February 12, 2012

in a dream

Mystery and romance are indivisible, and mystery can be romance’s most valuable asset.  Desires, memories, thoughts and dreams; a face which thinks inwards as the eyes dream outwards gives nothing away.
Curiosity or vanity wonders and pries but forever remains unsatisfied.  Mystery behaves like an antonym of satiety; we are kept for a long time on the watch.
A serene sorrow is somehow part of it all-but sorrow for what?  Sorrow for unfulfilled desire, the grief of dead dreams?  Or a sorrow which is not really a sorrow at all, but wisdom, knowledge of too much, a musing tender distrust of all ordinary hope?
We all have some of this in us, and in all of us it sometimes shows.  Stay! Trouble can intervene.  The face may not match the inner person, it can be all and only veil.  When it opens its mouth the wrong sounds can come out.
So, dear reader, if we want to keep our dream of romance as a mystery, it may well be as well to avoid it altogether, to let it pass by like that forever unknown stranger in the street whom, for intangible reasons, we will remember for the rest of ours lives.  


frenchtoast said...

I wonder which memory of you will stay with me…
Existentially Yours xoxo

SvO said...

At the hike today my IPOD kept bringing up Jeremy Irons. I took that as a sign.
Remember the opening of the Masterpiece Brideshead? Has anyone ever looked like the young Jeremy Irons? I've said before that I believe Mr. Irons may be the most beautiful man ever invented, and take cold comfort knowing he is somewhat older than I.
And now you, here, with this scrumptious post and image, bliss.

Mona said...

“I can still see the face, and I do remember the name. I see the whitewashed walls still, the canvas blind between us and the oven outside, the other door, arched, leading to the other room and to an open garden-the plants are dead from the heat-surrounded by blue balustrades like those at the big villa in Sadec with its tiers of terraces overlooking the Mekong.” ― Marguerite Duras, The Lover
Has there ever been a more evocative book written about love, in any language? Yes of course there has, but this is the one for me.
Lovely post Ms. Edna, thank you. Besos!

Alistair said...

The mistake is thinking there can be an antidote!

Thank you, lovely sentiment.

Charles said...

Who if not you ...will break a lance for love?
Are we old foggies the ones who are still impassioned?
Does the glory of love only inspire us elders?
Thank you for this post.

Ms. Capshaw said...

Unutterably charming -
For you was it
A single spectacular moment
A combustible jolt
A steamy slow swoon
A reckless and ravaged abandon that left you jittery, catatonic, unhinged?
Losing your heart, losing your head — crazy in love. It can happen in an instant. It can last a lifetime, a fortnight, or an elevator ride.
Tell me. Tell me everything. Every detail. Steel yourself with a swift shot of whatever and tell me about the first time, the best time, the most jaw-dropping time you fell in love.
I toast you Ms. Edna. Let those arrows fly.

Anja said...

And me!
Happy ANY day to a blogger who never fails to make me think!

the shot piano player said...

for you Ms Edna xoxo

Ms. Edna (squared) said...

thank you

Anonymous said...

Beautiful, Aesthetic, Erotic.

a neighbor said...

Her scarf a la Hepburn,
In suede flats for the walk,
She came with me one evening
For air and friendly talk.
We crossed the quiet road,
And took the LA River walk.

Anonymous said...

“I’d like to be-
Your future tense.”

Ditto (the cat) said...

The things about you I appreciate
May seem indelicate.
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase you ‘round the house for half an hour.

''lil Bro said...

Nobody EVER calls me “Sugar-Lips” either!

sundance man said...

You never let me down on your postings. Such great thoughts and viewson subjects that inspire.
Really terrific.