“To exist is to survive unfair choices.” – Khatun O Ʌ
Image: O Ʌ Netflix
Tell no one else, only the wise
For the crowd will sneer at one
I wish to praise what is fully alive,
What longs to flame toward death.
When the calm enfolds the love-nights
That created you, where you have been created
A feeling from the Unknown steals over you
While the tranquil candle burns.
You remain no longer caught
In the peneumbral gloom
You are stirred and new, you desire
To soar to higher creativity.
No distance makes you ambivalent
You come on wings, enchanted
In such a hunger for light, you
Become the butterfly burnt to nothing
So long as you have not lived this:
To die is to become new,
You remain a gloomy guest
On the dark earth.
Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe.
He inspired the depths of so many artists and empathize with so many downhearted. Made us soar with new understandings of the conditions of the heart.
This week so much was lost. I’ve felt like my whole being has hit rock face and I’m slowly sliding down…granite by granite imbedded…this is what I’ve gained .
Heartache weighs you down but this is what expected when you full of desires and love. It all fades eventually, but I believe the memory can be everlasting because memories don’t have to change.
Thank you Leonard Cohen, for your voice and what you shared with the ones that were listening.
I’m learning to go away in a ghost town
No one to behave for
The campfire is out
For the scales only balance for death
To sink to the depths of the oceanic crust
To be joined in the endless sediment
Of the metamorphosed
Of the melting
Of the upheaval To be crushed back down again In only hope to be once part of a fire opal
The swaying of the train
Mind outta of body
While my head rest upon the cold
Siddhartha in lap
Patched up in chrysalis haven
My innermost is to dwell with YOU
A tree of fire
A curve of collarbone
A precious gossamer float
Enraptured always by the brazen words of Oberst
In the wavy moonlit movable waters
A secret want
A holiness to fingertips
YOU reveal my deficiency
My entirety, awaits in another expansion
Poem/Naomi Print/Vija Celmins/Music/Conor Oberst
The seasonal sun fire kisses,
To ablaze sweet Ida skins.
Enchant my eyes to sense,
The difference of my life’s fabrication.
Like cavities that fed on my mind.
All the pretending of love.
That never nurtured.
My blood to flow,
To make my skin a blushing rose.
Now I see I’m too old to huff impatiently. I’m left to asking how do I orchestrate an orchard?
I simply cannot.
For if I control it,
I’ll cultivate only a bitter lust.
A love to grow as naturally as
Ida Reds, must be surrender in trust.
To the graceful hands of nature.
That one day could embrace me tightly
In tangible warmth,
And fray the cold negligence.
Poem & Photograph(Saturday’s stroll thru apple orchard): Naomi Ruth S. W.