Archive for the ‘art’ Category
Is there a greater regret than forgetting beauty? To have known the beautiful — truly, immanently, intimately — and to forget that fact is akin to death. It is certainly a tragedy.
Simple stunning beauty, like the rich, subtle gradations of color in a perfect sunset, is never really forgotten. It lives within, it makes up our being.
But one must make the effort — must remember the light — the brilliant, beautiful, life-giving light — even in the depths of darkness. It is that which nourishes and sustains.
Beauty is alchemy. It transforms a leaden heart into a golden glowing grace. It is rock-solid philosophy. Unshakable. A foundation for the ages, immune to any challenge, argument or skepticism.
“She walks in beauty, like the night.” Maybe. Rather her beauty transforms — transmutates — night into day. Makes the darkness shine. Turns subtle shadowy forms into transcendental perfection.
The truth is there’s no regret — no place for sadness. Beauty cannot be forgotten. It will always be. It will not be forgotten. It simply is.
It is the seeing, the remembering — that is the art. To have eyes for the purpose. To open the blinds that cover the windows in a darkened room of the soul. That’s a worthwhile quest.
Beauty…I always remember. And love.
L. Sprague de Camp
They say the men of magic are all dead.
No more does the diviner in his swoon
Perceive the future in his mystic smokes;
No more the reckless sorcerer invokes
A demon fell to serve him. Xaltotun,
Imhotep, Merlin, and the rest, it’s said
Are gone from modern life.
But yesteryear, one who, the tale relates,
Was called MacGregor Mathers, Kabbalist,
Had built his Order of the Golden Dawn,
Donned robes, and struggled with the Devil’s spawn –
The wizard Crowley, skulking Satanist –
And, exiled, played at four-men chess with Yeats,
A ghost, and Mathers’ wife.
Then, too, in London sat, with cigarette
In hand, unkempt and testy, azure-eyed,
The uncrowned empress of the occult world –
Huge Helena Blavatsky. Round her swirled
A horde of chelas who, though daily plied
With dicta from Mahatmas in Tibet,
Were locked in frenzied strife.
And what bewhiskered Alchemist of yore
Made gold from lead with such astute address
As Mrs. Eddy, Hubbard, and their kind
Turn doctrines full of gibberish refined
To fortunes from the dupes that they impress?
With such, as in the mystic times before,
The world will long be rife.
From Anne McCaffrey, ed., Alchemy & Academe (New York: Ballantine, 1970), 41-2.
[N.B. Synchromystically, this is the 666th post on this blog...]