Out On An Inner Limb
My pen pal Prabhata Kumar Sahoo used the word UNEVACUATED in a poem. He was describing the feeling of being surrounded by miles of fog. He must have been walking in fog when he thought of it. What a fine word to capture a lonely mood! It reminds me of a disaster site which cannot be reached by any vehicle...or the self which cannot be emptied of pangs, because it is both container and content. I am the sole (soul?)witness, the privileged observer of events in this subjective zone, so science will have to rely on my reports. But my reports are irritating to science, like a burr stuck inside its boot. Science periodically throws up its hands and decides my inaccessibility is not worth the bother, being filled with mostly expendable phenomena, these inner states which are constantly renewed and constantly strewn about like falling leaves. If these leaves succeed in leaving any trace, it is when they engage with some kind of residue-producing instrumentality (some kind of machinery) , which is the sort of thing science is suited to dealing with. At any rate these inaccessible corners of subjectivity are too numerous to deal with, so they had best be left to deal with themselves. Anyway, they are unreliable sites for colonization by objectivity. What good are reports from someone who periodically gets lost in his own fog?
I say to heck with science! All I know is that I was left hanging out on a limb by the exuberance of creation. The creation strewed life in every direction, until it filled all spaces of possibility with rampant growth, and some of that growth went inward and developed an inner world...and here I am! I am like an invisible peacock's tail of sensibility that can only show itself by evoking similar states in other tails spread across the inner void. I am left hanging on this strange limb and there is no way to develop out of it...I can only develop further into what I am. So I am like the hop of a kangaroo, the busyness of the bee. The kangaroo develops by hopping farther; the bee gets busier. I have to conspire with other fruits that were hung out on such limbs. Together we can build an outer structure that is internally filigreed with our special loneliness. Then we can feel alone together while continuing to hang on this limb of inwardness! And occasionally a flash of lightning will leap from limb to limb!
Thanks to Mr. Wang Hao for translating this poem into Chinese: