Think of it as a High Wind. A Force that blows across the Universe scattering the night-burning stars. A Force of such beauty and power that no mortal being can possibly bear to stand fully before it without being torn forever from this Earth.Think of this High Wind as being the creative energy of the Cosmos. It is the omnipotent Source of all the enlightenment of the human spirit and, just as it has scattered the stars, it, too, has scattered the souls of a million poets into the infinite chill of the Void—a million poets and artists and musicians and all manner of others who have attempted to know its Power, its Beauty, and have recklessly dared to brave too much of its might. (And you thought Dylan Thomas drank himself to death.) The High Wind is the raw energy of a reality far more vast than our frail flesh can fully experience. It is the breath of a Truth that dwarfs the petty, man-gods to whom we cast our crude and desperate prayers. It is the deadly allure of Art. Hunker down in the leeward calm of comfort’s shelter and you will only faintly hear its howling call. Stand slightly aloft of such complacent safety and, for a while, know with me the precarious world of the poet’s earthly grasp and celestial dare. Join me in these Adventures in the High Wind.
Think of it as a High Wind. A Force that blows across the Universe scattering the night-burning stars. A Force of such beauty and power that no mortal being can possibly bear to stand fully before it without being torn forever from this Earth.Think of this High Wind as being the creative energy of the Cosmos. It is the omnipotent Source of all the enlightenment of the human spirit and, just as it has scattered the stars, it, too, has scattered the souls of a million poets into the infinite chill of the Void—a million poets and artists and musicians and all manner of others who have attempted to know its Power, its Beauty, and have recklessly dared to brave too much of its might. (And you thought Dylan Thomas drank himself to death.) The High Wind is the raw energy of a reality far more vast than our frail flesh can fully experience. It is the breath of a Truth that dwarfs the petty, man-gods to whom we cast our crude and desperate prayers. It is the deadly allure of Art. Hunker down in the leeward calm of comfort’s shelter and you will only faintly hear its howling call. Stand slightly aloft of such complacent safety and, for a while, know with me the precarious world of the poet’s earthly grasp and celestial dare. Join me in these Adventures in the High Wind.