"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then
subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to
work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is
inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is.
Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the
promulgation of promises eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate
every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining
that he is kissing every cranny of your body . . . That is just being
"in love", which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when
being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate
accident. [Those who have truly loved have] roots that grew towards each
other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from
[their] branches, [they] find that [they] were one tree and not two."

- Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres

I wish you could hear how quiet it is here. The last of summer’s nights. The shh shh shh of the wind in the eucalyptus leaves. The snap of dry grass and twigs under the dog’s paws. Cicadas. It’s another kind of song. I wish you could see how dark the night sky is. Here. The stars. The sky full and rich, hangs velvet curtain low. After the rush of stories and words and sorrow and music and a thumping beat. This is all I want. I don’t seek the grit, the dirt, the tarnish of before. More than anything this stillness. This alive. This quiet. This solitude. This alone. I think sadness stains skin and teeth and bones and tongue and eyelids and fingertips. I think it soaks and seeps and bleaches strong. There are so many descriptions, dark and bruised and melancholy. I think of cherries and blueberries and the tart sweetness of my tongue. My purple blue stained fingers. And always we must do something to clean the stain, to cleanse and to make fresh and bright and shiny. Like happiness is an imperative. I can listen to the song without singing, I’ll take the imperfect sweet, I’ll wear the stain. More than anything this alone. This dark heavy with stars. To make my own.

she was

I know the sound of the ecstatic flute,

but I don't know whols flute it is.

A lamp burns and has neither wick nor oil.

A lily pad blossomes and is not attached to the bottom!

When one flower opens, ordinarily dozens open.

The moon bird's head is filled with nothing but

thoughts of the moon,

and when the next rain will come is all that the rain

bird thinks of.

Who is it we spend our entire life loving?

Kabir

Ah Love! Could thou and I with Fate

conspire

To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things

entire,

Would not shatter it to bits--and

then

Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

Rubaiyat of
Omar Khayyam

Divine Penetrating Illumination
guy matthews


The quarter moon
Pierces through my window
Brilliant delightful silver light

Threads of connection
Stretch out between us
Taking energy
To build and maintain

Extending a thread
Can be a risky business
The energy expended
Crossing the same path
As the energy received
There is a need for
Even exchange
Across this bridge
Keep a watchful eye!

To have the energy
To extend a thread
Is one thing
To steer it to
A correct destination
Yet another
To maintain it for
As long as it is healthy
Yet another
And to know when
To cut a thread
And rightly mourne
Its dissolution
And yet to know
When mourning is done
When the energy
Spent mourning
Needs to be freed up
So that a new thread
May be extended
There is an excitement
In newness
And care must be taken
Threads are no joke
To build a thread
Takes a certain energy
And more to find
Renewal each day
And still more to mourn
Its natural demise one day

For surely in the mortal realm
There will always be demise
And yet, I say, "Take heart!"
Hidden within the mystery
Of the mortal bond there lies
An eternal element
To connect a thread
To the infinite is first
And foremost in my mind

It seems too often
Have I asked for the
Draughts of immortality
From a mortal source
And all too often
Have I suggested
I might be that source
For another! Ha!
Seriously this has
Been the source of
My deepest pain
And in this moment
Of revelation, the source
For my deepest insight

Connect the thread first
To Eternal source
There is a way
If you will, you will find yours
Once you have it
Let your mortal friends
Off the hook!
Starting with your parents
Then your lovers
Past present future

When it comes to intimate
Mortal love, take special care
The thread of intimate
Connection particularly consists
Of a peculiar energy beyond
That of friendly connection
The glue of such a thread
Creates a bond through human fluid
Stickiness most dear made of
Mothers milk, semen and ovum
The very life-blood of mortal being

The energy to construct
And maintain this blood bond
In this mortal realm
Demands a particular set
Of competencies


Scariest part is that the
Drive to create the
Blood bond often runs ahead
Of the energy of eternity
The gross plane so palpable
The subtle plane so ethereal

Following lower vibrational
Drives for connection
Leads literally into
Sticky situations
Perhaps all too soon
Discovered to be wanting

The energy to direct the thread
To an appropriate destination
Can be elusive indeed
That is why I say "take time!"
These threads are best built slowly

The toll of un-mourned losses
Grows heavy until at last
Broken and weary at the
Turning of the days
A new dawn of eternal
Subtle beauty can be realized
Mourn each loss in your
Own unique way
Find the gold within
The journey
Trust, equality, honesty, respect
Key ingredients of the bond
Both in building and in
Dissolution

Write it now, right it now
Find the true energy source
Get connected there first
Wise use of blood, sweat, tears
May build anew each day

The quarter moon westerly sets
The rising sun its mate
Rides the eastern horizon
Day calls out
Penetrating divine illumination

Upon love's coattails, our yearning shall be silenced.

A wicked few know our secret,

A solemn few would confess.

In the end, we are all villains

In one way or another...

amanda kalyca

Then hearing it thus

With the force of your heart

I let go with breaking heart

And pick up the pieces

To see what I can find there

In the dregs of memories

And shattered dreams

In truth I thank you for all

That you've given me

Beyond recalling

And grieve what could have been

So that what may be may be

excerpt
m.t.

One shrine to the next, the hermit can’t stop for breath.

Soul, get this! You should have looked in the mirror.

Going on a pilgrimage is like falling in love

with the greenness of faraway grass.

Lalla

Only an awakened man

can rouse the sleeping beauty

when she's passing through

this mortal form

as though she were

the mortal form

instead of this passing.

She thinks she has a name

but her real name can't be spoken.

And even though she's forgotten me,

her promise can't be broken.

For she told me in a passion of truth

that she'd awaken whenever i called

that she would arise

like morning

from the slumber

of the mortal stranger,

that she would open her curtains

and stand there naked

trembling on the brink

of total awareness

breathing musical air

through the pores of her skin

absorbing my gaze

to the Goddess within.

Now & Again

The Ecstatic Doggerel of

Samuel Beast

In all my lives you have been with me;

whether day or night I remember.

When you fall out of my sight, I am restless

day and night, burning.

I climb hilltops; I watch for signs of your return;

my eyes are swollen with tears.

The ocean of life— that's not genuine the ties

of family, the obligations to the world—

they're not genuine.

It is your beauty that makes me drunk.

Mira's Lord is the Great Dark Snake. That love

comes up from the ground of the heart.

mirabai




Sunday is gloomy,
My hours are slumberless,
Dearest the shadows
I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will
never awaken you
Not where the black coach
of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thought of
ever returning you
Would they be angry
if I thought of joining you
Gloomy Sunday.


Sunday is gloomy
with shadows I spend it all
My heart and I have
decided to end it all
Soon there'll be candles
and prayers are said,
I know, let them not weep,
let them know
that I'm glad to go


Death is no dream,
for in death I'm caressing you
With the last breath of my
soul I'll be blessing you


Gloomy Sunday
Dreaming
I was only dreaming
I wake and I find you
asleep in the deep of
my heart dear


Darling I hope that my dream
never haunted you
My heart is telling you
how much I wanted you
Gloomy Sunday.

dissolving into the next transformation

When there is nothing I can do to change a situation the most radical thing I can do is to surrender fully into the acceptance of the situation exactly as it is. To enter the moment in all its divine perfection. To enter my feelings about the moment as well with deep respect and awe. The snow falls over the Sierra and is content to rest where it is. And when the weather warms it will be content to melt away. Like water shall I be, enigmatic and deep, conforming to the shape of the container in which I find myself. Like fire shall I be also, alert and awake and watching the signs unfolding, facing all with compassion and love. Like the tree shall I be rooted in the deep soil reaching for the heavens, standing still and peaceful swaying in the breezes. Like fine and precious metals shall I be content in my beauty and value and the millennia it took to shape me refine me into the precious gem of myself. Like the Earth itself shall I be, supporting all life, all seasons, all happenings all at once. All birth, all death all living and dying shall I hold in my bosom with perfect equanimity. Nothing is forgotten nothing withheld only perfect harmony of mystery unfolding. I surrender in peace to what is all around me now in perfect measure all is granted just as it is for all is indeed as it is and in each moment revolving evolving dissolving into the next transformation.


matthew tragiews

Stranger!

Come closer;

 I want to know the curves of your lips like the back of my hand.

Closer still;

I want the weight of your burdens pressing down on me,

with your heart beating against mine.

My little love, it's quiet.

Let there be peace in our passion;

we can't make a sound.

amanda kalyca

"That we close down is not a problem. 

In fact, to become aware of when we do so is an important part of the training. 

The first step in cultivating loving-kindness 

is to see when we are erecting barriers between ourselves and others. 

Unless we understand-in a non-judgmental way-

that we are hardening our hearts, 

there is no possibility of dissolving that armor. 

Without dissolving the armor, 

the loving-kindness of bodhicitta is always held back. 

We are always obstructing our innate capacity 

to love without an agenda." 

~Pema Chodron

image: mickel kalalo

It's only love...it's only love...you know...how it feels...feeling is easy...i know. When I was young...when I was young...you know...it was real...my heart was open...but now...i know...i know...i know...better. I've been shown...the other side...and now I see the way...things are. It's only love...it's only love...you know...how it feels...feeling is easy...i know...feeling is easy...i know...feeling is easy...i know.

somewhere between heaven and earth

Oh wise Mira, you warned me of the peril!

The masked trickster carried the facade of an enlightened One

and I played the Fool.

The clever cad was a rapacious lover of deceit,

as was his compelling and undeniable cupidity for Love.

A crafty wordsmith of flowery language with an intoxicating system of touch,

penetrating my abandoned thirst for carnal desire and Love with shrewd calculation.
What cruel joker played this trick upon innocent flesh and blood?

How could I succumb to such a devious soul!

Once again, as I look to the Mountain Energy for sustenance and healing,

his cunning no longer holds sway.

Alas, it was always the alter of the Mountain

that holds the Way for this cast away pilgrim to lay her weary head

somewhere between heaven and earth.

The Promise

Undifferentiated presence,

spontaneously arising

before heaven and earth,

still and silent, infinite, virtual,

eternally present

through interminable cycles.

It gives birth to the Cosmos,

It is impossible to name,

so I call it pure boundless immensity.

Lao Zi, Dao De Jing, #25

The bass beat. The loud music. I am still the unmoving thing when everything else is spinning. The one standing far and apart. I’ve made every excuse, thought of every reason, imagined some more, constructed stories, made cases. And then to go back to go forward, to confront make believe, fear, sadness. There is no saving in hiding. For all the moments, and all the living, for all the all that I can I will. I am a liar. I am a liar. I am a liar. My heart beats. I am a liar, I am a liar, I am a liar. There are no strings, no imaginary friends, no soft hidden places. There is no explaining, no logic to find, reason to make sense to tell to make good. There is only that I love him. I love him. I love him. The rush of blood, the beat. A time to grow up, to find again.
He covers my eyes with his hand, his fingers in my mouth.



she was

i remember dearest the first time you evaporated from my mouth,

the wet deep saturation of your spirit left no trace as it had once before,

and i wept for the springtime again.

if only cupid could find his way to breathe life into our dance once again!

sometimes i catch a glimpse of your back,

or the scent of your sacred alter where i once prayed.

such a fool was i to believe that i could hold water with my hands!

Lover of Aphrodite

Child of resource and a beggar,
Lover of Aphrodite,
What heart will satisfy your want
... For good and beautiful things?
Fools!
Eros will stray from your loving arms,
Ever unsheltered, ever in need

A. Kalyca

The Art of Love

Why fool around with all this medicinal magic and nostrums?
     There is a better way; turn your direction, and heed.
Not long ago I said it was wise to dissemble your cheating,
     Now I reverse myself--let it be openly told.
Inconsistent? Of course, but is that any reason to scold me?
     Winds do not always blow from the same reach of the sky.
East, West, North, or South--and we plan our course in accordance.
     Drivers can hold the reins easy or tight at their will.
There are some girls who are bored with over-devoted indulgence:
     Given no rival, their love languishes, fades, dies away.
Spirit can grow too rank, when matters are going too smoothly,
     Nor is it easy to bear Fortune's continual smile.
Just as a fire dies down, and weakens, little by little,
     While the embers lie hid under the gray of the ash,
But if you rouse the flame, half-dead, by throwing on sulphur,
     Then it flares up again, brighter in light than before.
So, when hearts grow dull with too much freedom from worry,
     They must be given the spur, given incentive to love.
Heat her cooling mind, and let her grow anxious about you:
     Let her grow pale when she hears evidence your are untrue.
Lucky beyond all count is the man whom a woman grieves over,
     Pales at the word of his wrong, falls in a faint to the ground.
I would not mind, in that case, if she tried to snatch me bald-headed,
     Tore at my cheeks with her nails, frantic and weeping with rage,
Gave me her angriest looks, and wanted to do what she could not,
     Namely, live without me--what an impossible hope!
If she should ask me, "How long is a suitable time for resentment?"
     I would say, Not too long; anger flares up with delay.
While she is still in tears, put your arms gently around her
     While she is still in tears, hold her close to your breast,
Give her, while still in tears, kisses, and something much better--
     That is the only way; anger succumbs to that peace.
When she has raged her fill, and seems an enemy, surely,
     Take her to bed; you will find she will be gentle and mild.
There the arms are laid down in favor of concord and union;
     There, you can take it from me, harmony truly is born.
The doves, who were lately at war, join bill to bill in affection;
     Soft is the roucoulade, murmuring, cooing of love.



Ovid

one step at a time...

There could be a day in the life of human growth and self actualization 

that the love of one in one stage gives way, 

and the love of another in a new stage holds sway. 

Thus the the growth of the true person, 

in all their royal personhood, 

is the highest authority in the dictates of loyalty. 

And the choice in that day is to let go of love that has been and is now over. 

And then to honestly grieve all that it might have been, 

and bid fond farewell. 

Then new love truly may come in. 

close your eyes with what’s not there




I could tell you the colour. No binary, defined by presence or lack. Each other. There is a truth to these things. A palette of knowings. When we paint we drip pigmented, liquid, tactile, truths. These drips are ourselves. We stain each other’s skin. Stains that do not wash away despite the many comfort lies we bathe ourselves in. The story of too much, it doesn’t, didn’t matter. There will be legs and hands and kindness, and eyes that see scars without asking, mouths that lick at other mouths without questioning. An absence of questions that is wrapped in understanding. There will be less words, less telling and telling and telling because telling doesn’t have to be spoken when it can be seen and understood by different and not the same. The lies of the stories are truths. Truths that obscure and hide and layer other truths. The truths of borders. The truths of knowings that cannot be unlearnt. There is the colour and the end, the confession, benediction, and lament. She tells me it wasn’t real, or, at best – dream like. Waking up alone and disoriented. I think about the names that flash across my screen. Names at the end of phone calls entered 20, 30, 50, years ago. A database byte flashing green and white. A somewhat archive that stands long after the typing fingers change. Names not erased, even when the person carrying the burden of the name and its story is dead. An electronic graveyard, no less real. There are countless ways to touch and be touched. I hold them in my mouth and not my heart.



She Was
this blog is food for my poor soul
thanks D







The beauty that you gave
Has turned upon itself
And all the things you said
Evaporated
Evaporated ...
Was I blind
Deaf and dumb
To the words slipped from your tongue?

Honestly ... honestly ... honestly
Alone in my bed
The things that you said
Go round in my head ... still
It seems to be true
That nothin' I do
Can influence you ...

I tried and tried again
(Don't you know I tried and tried again
to make you listen to me
But everything I said it always seemed to go right through you)
To make you notice me
(I turned myself into a person that I didn't like
But please believe me when I say I know it wasn't right)
But talking to myself
(I never thought that things would
get to be so complicated
I never thought that you and me would end up so frustrated)
Won't catch you attention I see ...
(You'd think that something had to come from all those good intentions
But in the end I needed something more than intervention)

Was I mad?
Was I ... mad?
Foolish me
Foolish ... me
To succumb so easily
To suc...cumb
Easi...ly
So easily
So easily

Honestly... honestly... honestly...
(Alone in my bed
The things that you said
Go round in my head ... still
It seems to be true
That nothin' I do
Can influence you... still)

Fools like me get so easily taken
And fools like me can be so mistaken

Honestly... Honestly... Honestly

The promise that you gave
(Don't you know the promise that you
gave just turned it's back upon me
I stopped believing but you couldn't take the whole thing from me)
Has turned it's back
(I never thought I'd have to pay the price to set you free)
And all you represented
Was just my projection you see...
(You know I never thought I'd ever
live a day without you
And that's the reason why
it makes me sad to think about you
and you know I never thought
I'd make it if you wasn't there
And now I'm tryin' to eject myself
from this despair)

People come
People go...
Never say I "told you so"
Honestly

Everything I know you said
Goin' round inside my head

Never thought I'd see the day
Always got a price to pay

Nothin' that I ever do
Ever seems to get to you

perchance to dream

I began to cry, big tears that dripped right from the middle of my eyes and streaked down my cheeks.  They welled up from deep down inside me and I could and would do nothing to stop them.  I watched the world go by from a fuzzy, altered perspective that defied logic.  The world was there, and yet not there, and I was in it and yet not in it.

Perhaps it was all a dream...............

.................I began to laugh.
deep resounding, resonating, uproarious laughter, as if the universe had whispered into my deepest space and fully enlightened me as to the the cosmic joke of it All.
I laughed a hurricane, and I laughed a tornado, and I laughed a typhoon.
and then I laughed.
I laughed my way to a surreal place on the other side, over there, by blissland.
the heaviness lifted from my shoulders, clambered up a tree, leapt on to a roof, and rode the smoke from my chimney through the air at an accelerating pace which cannot exist and simply vaporized.
the real and the surreal were there; not there.
as was I, as I wasn't.

perhaps it was all a dream......................

yes a better ending,
well said
thanks Andy G

for my sista W......
we're just two dolls
under a spell
on a music box
that's wound by a key







I heard once- feel the feeling and let it drop down,
deep into your pelvis.
Don't fight it, but let it sink down.
It will be a little easier to tolerate.

thanks W

A Weird Lullaby

image: Nathan Appel



What a death
What a chance
What a surprise
My will has chosen life
Still, it has had me spooked,
And many others beside.....


At night I think of my piano in its ocean grave,
And sometimes of myself floating above it.
Down there everything is so still
and silent,
that it allows me to sleep.
It is a weird lullaby
and so it is
it is mine.
There is a silence where had been no sound.
There is a silence where no sound maybe,
in the cold grave
under the deep, deep, sea.

excerpt from The Piano

Healing of a Broken Heart

I began to cry, big tears that dripped right from the middle of my eyes and streaked down my cheeks.  They welled up from deep down inside me and I could and would do nothing to stop them.  I watched the world go by from a fuzzy, altered perspective that defied logic.  The world was there, and yet not there, and I was in it and yet not in it.

Perhaps it was all a dream...............






rest in peace Nick Ashford!

If only love would spread its savor through me!
--not to go one moment more without spring!
What I sold into sorrow was only my hands,
dearest: now leave me with your kisses.

Shut out the month's light with your fragrance;
close all the doors with your hair.
Only do not forget, if I wake up crying
it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child

hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands,
for your caresses like the wheat,
the flashing rapture of shadow and energy.

O my dearest, nothing but shadow there
where you walk with me through your dream:
you tell me when the light returns.

Neruda

I'm shakin my shimmy Sista............

I can't post my girl Shug with out posting this clip below--probably the most powerful piece of film in cinema....

The Color Purple

The World as Non-Sense

That our life is a dissolving moment in which there is nothing to grasp and no one to grasp it is the negative way of saying something which may also be said positively.  But the positive way is not quite so effective and forceful, and lends itself more easily to misunderstanding.  The sense that there is something to be grasped rests upon the seeming duality of the ego and its experience.  But the reason that there is nothing to be grasped is that this duality is only seeming, so that the attempt to cling is like trying to bite the teeth with the teeth, or to clutch the hand with the hand.  The corollary of this realization is that subject and object, oneself and the world, are a unity or, to be precise, a "nonduality" since the word "unity" may be taken to exclude diversity.

Alan Watts
Nature, Man and Woman

I know your work;

I wish I knew your name.

You seem to be the only artist here

Who knows about the other colors.

Black and white are just as well;

But one quickly tires of shades of gray.

How can they take two loves 

And paint them both gray

When one is clearly magenta,

And the other royal blue?

Amanda Kalyca

possibilities

Thirty-Three

I thee he she one two then three,
Ten, thirteen, thirty-three
Fingers joints vertebrae
seed root trunk branch leaf fruit
I thou he she making we, where me
Me we remembering me thee
Three free seed root sprout
Rushing hands poor soil drout
Trunk branch leaf fruit
Doubt freak out must shout
I finding me before three
Before we wandering free seed
under tree damp cool shade
Fool who is me thee we be
Wondering feel such zeal
Sweet feel apple orange peal
I thou she he together we
Fertile field wings flutter
Nest empty parents lost
Wondering feel free field
Three we went south
Spring brook river mouth
Sea waves tides shore
Wind cloud rain more
Life rolling here there
Who me here where
Hear me then share
Fair trade take dare
Give take big mistake
Who lost under rake
Leaves fall compost all
More soil buried seed
Child sprouts from heart
More roots survive drout
Doubt sure breaks heart
Rivers bends dams levies floods
Storms burst I thou he she
We tremble make thirty three
Three loads branch breaks
Baby falls then wakes
Loving arms sweet tears
Tremble shudder night fears
Day dawns noon bright
After hot follow cool night
Who there to hold tight
We she he plight troth right
Left here back there finding
Me seeking share fair pair
Tree shakes earth quakes
Big wave tsunami sweeps
Trees nests people all
Upon the other shore
Peace trips then falls
Picks up dust and all
What real dander all
Life in dust dust rust
Wreckage weaving deep fear
Trusting heaven twist turn
Where root soil deep there
Sprout reach sun sweep
Sun moon rain earth
Turning season
Crawl stand walk run
Jump fall get up call
Foul ball fair trade
Eat fruit shit all
Make soil grow tall
I thou he she we
Where me all through
Root trunk stand tall
Eyes mouth nose ears
Vagina penis anus train us
Us we what fuss dust bust
Fools sages feet stages
Joys smiles tears rages
Thorns lances sides blood
Crown heart belly loins
Time burns holes pockets
Summer fires pile ashes
Helpless standing watching blazes
Phoenix rises second city
Windy prophets driving markets
Life unfolding eyes in sockets
Watch this mom look no hands
Tears fall joy cheer home stand
Life grand number one fan
I thou she he we thirty three


Matthew tragiewS

Now. When I have overcome my fears--of others, of
myself, of the underlying darkness:
at the frontier of the unheard-of.
Here ends the known.  But from a source beyond it,
something fills my being with its possiblities.

Dag Hammarskjold