A Ghostdog Works

THE WINDOW

Why do you stand by the window
abandoned to beauty and pride?
the thorn of the night in your bosom,
the spear of age in your side;
lost in the rages of fragrance,
lost in the rags of remorse,
lost in the waves of a sickness
that loosens the high silver nerves.

O chosen love, O frozen love
O tangle of matter and ghost.
O darling of angels, demons and saints
and the whole broken-hearted host -
Gentle this soul.

Come forth from the cloud of unknowing
and kiss the cheek of the moon;
the code of solitude broken,
why tarry confused and alone?
And leave no word of discomfort,
and leave no observer to mourn,
but climb on your tears and be silent
like the rose on its ladder of thorn.
Then lay your rose on the fire;
the fire give up to the sun;
the sun give over to splendour
in the arms of the High Holy One;
for the High Holy One dreams of a letter,
dreams of a letter's death -
oh bless the continuous stutter
of the word being made into flesh.

Leonard Cohen.


This is the first day of the project,
another step on the Journey.
On the advice of a wise man I have decided to record as much of my
observations and thoughts as I am able.