Truth is, I’ve dreamt of snakes and a scorpion. I still remember the sliminess. But you look on as a captive audience. Stilled in continuous movement. I don’t know what to make of the scorpion though. Perhaps it’s my unconscious telling me I’ve been stung, back bitten. Whatever. So you are to write about things of the unconscious. Your dreams maybe. Or, as a foil, you are to write about light, or lightness. Like stained glass windows. Like this. It always works to expel all that ooziness.
How right the poet was who called
man a brittle, crazie glasse,
unable to convey God’s word,
but also, that with grace at last,
cracks may delineate fine forms;
though stained, he can reflect his God.
Poetry alone cannot reveal
the aptness of the analogue,
but coming here to see and feel
the Master’s spirit in their work,
these jewelled windows of the air
make the poet’s meaning clear.
Our words and pictures need the light
to capture what’s beyond mere sight.
–Lee Tzu Pheng, “Cathedral Windows”