And speaking of fire....

I stumbled across this poem by Stephen Spender recently and it is moving me in strange and mysterious ways.

I think continually of those who were truly great
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns,
Endless and singing, Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the spirit clothed from head to foot in song,
And who hoarded from the spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

What is precious is never to forget
The delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth;
Never to deny its pleasure in the simple morning light,
Nor its grave evening demand for love;
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how those names are feted by the waving grass,
And by the streamers of white cloud,,
And whispers of wind in the listening sky;
The names of those who in their lives fought for life,
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun they traveled a short while towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honour.

Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre....
Grave evening demand for love...

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm One wonders about the line, "born of the sun, they traveled a SHORT while towards the sun". I do wonder about people who truly throw themselves after their passions. It doesn't always seem to be a life-prolonging phenomenon. I think of one of my musical heroes, George Gershwin. He was completely sold out to his musical visions. He died in surgery for a brain tumor at 37...but what an incredible musical legacy.

In Traveling Music, Neil Peart says about his own somewhat "fiery" (my word, not his) pursuits:

In a seldom-visited corner of my mind, I knew I probably couldn't get away with carrying on like that forever, but it still seemed the right way to live- as if every day were my last, though hoping desperately that it might not be. [...] The only consolation was that I could only die of one thing, and there was no knowing what that would be, or when it would strike. Earthquake, aneurysm, plane crash, ansy of the dark multitude of cancers - who knew?

Carrie sometimes type-casts me as a "risk-taker", even a "daredevil", talking of the way I drive, motorcycle, and live, and I guess it's true. How do I equate being "intelligent" with being moderately (I say) self-destructive?

Thrills? Yes. Sensuality? Yes. Sheer cantankerousness? Yes.

I have lived my life to this point with extreme caution. One reason I did not pursue music as a major and as a career was because I had myself convinced that "I'm not the starving artist type". That I couldn't handle the risks. And those with influence over me enthusiastically voiced that position as well. You can't handle the emotions. You can't handle the rejection. You can't handle the RISK. Looking back, how desperately I wish that the path had been to teach me to handle the dangers, instead of pushing me to avoid them. But still...if I had been more courageous I would have defied everyone, including my fearful self.

But I am no trembling child now. And I am TIRED of being ruled by fear. And the idea of yielding to thrills, sensuality, and even sheer cantankerousness is tempting indeed. But ohhhhhh the stakes are so much higher now... for we all know what can happen if you play with fire.