“What’s happened to me,’ he thought. It was no dream.” ~ Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis
This stunning performance on the harp by Lavinia Meijer, of Metamorphosis II by Philip Glass, plus a lovely violin and guitar duo make a perfect accompaniment for my poetry on the subject. I hope you enjoy the music, the prose and the paintings!
What is this force that draws me, inexorably towards you?
The Earth’s four seasons, unfaltering, come and go,
Red, orange and yellow foliage now proliferates,
Love, like burnt leaves, clings precariously,
To rustic boughs; fearing annihilation from the gusts of life.
Thoughts and feelings transmute like the elements,
Hot for a time, cold the next, perhaps even icy…
But passions warm like a glorious autumn day,
Lighting up your life while they burn and glow; evolution
Is inevitable, yet the heart yearns for what has passed.
Learning to embrace the wisdom of changing seasons;
Both life and death. All effort against nature is futile,
Souls are forged within molecular metamorphosis,
Dipping in and out of an infinite, primordial panoply,
Merging with other souls, individual but connected.
The concertina caterpillar chews quietly on his leaf,
Unremarkable on the surface, evolving inside his chrysalis,
Hidden from the world, he is overtaken by energy,
Emerging from his self-imposed cocoon transfigured,
All of life is metamorphosis, an explosion of alteration.
The new butterfly tests his dynamic, vibrant wings,
Fluttering to and from the sweet scent of flowers,
Thus an old heart may beat to a new tune,
But it remembers the shared music of before,
Where unforgotten melodies are woven into DNA.
A new phase, a new masterpiece will be written,
As the trees release their golden halos, ready
For preordained progression, so it is with spirit.
The journey of metamorphosis and rebirth carries us
To infinity, where we are ever the same – yet different.
~ By Virginia Burges
Philip Glass on the piano playing his Metamorphosis IV and V:
“I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.” ~ Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis