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Posts Tagged ‘love’

“..The beloved is partly of the human world, partly of the animal kingdom, and things are not quite what they seem. In love the god becomes human, the wild one is tamed, the fierce one is the most gentle, the ugly one carries true beauty..

Travel beyond all the disguises and masks to risk the Nobility of True Beauty..

There is a sadness in deep love, a sadness at the center of joy because love, like birth and death, breaks open the heart, breaks open the dream of beauty to reveal some other beauty,

bigger and wilder and more precious than we knew. These love stories are not about ‘love at first sight’ or ‘happily ever after.’ They are layered tales of grief and patience, courage, strength, and transformation.”

– J. Ruth Gendler

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The Night

hugs a person,

way the Water a Whale.

 

The Wind

kisses the Waters

and 2gether they Dent the Earth.

 

Our Sun laughs upon it

All

and the music of that Voice

makes Perfection of Pattern:

 

Mother-Matter

Father-Pattern

 

And simple submission makes it possible.

 

 

My friend Jerry says

time is quicker as we’re older

Because fills-I with Memories.

 

My greatest wish is to meet mine own destruction

in the arms of my Lover.

Not by their hand. By nature.

and in the fullest comfort of Health –

Weathering even a blinking, sowing Storm relaxed;

my grip tight to the body

of One who feels it’s safe

because its I.

 

Thank you,

my Protector.

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[words by Miriam Dyak, 2002 – discovered in this hour within We’Moon 2011]

Stop! Strike everything! No more words…

There is a fire in my blood, each cell a tiny house on fire –

something that has tasted God

 

Don’t talk to me! Don’t! Not when I’m so hungry

starving for the deep forest of your body

the way a storm hungers wildly for land

the way whales long for that hug

of thousand foot down ocean pressure

the way roots of just transplanted trees are crazy for home

 

Let me in! This is not about babies

not about houses or tea sets, not about your sweet bow or arrow

It is not even about the little gods of wheat and roads

and goes far beyond insurance, beyond stone temples

 

It is about the God that has landed in us

what I have bitten      what is now devouring me from the inside

You can’t even think of it directly

Imagine if all the birds in the world laned in this one wood

all of them at once

it would take the shape of a desire so vast the landscape itself

with everything on it would disappear into the earth

Just the cry would lift off like a rocket

Your bones your old shoes your new knowledge

all liquefied into sound

one touch and you’re turned to vibration

your geography changed and choiceless forever

 

It is too late for everything

but truth

finally on time

for love

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Leo Leo

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Province

Suddenly, all your history’s ablaze
Try to breathe, as the world disintegrates
Just like autumn leaves, we’re in for change
Holding tenderly to what remains
And all your memories, are as precious as gold
And all the honey, and the fire which you’ve stole
Have you running through all your red-cheeked days
Shaking loose these souls, from their sacred hiding space

Hold your heart courageously
As we walk into this dark place
Stand steadfast erect and see
That love is the province of the brave

Pushed under this expanse of bursting stars
Let this burning brightly illuminate the where we are
In this hollow that lovers’ voices occupy
Let it follow that we let it free, let it fly

Breaking open the walls of this cage
Intoxicated, Oh so amazed
Much like falcons tumbling from the heights at play
Conjoined, talons engaged

Hold these hearts courageously
As we walk into this dark place
Stand steadfast beside me and see
That Love is the province of the brave

 

– TV on the Radio

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“And I-n our quIet hour

I feel I see everything,

and am in love with the hook

upon which everyone hangs.”

…Joanna Newsom

 

Another upside to the perfection of circumstance:

the reason giveth to live.

 

I’ve got little but your loose map

made of literature.

and the moon in my belly –                               a sense of deity touching the palm of my hand

hope the repository of my shoulder loop,

the connect between heart and mind where the self resides

and my little mouth counts. (zero to three and sixty

The Ankh! my life my body, my body a picture of my very sandal which traverses omni-verses. Vers – truth. Life. Verite. Union. (there is no difference)

 

having only peace of know I’m a piece

I’m a piece!

of all these webbing dancers! and a train rumbling by the window. Its blackness holding toxin but traveling swiftly on

and humanity not contained

in those dark depths.

but rails can only hold for as long as someone works them.

 

how times haven’t changed but my blessing calls for transformers to explode

in blue lights

witnessed by innocent drunkards passing

as explosive lightning – a frightning party in the night!

 

the slowness of the restaurant

(its empty checkerboard floor becoming the board of a game people can’t afford to play at the no/ew.)

indicative

bringing time and crossing fingers.

i take it like a meaning

i take it like a sign.

i taste it like freedom

n hope

4 the coldness of winter

, draws people fondly to the arms of their loved ones.

huddling 4 warmth.       Bodies bearded around a fire made from what used to be waste.

Where’s the acceptance of beauty in that image? Making life-sustaining warmth from the waste of what had existed prior.

 

We are baking bread tonight.

cranberry-banana.

from scratch.

and i want

to slice it at a table for twenty         (the flames of a trash-fire make a good table)

as its still warm.

spreading butter on it softly,

to meld and finish its imperfections

and pass each hunk off in a circle

reaching the last in a row

and containing the blessings of all the angels who’ve brought their fingers to its outsides.

say, You deserve this Bread.

 

when will we remember

like a large game of parachute

to be one another’s angels?

lifting up the sky

for I to run underneath it,

rejoicing,

in childlike glee,

and taking our place on some other side,

rearranged,

to lift the sky again

4 R family.

[one another/brothers n sisters/mother and father/combined One soul]

 

 

ah, fabric

net

material

the impossible intricacy of mother spider’s web

and its invisible strength.

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Guiltiness,

pressed on their conscience.

And they live their lives

on false pretense every day –

Each and Every Day.

These are the big fish

who always try to eat down the small fish.

They would do anything

to materialize their every wish.

But woe to the downpressors,

they’ll eat the bread of sorrow.

Woe to the downpressors,

they’ll eat the bread of sad tomorrow.

They’ll eat the bread of sorrow every day.

– Bob Marley

 

 

Is it any wonder,

that as I sit in our local “anarchist, revolutionary community-space worker-run cafe” and a man engages me in conversation

after talking for at least half an hour

a girl from the counter comes to find me in the back corner of the cafe. She asks “are you okay?”and hands me a piece of paper with a note on it from some customer who’d been eavesdropping. Later, another worker behind the counter informed me that a customer notified the workers at the counter that I might be ‘cornered’ into having a conversation I didn’t want to have.

Why were they wondering if I was okay? It’s obvious: I’m some defenseless innocent middle-class looking white young female who is having a conversation with an older black man who, by his dress, appears to be less than well-off.

Yes, ma’am, I am fine. This gentleman is respectful, inquisitive, genuine, and feels like talking. We are discussing worldly issues and opinions on politics, spirituality, and life experience. I think it’s fucking sad that you “anarchist, revolutionary” workers don’t see past the prejudices that keep us, as a human race, in bondage. Instead of seeing two human beings in conversation, you saw something bound up in race and class and weighted down by the dark magick of money.

We are all human beings. We are here on Earth to practice Being Human. One grace that might be saving in this sorry situation is this:

while the homeless eat from the “Welcome Table” separately, outside in the cold,

the “honorable givers” in their finery sitting at the high table next to stained glass peppered with altered and falsified images of Jesus

will never know Grace as long as they look down their long noses at others. They’ll be eating forever from food that cannot nourish

constantly pouring more dirt in an unquenchable pit of thirst

until the day realize the Human Purpose is to Love.

stripping others of their dignity and humanity is keeping all in bondage.

foolish, foolish wonder how they’ll come to realize their own suffering.

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