Relationship

The Surreal Token

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In fields danced
The howling tornadoes
Where did we go?
A voice wearied from
The dark censored hosts

Feeling old, pills were taken
And laughter misplaced,
Into the Samaras box,
Of the museum floor

As moles dream,
Be the world
Be the king
Ruling time’s
Borrowed tempo

Disordered grandeur
A shrouded relief
From the subjective
Neglected overcrusted
Microwaves,
And ignored lint
Covered floors,
To slip on
For divorce is conjured,
Only in the tempest’s mind

What lies ahead?
A tunnel out,
To our 21st century
Artifacts
A layered forest
Of fordite trees
Where you cut off
A piece to keep,
To heal as your
Modern token

Walkin towards
A rosette memory,
Beamin an old song,
From afar,
That you wrote
Underneath a point
Above the dipper
Your veins were a freezin…
“With all the colors in the room,
Why did your’s have to be blue?”

For: Ben
Words: Nara
Art: Lucas Samaras

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Art Illustration + Poems, Earthly voids & Spiritual quest

Rain-Starred Tara (Green Tara Mantra | Om Tare Tuttare Ture Soha)

She opens that samsara door

Her rain-stars wash out the darkness
She holds those divine violet flames,
to transmute these tired candles
into the sacred reassurance….
We have the way, as Tara, for stars wear no veils…

My drawing of a bodhisattva is a work in progress of a ceramic shrine. She looks like Green Tara with the greenish cast, but in the final painting she will be in her role as Blue Tara. I’m portraying
her in the process of enlightement/transmutation of breaking the samara’s cycle. In this context the nautilus being symbolic of the cycle. Her spiral chambers expansion of rebirths released by the violet flame or dharma completed. The expansion of spiritual energy only remaining. The nautilus for me, also symbolic of Tara as “The Mother of all Buddhas” and “She brings us to the shore.” The oleander around her breast is, “the feminine face of god ” and the blue lotus, of course meaning enlightenment.

The drawing
I call it: The transmutation of Nara Ana into Blue Tara

More info about Green Tara/Taras and the mantra: https://www.yowangdu.com/tibetan-buddhism/green-tara-mantra.html

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Imprints

“You are a blue distance, into my future…”

He began to remember with his dark eyes, drawing out the light
in mists of sandalwood and smears
of rose madder, a fine red

Scratching Van Gogh’s history
stunningly, makes a vision,
from a tube of ultramarine blue
and buds outta of tea colours
after café terrace hours,
the first to lay down swirls of ecstasy

Partial cut-up from
Sacré Bleu- Christopher Moore

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Art Illustration + Poems

Lou Land

Rainwater
ambrosial liquid
soaking the perlite soil—
filling the ancient underworlds veins
of fire, with celadon still life beads

Slick cellophane in Lou’s waters
spanish moss shelters,
shamanic whispers,
weaving a wheel to rise the flames
to rejuvenate the scarlet scarred hearts and sundial those eyes,
that once streaked and
swiveled the stars;
in a half destroyed ocean yard

Art and Poem: NaRa

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Mine Na Poems

Heaviness (A Birthday Poem)

How does she begin to feel lighter again?
In this age of heaviness,
Everything weighing her down,
Try to hide the decay,
With excessive makeup.
Trim the fat.
But her eyelids still shut
from afternoon pains,
And the heartaches
still weighs the same.

Hypnotic regression…
A sweet girl of seven.
Unaware, that all her life will be to crave forth what seems lovable and gratifying.
That maturity ceases the climbing of trees and chasing of cats.
To the ascending of worldly success and the approval of at least one man’s glowing eyes.

And at the age of seventy
what reflections will she see?
Lady Plath’s
terrible fish?
Sacks of hefty flesh…
Enlarged pores to pour out life’s toxic gunk of addictions?
Crippling disease…
A memory like a swiss cheese parade?
Or the censored truths?
That the second we are born the body is slipping away.
Just a house for our souls to seek warmth,
To accumulate energies from karmic delays.

What about the here and now?
That carefree is not only a state of mind for a seven year old,
But also for this woman of thirty-four. Until her mental branches
begin to grow into a ruckus,
And she must trim it all back again.
Will she smile with thankfulness at everything that has accumulated
And seize the truth?
That acceptance of impermanence
is a state of grace.

Poem/Photo: Naomi Ruth             Art: Ivan Albright

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Imprints

Imprints:”That Which I Have Done I Did Not Do (The Door)” – Ivan Albright

A recent visit to the Chicago Institute I got to view Ivan Albright’s painting “That Which I Have Done I Did Not Do (The Door).” It invoked the memory of one my favorite quotes from the French poet/philosopher Paul Valery. img_6655

Palais de Chaillot – quote by Paul Valery

“It depends on those who pass
Whether I am a tomb or treasure
Whether I speak or am silent
The choice is yours alone.
Friend, do not enter without desire.”
~ Paul Valery

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Ceramics + Writing, dreams

Sleeping with Malachite (part 1)

The owls are perching
On the ladders of my dreams again.
Heavy oppression,
Vacuuming the brilliance out of me.

My flint feeted girl grasping
Her inner world.
Where bells rung,
To set the horses galloping
Through green dust infinity.

What incubus?
Has dropped in my belly of layered terra;
With picks to pluck out
My dream felt exuberance.

To be awaken at 3:00 a.m.
With vacant swan girl stare.
Swathed in ivory guilt.
Did I forget?
The owls are my friends.
Above, with watchful hearts,
They strung up stripes of malachite.

Poem & Ceramic Art: Naomi Ruth W.

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