The difference 'twixt that and thought's wild flight?
The moon, that in the darken'd water dwells,
Is't that which danceth in the sky by night?
And does the Unicorn exist? And where
On this wide earth are Dragons to be found?
I know in truth they do not linger here,
Yet still my heart can catch their distant sound.
For what am I, if all the life I have
Is made of cold reality, not dreams?
I am worth nothing if I do not crave
The glory of imagination's schemes.
And so, you sceptic stranger, do not dare
To prick illusion's bubble, for 'tis rare."
It's my birthday today and my brother's deathday was revealed last week, on Easter Monday. It's funny, I've spent most of my life dreading the death of a loved one, but when the day arrives Death seems to hold you in her still arms so that you don't feel the chill wind of reality. Real events play out like they are the dream.
My brother shaped his own destiny and died while salvaging the lake he loved on the organic farm he loved in Brittany. He was the original eco warrior and has left a scene of utter devastation emotionally and spiritually. I chose Cat Steven's Morning Has Broken for the service in France (although for me his song will always be Curtain Call by The Damned). We'll have another for friends on this side of the channel in due course.
I picked up a few of the books he urged me to read over the years of our life. I'll start with Jean-Paul Sartre's Nausea and Aldous Huxley's Brave New World...
We were always inseparable and, being 2 years younger, I spent my entire childhood copying everything he did. In adulthood I bought the renovation project in Brittany to be nearer to him also.
He was my brother and I Love him. He was also a father to two beautiful little girls, a husband to Steffi, a son, a brother, a brilliant artist, a corporate tax lawyer in london for 10 years, a renovator, a punk, a person less ordinary...