TIME FOR INTOXICATION

TIME FOR INTOXICATION

Experience the oneness with the universe in a nameless intoxication, in the endless motion of the planets, like the blood that always flows in your veins.

By Nevin Ulusoy

“You have to be always drunk,” says Charles Baudelaire in his work “Le Spleen de Paris.” Life that flows away in a tremendous speed, days, hours, minutes slide by our palms. As ambitions consume us in the spiral of aims after aims, there is no time even to turn and look at the mirrors. And the mirrors of our souls are locked, the keys are lost. A piece of sky, an auburn sunset is so far away. The dreams that we postpone for tomorrow do not approach us even at nights. We are in the lap of nightmares in fragmentary ice cold sleep. Nothing is delightful, and I think we have forgotten to look for delight. Shaking, we must take a step towards different ways by getting out of dust cloud of daily bustle.

“You have to be always drunk. That’s all there’s to it-it’s the only way… So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish,” goes on Baudelaire. The state of being always drunk brings to mind ancient Greek God of Wine, Dionysos,  the god who is never sober, who has mad female followers. He opens the ways to inspiration, makes people together with the secrets of nature. Continous drunkenness  makes us remember the British author Aldous Huxley who was interested in the opening of “the doors of perception” and his source of inspiration the nineteenth century British poet William Blake. “The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom” says Blake. The singer and songwriter of most of the songs of “The Doors” Jim Morrison saw these two famous people as sources of inspiration and he was an alive Dionysos in his short life, “The Lizard King” who made the crowds lose themselves in their  concerts, roamed and made them roam on the peaks of intoxication. He almost  blended the three ways of getting drunk Baudelaire mentioned in his very short life by seeing himself as an experimental subject in the dangerous arms of experience. Morrison pumps ecstasy in our veins in a timeless being  with his never- ending songs and poems. He whispers his secrets to us for a different way of life, knowing pain and sadness are also keys to get rid of slavery. We are all “Riders on the storm“,  as in the unforgettable song which was the last one he sang. Maybe we will get on “the crystal ship“, too, getting rid of our fears, “The Crystal Ship” on our lips.

“Let the keys of cages slumber forever at the bottom of the oceans while drinking from a passion river.”

Another life, yes, another life that being drunk brings, in the smile of the flowers, in the whispers of the moonlight. In the endurance of the last one or two leaves on the tree to the winter wind after all the leaves have fallen, their struggle that reminds the awakening in spring. In the winter dreams of the balm that gives out summer breath leaving the night enthusing smells. We should try to be one and together with the stars as we struggle to find the star in us, us that is in the stars. A smile then, that makes us forget about ourselves, the smell of the sea to the bone. We must be soaking one day in the rain, the shiver of the rain must surround us with the waves of life passion on our shores. Later the happiness of warm tea or coffee must meet ourselves. Feeling the white cold on a snowy day, a lovely winter song on our ears,”Wintertime Love”, from The Doors again, let us experience the beauty of heat in our palms with a love heats us. The never-ending songs of cicadas are very close, tomorrow is summer, you know.

Sometimes you need to wander on lonely waters, slowly. Let the streets echo with the sound of your feet on a cold night, “fields that never die” says Morrison in “The Crystal Ship”. On the lap of melancholy, in private with yourself, sadness is good for you, too. You should sip the outpour of the unique river of loneliness as you befriend yourself on long nights. As your inner voice roams in the depths of your soul, build your swing on the crescent that regards you in a friendly way. It will bring you bundles of clouds. Feeling that darkness means light, extend your hand to the sky, mountains will salute you, too. Experience the oneness with the universe in a nameless intoxication, in the endless motion of the planets, like the blood that always flows in your veins. Perceive your heart beating for love, see how the world goes down on its knees to your eyes. Your heart is your safe port, the steamy fire of your eyes. Even if they call you mad, forward, to the deep, the farmost depths. Like the artist Paul Gauguin, in the struggle for your self-realization with dazzling blaze in you, along the nights. Let the magic of poetry enclose you with sparks, no need to talk. You know you need to leave behind the people who condemn, the prejudices. All alone with yourself, forgetting all the pains. Leave yourself to the warm arms of the sun then, it is always there with a warm touch, a loyal friend.

Why not giving an ear to the stones on a sunrise, they have so many stories, they are never silent, they always tell their stories. Touch them, give an end to their longing of thousands of years. We must hug the trees, always feel the odour of the green, a laughter with love that is not to be erased from the skies, right from the heart. A friendship with nature since the ancient times, never leaving us, cheering us with its depth. Wandering on the roads of finding ourselves, lie down on “Leaves of Grass” with Walt Whitman. Leaving everything behind, getting rid of financial worries, go away, get on famous Beatnick Jack Kerouac’s car, behaving like a carefree tramp. Getting off at “Gazing at the Sky Stop”, to find the rythm of the beating of the sky. You should take a breath on the lap of a magical intoxication of the touch of music, brush, of the magic of dance. The mirrors of reality must swing on the curtain in a life surrounded by pages. The murmuring happiness of a street cat with the sweet caress of a bowl of milk will make you drunk. Let’s get drunk, come on, let’s set our souls free, they will fly on the backs of doves. Do not the skies and beyond wait for us, on a madly striving wavelength? Let the keys of cages slumber forever at the bottom of the oceans while drinking from a passion river. We must comply with the dancing invitation of Loreena Mckennitt’s “The Mummer’s Dance”, the trees are coming to life with leaves now, flowers, flowers will ornament us with crowns. It is the time to get drunk.        

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