Vision Lost&Found

The words and inspiration are Kundera’s, I have only read them, and then imagined them, frist literally, later grotesquely. The words were read somewhere on the Amherst campus; I remember the heat of early August, the shade of the trees, a mediocre burrito.

The imagery developed 5 years ago, during my visits to the banks of the kamo river, sunny days with a bottle of tea -- green or oolong, possibly rooibos – and a crushed half pack of lucky strikes (“its toasted” as Yamato would say).

The picture is of a boat, the galleon of the body and the crew of the soul, alighted upon the deck as the boat departs for some giddy destination. The crew is waving widely at the people on shore, exquisitely aware that this may be the last time. On shore I imagine handkerchiefs, white, checked, waving in the sea breeze, delicate gloved hands gripping onto parasols (laced) threatening to blow off into the bay. Some of the men are so moved their rip their broadcloths off their burly chests and twirl them madly above their heads, the angular velocity a manifestation of their passions. Some, wide eyed, are shouting so hard they have permanently damaged the strings of the larynx. Others are weeping so extravagantly, puddles exist at their feet, the snot is flowing out of every orifice, burly hands collect the watery mucous, rubbing it on the fabric of their shirts and pants. These sad, moist, men stand together, creating a small creek of emotional effluviae, some are even pissing their pants. The captain, at first, tries to discipline his pathologic crew, but soon gives up himself to the same exaggerated expressions when he discovers that his first officer is howling like a werewolf, hopping up and down on the deck, pounding the rails of the galleon until the sides of his hands are bloodied and studded with slivers of shattered oak … I could go on.

Today waking up form a short nap by the kamo, having gone out with a 280 yen bento box from the nearby am/pm, I remember the orignal words again:

“…her soul would rise to the surface of her body like a crew charging up from the bowels of a ship, spreading out over the deck, waving at the sky and singing in jubilation”