On the sand I doth carve love In round glyphs, simple verses chanted at dusk
Naked I got no stars in my pockets Standing staring at the face of the nascent evening In our shore, illuminated by the bonfires
I chant for us, beaten, yet stronger than the pulsing youth we had which one day will end Yet it’d us created, us, now by this ardent fire On this shore under the the nascent moon and the dancing flames.
Tell me You want me happy. Whisper me that and under my skin a sweet wild river for you will dance my woman spirit and Your mouth will drink it quenching our thirst.
Tell me of my place, as me say Yours you are my within burning torch Tonight, in the shade the burning sphere under this nascent moon Of a springtime night
Feel the happiness you own, if You just spread Your winged arms to collect my heart, my glyphs Your sadness will be past, such as mine
Turned into a nova of falling stars. lighting the shore, where once there was a little fire
I like when I find bookmarks in my books, they are like timestoppers. When we place them we do it to mark a place, yet, we are doing more, and this extra is something elusive, at the moment, but powerful. By marking a place, we actually mark the time too. We put a mark on the time in which we marked the place, and the two are inseparable, they are linked together. So when we find one of such objects, say a bookmark within the pages of a novel we read when we were young, they can perform this magic, they do take us back. They do it to me, at least. The cute dried lavender flower inside the page of the poetry book I opened this weekend was like teleporters taking me back in time.
Every time I find one such things in the books my mind can’t help going back to the moment I placed it, the moment I read that book, the moment I bought it, or the feelings I got when reading it. Memories that can be anything: the excitement, the dress I was wearing, thoughts of me in my room, the vision of myself reading in summer, by the sea, and on, and on, and on.
Words hold a great power, words are more than words, words are concepts, words are dreams, words are visions, they are butterflies, blades, they are delicate, or strong. Very often people do not know how to use them, they simply do not realise the power they have and the effect they have. So they speak, they write, they allow themselves to use words in ways they should not, totally unaware of the disasters they cause, and the harm. There is meaning what we say, then there is meaning in how things are said, there is a meaning in when they are said, and to whom. There is meaning in the order they are said. Words are also not commutative, saying something to A and then to B is not the same as tell the same thing in the reverse order. Words are thoughts, and the way they are said is a mirror of the way we think, or, in the way our thoughts will be perceived.
There is also meaning in removing them, and the moment in which they are removed. Words are things that speak beyond their existence. There is meaning also in not saying them, and the unsaying often do reveal even more, and way too often ends up delivering a concept that is distorted, and screaming it.
Then there are people who just do not understand all of the above. No matter how you explain them all of that. You can do it calmly, loudly, passionately, logically, they just dont, they can’t see. You can show them every passage and do that every day, and they just dont. You can show them what brings joy, what brings pain, what is seen as truth and what cannot be believed, and why. They nod, they make a polite dull comment, they may act as if they have understood, for a day, maybe two, and then after they will end up causing the same harm, show the same insensibilities, keep saying the same things in the same ways, hurting the same way, and in ways that they will never tolerate on them. Still they do, and they are not even guilty of anything, they just don’t get it, they will never get it, because walls do not bleed, no matter how white painted they are. But we must keep using words properly and not stop, or insensibility will devour our world, and we will be used to words used as void vessels.
Communication is wonderful, it is magical, it is delicate. There are people that excel at it, there are others that get messy, and say everything and the opposite of everything, some of them do it with passion, correcting themselves and stepping back to say again. I like them, they are sincere, they are cute, adobarble, because thoughts and feelings are waves and waves moves the flowing life.
Words holds power, pronouns, names, adjectives, the timinig, the spaces, their deletion, the warmth we put them when we speak to A, or B, the lack if it. The nearness, joy, or sense of duty, we deliver when we speak to A or B, and then the timing … and and and.
Walls do not bleed, but humans do, and words are human, like my blood
If you ask about how it feels, to be a Volcano, I know it.
Alas, did you ever ask yourself about it? Are they happy when they break the crust and sprinkle all they got? Or maybe they are angry? Is it tears that they scream out of their burning head? Is it passion? How much did it take for all of it to come out? Was she suffering all of the time? In silence? Was she ranting? Maybe she tried to channel it out in other ways, where? Did she succeeded in doing so?
It can take ages for a Volcano to finally come out, days, weeks, months, ages. It mounted up slowly, and most of the times Volcanoes do not end up being Volcanoes. They fade before, but when they do, is that an happier ending?
Volcanoes do shape the world, they create conditions for life, they modify the athmosphere, bring out life and feed the ground with novelty, renewed energy and soil for the new.
Volcanoes, beautiful beasts, beautiful Volcanoes, Your energy is holy.
You are a metaphor, a metaphor of the soul, something to learn from. Holy Volcanoes.
Easy. Easy as an easy run. Easy as the flow of water. Easy, because sometimes we need Easy, that “easy” that’s precious, and so difficult. Easy, because easy is the first step towards harmony, towards understanding. Because easy may be anything but a lack of depth.
Easy is breathing the flow, awareness of the moment.
Run Easy, breath Easy, love Easy, smile Easy.
Easy and letting go of the negative, being grateful for what we got, rather than focussing of what we thought the world owes us. Gratefulness.
That was my morning exercise today, running easy, breathing easy, something we give for granted but it is not, and not as “easy” as we think.
Easy when nothing is easy, because we are meant to do our best to make it easy. Like Spring, like the seasons changes, because an easy run, an easy walk, an easy smile, is nothing easy, and nothing less than extraordinary magic, and worth being clebrated
Kitty Michelle's Universe 