Wednesday, 6 July 2016
The shout of the dying rays of the sun echoing in the long tunnel, bouncing off the walls. A deep red flooding the floor of one of the exits for an instant, its intensity lasting long enough to remind me of the verses: “Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights/But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.”
Three exits. Three gates to knowledge. Three ways “to touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams”. One points at the still, life-sized Saurischia that once populated the Earth. The other one leads us down the path of pants and knickers. The third one celebrates the hundredth year of Einstein’s theory of relativity.
Three exits. Three gates to knowledge for which there cannot be scales, since knowledge is a treasure that cannot be weighed, as the poet said (more or less). I walk down the long, straight tunnel, the dying rays of a summer sun that has not been allowed to shine as brightly as it would have probably wished, screaming through two of the three exits. Exits that are gates. Gates that remind me not to seek “the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line/For self is a sea boundless and measureless.”
I stop at one of the exits. A flash of pink hits me on the face and with it the last two lines of the poem, its verses enveloping me in the sticky, humid London evening: “The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed/The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.“
Photo taken by the blog author
Next Post: “Saturday Evenings: Stay In, Sit Up and Switch On”, to be published on Saturday 9th July at 6pm (GMT)