In northern England a set of three porcelain flying ducks
was a traditional wall ornament. This
signified an established and settled household.
“If only one remains, ‘one white duck on your wall’, the suggestion is
that the household…has broken up; hence this song. Whether the white duck is the only duck left,
or the pale outline where a duck has been removed from the wall, is something
to consider.” (Neil R. Thomason)
The song, One White Duck is my younger Son’s favorite Jethro
Tull song. I perhaps have found a new
facet of this tune that I have not seen before.
As I retool my concept of home and abodes, I realize that perhaps all
the trappings that we consider home are just that, trappings. Perhaps we are prevented from feeling like we
are headed home because we are trapped in a false sense of home.
I realize that I have been trapped in an idea of an ideal
that is not real for a long time. We
attached ourselves to so many things to appear that we are “home” when all of
it is temporary. Everything we attach to
hinders our journey. It damages
relationships and mitigates movement toward our real destination.
Today I have pulled on my old wings and the motorway
stretches out before me. Perhaps that is
the answer. Perchance I have found a way
to bridge the gap between what I feel and what is truth. It is a painful transition but perhaps a
vital one. It is all too damn real…
One
White Duck – Jethro Tull
There's a haze on the skyline, to wish me on my way.
And there's a note on the telephone; some roses on a Tray.
And the motorway stretching right out to us all,
As I pull on my old wings, one white duck on your wall.
Isn't it just too damn real?
One white duck on your wall…
I'll catch a ride on your violin, strung up on your bow.
And I'll float on your melody, sing your chorus soft and
low.
There's a picture-view postcard to say that I called.
You can see from the fireplace, one white duck on your wall.
Isn't it just too damn real?
One white duck on your wall…
One white duck on your wall…
One duck on your wall…
So, fly away peter and fly away Paul, from the
Finger-tip ledge of contentment.
The long restless rustle of high-heeled boots calls.
And I'm probably bound to deceive you after all.
Something must be wrong with me and my brain
If I'm so patently unrewarding.
But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that way,
And my zero to your power of ten equals nothing at all.
There's no double-lock defense; there's no chain on my door,
And I'm available for consultation,
But remember your way in is also my way out,
And love's four-letter word is no compensation.
Well, I'm the black ace dog-handler, I'm a waiter on skates,
So, don't you jump to your foreskin conclusion.
‘cause I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast trays,
To be cleared before I can dine on your sweet Sunday lunch
confusion.
Wishing you joy in the journey,
Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer
who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home
owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure
store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Contacts for Aramis
Thorn:
Bookings at aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
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