Earthly voids & Spiritual quest, Echo Muses

King of Flowers

Manushya,
What are you running away from?
That park?
Your landscape is abundance of ten thousandfold,
Of crystal glistening visitors
With a spread of splendour roses;
Those parcels unwrapped and laid under the sun
For your tour is coming towards an end
You’re not running you say
But ascending out of the envelope
Becoming…
Pesh Deva
You step out faithfully
And your eternal soul hangs up that dressed matter

For: Puspesh

Art: instagram artist @mcptato

 

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Imprints, Music 🎶

Imprints: Dolores O’Riordan

I love what her music always resonated in my soul. As a teenager, many nights when I couldn’t articulate my despair, my depression…
I would replay her songs over and over. Artist like her made me feel less alienated to these contorted emotions.
I know she suffered with bipolar depression as I do and many others. And it is heartbreaking. I (we) do not know how she died. But we know a bit on how she lived. And it was through making beautiful songs with her soaring Irish voice, that cuts through to clarity in a day gone bad.
These are only a few of my favorite songs.

RIP Dolores O’Riordan 💔

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Imprints, love

Imprints: Mary Mackey’s Poetry

The Kama Sutra of Kindness: Position No. 2

“should I greet you
as if
we had merely eaten
together one night
when the white birches
dripped wet
and lightning etched
black trees on your walls?
it is not love
I am asking
love comes from years
of breathing
skin to skin
tangled in each other’s dreams
until each night
weaves another thread
in the same web
of blood and sleep
and I have only
passed through you quickly
like light
and you have only
surrounded me suddenly
like flame
the lake is cold
the snows are sudden
the wild cherry bends
and winter’s a burden
in your hand I feel
spring burn in the bud.”

Mary Mackey 1987
From “The Dear Dance of Eros”

The Kama Sutra of Kindness: Position Number 3

“It’s easy to love
through a cold spring
when the poles
of the willows
turn green
pollen falls like
a yellow curtain
and the scent of
Paper Whites
clots
the air
but to love for a lifetime
takes talent
you have to mix yourself
with the strange
beauty of someone
else
wake each morning
for 72,000
mornings in
a row so
breathed and
bound and
tangled
that you can hardly
sort out
your arms
and
legs
you have to
find forgiveness
in everything
even ink stains
and broken
cups
you have be willing to move through
life
together
the way the long
grasses move
in a field
when you careen
blindly toward
the other
side
there’s never going to be anything
straight or predictable
about your path
except the
flattening
and the springing
back
you just go on walking for years
hand in hand
waist deep in the weeds
bent slightly forward
like two question
marks
and all the while it
burns
my dear
it burns beautifully above
you
and goes on
burning
like a relentless
sun”
Mary Mackey, 2006
From “Breaking The Fever”

Painting: Owen Gent

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Earthly voids & Spiritual quest, Echo Muses

A Shading Response

After the subsiding of the color shock,
granite grey spills into my day
As liquid rock passes through these lens,
and up to mercury,
to surge the cerebellum bay

Panic flutters in my hearth of garnet consumption
Held a mudra to feel the rhythm
Within that upper mantle — a wild outcry
Some bottled up words burn brighter

You possess the flood
Let’s interrupt our patterns
For we our interdependent

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Imprints

“Evening Song” by Gottfried Keller

Eyes my dear little windows,
Give me a little longer the fairest glows of vision
Be kind, let the images in,
For someday you shall grow dim!

No sooner shall the light have ceased
And the tired lids close than the soul shall have peace;
She will fumbling take off her walking shoes
And lay her down in the coffin’s gloom.

Still, she will see two glimmering sparks,
Like two little stars in the inner dark,
‘ Till they, too, waver and finally die,
As though by the wing of a butterfly

And still will I roam in the evening fields,
With only the sinking star for a friend;
Drink in, oh eyes, all your lashes can hold
Of the golden abundance of the world!

For Hermann Rorchach, a light dimmed out to soon.

Art Gustva Klimt

 

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