Saturday, April 10, 2010

"Stars, hide your fires."

Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 4, Line 50-51:

Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires:

Now mine:

I walk upon hot coals.
I fear not.
I know it is fire, and it calls to me, but I fear not.

I feel the sun shine down on me and burn me rose red.
I fear not.
I know it is warmth, and it calls to me, and I answer; I fear not.

I see the lamp burn too-bright white.
I fear not.
I know it blinds, and it calls to me, but I do not look.

I look at the moon.
I fear not.
She is mother and giver. I know her power over tides, but that power is a part of me, so I fear not.

I look at the stars.
I see fires, pinprick suns far off.
I see something I know.

I look between them.
I see black velvet.
Darkest night.
Blackest dawn.
Not clouded. Not lost. Present, and dark, always dark.

I see something of myself.
I see my demon, and I see my angel.
I see what Freud called superego and id.
I see what is my self.
And I see something that scares me.
I see myself, not thinking.
But I do not look.
I fear to, should I look, examine, what should I see?

But I press my will and I make myself.
I know that not thinking is a greater sin than any I would find.
I know.
I smile and might chuckle.
I thought.
I fear not.


  1. This is beautiful, Wren. You are right. I am REALLY interested. What a beautiful spirit.


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