Farsightedness

1. ) Crepuscule, Noun,(krep-uh-skyool) Twilight; dusk,nightfall.

2.)Prosopopoeial, Noun, (proh-soh-puh-pee-uh) Personification, as of inanimate things. A figure of speech in which an imaginary, absent, or deceased person is represented as speaking.

I received a new word today via my "Word-a-Day"app. The word tweaked my subliminal curiosity as new things so often do. I decided to explore the word along with another quizzical reflection(antlers) that I had been eschewing, but in actually, was too lazy to put it to ink.

The word is “prosopopoeial,” Quite unique isn’t it? It is a noun and is defined as a figure of speech in which an imaginary person is represented as speaking. It can also refer to an inanimate object or something representing or possessing a human form or personification. Sort of like speaking in the third person or God speaking to Moses from the burning bush.

There is just so much here to grasp that I am a little befuddled as to where to begin. I had been dithering with the concept of vision.This was a result of reading a quip that said “The eyes are verbs that conjugate our emotions.” Yea! I know I am sort of peculiar and a little on the nerdy side but would prefer the term “well read.” But yet the reality is equally astute in that the eyes do communicate volumes. My dogs sense my every move by watching me like a hawk just like a linebacker reading the quarterback’s eyes. This in turn reminded me of a poem I had read and yes, I do read and write poetic prose. I retrieved the poem from my archives and re-read it again. Poems also speak volumes about our emotions as do the eyes and it is in this context that I will share with you this poem. It was written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in the year 1799. Mr. Coleridge had been temporarily blinded and wrote the poem while he convalesced;

O what a life is the eye! What strange and inscrutable essence!

Him that is utterly blind, nor glimpses the fire that warms him.

Him that never beheld the swelling breast of his mother;

Him that smiled in his gladness as a babe that smiles in slumber;

Even for him it exists! It moves and stirs in its prison!

Lives a separate life: and-“Is it a spirit” he murmurs:

“Sure, it has thoughts of its own, and to see is only a language”

Our world is so wondrously dense with multitudes of sounds and scents, a literal cacophony of sensual inputs bombarding us in a ceaseless barrage. Yet we are mindless and rely upon our brain to sort through it all and determine what is important and pertinent. My wife accuses me of making too much noise as I opine upon the variegated political landscape but alas! I deem it perfectly apt, being a decrepit old curmudgeon like myself”

The word, prosopopoeial, sort of alludes to me in that I feel like “John,The Baptist,” A voice crying in the wilderness” lamenting the sins of Israel. I in turn lament the sins of our nation’s progressive liberals who demean the existence of God. They assault and impinge my God and me, my Christian beliefs and tenants. They dilute the sovereignty and extra-ordinariness of our nation and upend our nation’s traditional family values. They besmirch the Ten Commandments, they’ve taken prayer out of our schools and out of our athletics and out of our government. They ridicule our God by promoting same sex marriage, the liberal ideology of the L.B.G.T. They cast dispersion's upon our churches and label we Christians as bigots, racist and intolerant. I don’t condemn them nor do I judge them, that is God’s domain. I am entitled to an opinion and I refuse to celebrate something I deem as perverted and in opposition to what I observe in nature.

As I write this blog post I realize I change no one’s mind but only voice a conservative’s point of view, my opinion. I was amused as I quoted the poem, in that while I was dithering with the concept of vision I recalled a pun that said; “If the eyes conjugate our verbs and speak in a language of their own thus if my vision is diagnosed as “farsighted”, does that actually mean that I am somewhat a prophet, crying out in the wilderness, a soothsayer or clairvoyant prophesying the future. Get It: “Farsighted” Blog humor here! I suppose!

Ah! Listen! Can you hear the prosopopoeial voice speaking to you? Am I a prophetical voice lamenting from the void, expounding upon the vulgarities of this world? I digress, I am but an old man who was once taken note of, like the antlers on a whitetail buck. I was once acknowledged and adhered to. I have now become aged and invisible, rarely noticed except by my dogs. It has become a freedom, to write and opine, unrequited nor fearful of reprisal. One of my favorite adages: Absolutely nothing is chiseled in stone, the world is in a constant state of mutability, change and flux, nothing ever remains the same. What was and was before, will be again!

Crepuscule, By E. E. Cummings

I will wade out

Till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers.

I will take the sun in my mouth

And leap in ripe air.

Alive

With closed eyes

To dash against darkness

In the sleeping curves of my body.

Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery

With chasteness of sea-girls

Will I complete the mystery

Of my flesh.

I will rise

After a thousand years,

Lipping

Flowers

And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

Fragment, I wandered lonely as a cloud by William Wordsworth

For oft when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood.

They flash upon the inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude,

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils