the soul; and yet,
no one wants to listen; even if you have the best intentions to save them before yourself!
Should you take that ultimate step because you refuse to believe
that there is any future for you or anybody resembling you in a desert of self-seeking materialism;
If you would have only reflected on your brave beauty, before you committed suicide!
You know, like you, I experienced, the sometimes, when you are going deaf,
that you hear greater truths from a Universe turned outside in!
And I kept listening, beyond the fake inspiration of hearsay and education
The true rhythm of stranger revelations that don’t dot any page or lively tongue.
They fall like invisible snow flakes into your soul. And when you speak them out,
they only seem like bitter gummy sap of a tree, so nobody wants to hear!
But if you should shroud the truth within a lie, and then, they should pay heed!
Would you have ventured at that involuntary deed and survived your suicide?
I come beyond the grief that I share. I am a passive onlooker to history,
as much as an actor who is assigned my role on its stage, as much as a puppeteer pulling the strings!
This is the hors d’art of God! If I could only commend Dostoevsky in his grief and suffering,
that he came to understand the complexity of suffering, that he should have known
that like his protagonist, there is a clock of accidents, that sometimes, cause your
suffering but prevent your doom. Like the little eight-year old girl tugging at your sleeve
for help, as you are resolute to fill your head with lead. And then you pause,
and fling your gun in the gutter and return home, to weather out your own desperation!
And should you have known your sinking heart to see someone who is more
helpless and suffering than you, more desperate and impoverished than you!
And you learn that empathising with someone else’s grief alleviates your own!
I think if you knew we had lives in the past that we survived with dignity, though
they were even more difficult in their simplicity, even all the way back to Mars, as your protagonist considered,
we would understand that nothing is nihilist, not even suicide. You know I never
believed in suicide, Dostoevsky; but I have committed metaphorical suicide too many times
in history and in this lifetime. Too many antagonists have waylaid me causing me extreme grief, led by that bete noire (PSP). But did it take away my truth from me
or sublimate my will and conviction? We can only believe that there are also eventualities
of truth that come before an ultimate termination! Dostoevsky, is there any termination at all, in fact?!
montes-musings.blog 