Life_and_Death
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- Jul 1, 2020
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Jiyuurakka
Discontinued Existence
- Mar 22, 2024
- 127
"The Brain—is wider than the Sky—
For—put them side by side—
The one the other will contain
With ease—and you—beside—
The Brain is deeper than the sea—
For—hold them—Blue to Blue—
The one the other will absorb—
As sponges—Buckets—do—
The Brain is just the weight of God—
For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—
And they will differ—if they do—
As Syllable from Sound—"
~Emily Dickinson, c. 1862
I love books, they carry the weight of a brain packed into pages wet with memory. Perhaps a book is just a blueprint of the brain, or the blueprint of God.
Staring at a sky is no different from reading a book. After all, a book is just an imitation of the sky — a translated sky. One that I can hold in my hand and let loose my mind — imagination asunder.
The book is the missing intermediate between the brain and the sky, one that carries forth the image of a child. Indeed, if the brain is the weight of God, the child is just the shadow of God, or the shadow of the sky. The child reconciles the difference between the World and God, in the form of a book that translates the wonderful sky.
Read a book under the sky, and you shall find a sort of harmony — the book is a melody, one that tugs at the strings of the brain to simulate the image of God.
Upon revelation one will cast the book aside, and be able to appreciate the sky. For they will come to realise that man is not but a shadow of the sky, an offspring of God that thrives under the afternoon sun.
Humanity is but a sum total of a book,
an inverse reflection of the sky.
I wrote this because I had a thought and I was bored, I've put the poem I was inspired from for context. Hopefully it means something
For—put them side by side—
The one the other will contain
With ease—and you—beside—
The Brain is deeper than the sea—
For—hold them—Blue to Blue—
The one the other will absorb—
As sponges—Buckets—do—
The Brain is just the weight of God—
For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—
And they will differ—if they do—
As Syllable from Sound—"
~Emily Dickinson, c. 1862
I love books, they carry the weight of a brain packed into pages wet with memory. Perhaps a book is just a blueprint of the brain, or the blueprint of God.
Staring at a sky is no different from reading a book. After all, a book is just an imitation of the sky — a translated sky. One that I can hold in my hand and let loose my mind — imagination asunder.
The book is the missing intermediate between the brain and the sky, one that carries forth the image of a child. Indeed, if the brain is the weight of God, the child is just the shadow of God, or the shadow of the sky. The child reconciles the difference between the World and God, in the form of a book that translates the wonderful sky.
Read a book under the sky, and you shall find a sort of harmony — the book is a melody, one that tugs at the strings of the brain to simulate the image of God.
Upon revelation one will cast the book aside, and be able to appreciate the sky. For they will come to realise that man is not but a shadow of the sky, an offspring of God that thrives under the afternoon sun.
Humanity is but a sum total of a book,
an inverse reflection of the sky.
I wrote this because I had a thought and I was bored, I've put the poem I was inspired from for context. Hopefully it means something
