Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

12 May 2010

in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why,remember how
in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so(forgetting seem)
in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remember yes
in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek(forgetting find)
and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me,remember me. 


“So you think that you’re a failure, do you? Well, you probably are. What’s wrong with that? In the first place, if you’ve any sense at all you must have learned by now that we pay just as dearly for our triumphs as we do for our defeats. Go ahead and fail. But fail with wit, fail with grace, fail with style. A mediocre failure is as insufferable as a mediocre success. Embrace failure! Seek it out. Learn to love it. That may be the only way any of us will ever be free.” 

the Magus says to change three things.  the Seer says "an act of nature will render a conflict irrelevant."
cards say Great Change, with an entire self on the other side. 
"accept yourself for who you are.  thats the first lesson."
but theres such a block.  
tomorrow i hope to begin to begin again.
.  again. 

"Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives… and to the “good life”, whatever it is and wherever it happens to be."

may apples open, waves of horsetail.   dark moon in taurus tomorrow.  a good start.
the woods cold and wet the sound of water and the bird on the wire stands waiting on one foot for sunshine.
the rain rides up the ragged cuff of my jeans, my clogs so blown out it impairs my progress.
duct tape on a splinter, the baby liked my bread.  beautiful beads of words strung spontaneously and of course i have nothing to write on and the beads turn to birds and make a beautiful circle over the city of my brain before lighting in the spire of Lethe's cathedral.  my lungs love the weather but my spirit could use a little sunshine.  its hard to be good but its worth trying.  i doodles brains, or intestines, something crenellated and essential. 
this ones for me

this ones for T.

ten for today:

1.  dr. dog
2.  swedish bloggers
3.  this
4.  ray wylie hubbard
5.  outlaw radio
6.  my kids
7.  bagels and cream cheese
8.  jim james
9.  becky
10.  robin artisson

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous13 May, 2010

    Hey you! I love your blog. Whats with all the fucks, lets replace it all with love and reread it:0) Easier said than done. Come visit tomorrow if you wish! PEACE In abundance!


Blessed Be.

"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well."

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)