There is an apartment, too, finally, full of cobwebby corners and dusty mornings. The lamps here shine dimly at night. It is almost sad.
The girl goes to school again, too. It is a wonderful time, full of insides, outsides, and upside-downs. Dear things were missed over the summertime. There is an air of intellectualism about the school grounds. The girl feels in a bubble, little bits of knowledge buzzing about her like bumble bees.
Memories nip at one's toes here a little bit like the coming fall. Sometimes it is unnerving. The girl is reflective, pondering the exploitation of happiness, the doubt of humanity. There have been realizations and little happy moments, flashes of contentment and solace, prickly little heartaches, and truths and perceptions.
Human emotion is a lovely little riddle.
She is beginning to believe in an overall sense of being, a mentality for the positive, but permeable to the negative.
But she believes in beauty. Oh, there is infinity in beauty!
There are such wonderful little things to be had in this world, savory little moments to ponder and allow. There was a glimmer of serenity in the crunch of the leaves on the sidewalk. There is solace in the smell of burning candles and the far-off thrum of opera music. There is softness in Sunday mornings, when there is no need to get up early, and one is content to waste the day away giggling over nonsensical things.
She has come to believe in herself, to believe in being.
She believes in emotion, sometimes in the beauty of suffering, in artistic expression, in reality, in perception, in phantasmagoria, in inhibitions, in happiness, in choice, in caring, in hurt and anger, in memory, and also in unicorns and caterpillars.
I feel like this song. Floating and transparent, absorbing things, processing, neutral, yet dynamic. It is wonderful how some music comes to one just as needed.
The distant sky, in the noise of the revolving ring of flowers
That day, on the day, the moment that I cross over, I wake up
Sketch the flame in the haze and pursue the girl playing in the street
Someone whose name I don't know appeared on the high ground and its moving
That road seen in a dream and the shadow's voice murmurs
The coming days too, the coming days too, thousands of hours crossing over
The wise man in the darkness is assembling the meanings that were cast aside
On the coastlands, on the coastlands, the invisible flames were made to dance
The high sky, the dyed scarlet day's flamelike cloud patterns
That day, that day, at that time show me the road that was lost
Repeating, the resounding dream, the time of chasing the wind descends
Along the river, along the river, the invisible scarlet flower was spotted
Aah, the mantle goes up in fire from loquacity
Congratulate the one standing up in the abandoned field
Aah, it's peaceful, it's peaceful, the girl's field of vision
Aah, in the strange city the lamp is lit.
Leave this with a sense of beauty, an idea, a thought to stick in the dusty corners of one's mind for a later date. I do not yet know if beauty and happiness are related. I think there is also beauty in sad things, too. Beauty is emotion.
People do not recognize beautiful things anymore. There is too much hurry, too much gazing at watches, too much of this and that. Emotions are far too materially influenced; there is not enough realization to allow the raw.
I think one needs time alone once in a while to appreciate the noise the world makes in the mean time. Silence is sometimes just as gratifying.
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