Imagine being trapped in a bubble under water, being afraid that it could burst any minute and you will drown. That’s one way to describe the state that people with Eating Disorders are in, at least it was how I felt. I wanted to share my story with you, on how I got sick, how I felt while I was sick and how I recovered…
…disappeared. I shall be resuming after a much needed respite. I have, as some here know, been ill; although not seriously, still lingeringly! Still it seemed an appropriate reward for my sixth month mark having been achieved–actually taking time to recover without undue stress on my body or mind.
I plan to resume tomorrow–or later this afternoon–with a new sequence. This is the proposed “gateway to sonnet form,” or one might term it “gateway drug to sonnet form.” I myself have so termed it . My plan is to start with freeverse constrained only by being limited to fourteen lines and proceed from there, toward blank verse, and then lyrical couplets and onward from there.
I have not yet decided if it will be one piece continually evolving, or a series of pieces either related in subject, or progressing in a particular direction. We shall see….
His shape as pleaseth me, this fiery art
Doth longsome dream to me whilst gripped in sleep.
Shot through with lightning’s fire, doth dream impart
Such thrill: convivial to wake, to weep,
To think it trivial that thence I’ve gone,
That this Oneiran path: forever lost;
Not Morpheus, nor Hypnos’ other Spawn
Reveals’ this darkened place to whence I crost;
For these three Sons shall ‘ever show
A mortal man each labyrinth but once.
So at my waking hour, must I go
Away within imaginings, unless some bunce
Befall me; kindly providence might choose
To call me with such luck as I may use.
As perfect thee, thine image as thine art:
Sublime, as sculpture’s ideations see;
Though mere in thought do such ideals exist,
My hands believe perfection thus to be.
Do not I trust this truth my hands impart
When next they touch conviction wrought of fire:
This certitude of which mine eyes insist
When they confirm withal my hands acquire;
Wherefore our brothers, hath He given heart
That for the other, petuous, will burn;
For she, from whom our brothers’ ribs consist,
Do all of us, this undespoilt, yearn.
For one: with art, we praise His strength thereof;
The other: doth enlist with us His love.
Do not thou name me;
For, by this very naming,
Shalt thou name thyself.
Do not thou brand me;
For, by this vile branding,
Art thou, so branded.
Look ye upon this hand and then suppose
Ye know its master’s strength; as must it be
perceived, its width and length are plain to see,
conceived for war or mercy as he chose.
From grace to passion, powerful it flows’
To keep ye captive; both extremes agree;
Enrapt, gave ye desire with strength to free
Such still and racing hearts as passion knows.’
To bate thy breath, its mastery displayed,
To touch thee known, or thee beyond compare,
And bind thy strength, or thee thy beauty there;
Command in both, this hand shall be obeyed:
Such frailty and such power thus are swayed;
Perfection to ensnare, succumb, prepare!
For whom is this hand
For thee in strength, or tender,
Or for thee in war?