Love is the Potter, and Love is the Clay.
Some months ago I was with some friends in London, in their bedroom, and this song came up.
I had a weird experience which I am tempted to call ‘psychedelic,’ although I wouldn’t know precisely, because like Our Begby, I only like whiskey.
“Why are puttin’ that shite in yer veins! Have some o’ this here instead!” just about sums up my Celtic ethos: somewhere precariously perched in between Tory Crack Baron/Cocaine Rat debauchery and high-minded Anglo-Metropolitan bouzhee decency and civility.
But anyway: I remembered very distinctly a surreal feeling I had experienced listening to this year ago, during the Winter of Horror and its chastely-chastened Spring.
My friends were a little disconcerted, or perhaps amused (how far is there a difference?)
Listening to this song today, I don’t remember the bizarre, uncanny, unearthly buzz that helped to lift me out of the slough of despond, and onto the level earth of somewhere below the highest most azure orbs of heaven, and the darkest smokey-iron terraces of hellfire.
But that strange experience stayed with me.
Human beings are neither of the celestial light above, or of the demonic fire below.
But we are bearers and vessels of the same.
Carry your beauty lightly.
But not without gravity.
Because there is but one potter, and one clay.
And who among us shall ever once be wise enough to tell the difference?
The one who falls in love will fall forever.
And the one who falls from love will fall further and harder still.
But it is precisely the fallibility of his broken soul
That will bear him up forever and forever more…
On eagle’s wings.