wilts

I want to open up to nothingness
and wilt away my feeling skin
see it shed like feathers and be happy of it

this is a metamorphosis
flying with iron wings
rather be a meteorite

that can cause craters on the moon
fuel the sun — raise mountains from flat beds

a gardener of the waves of the oceans
and the corals excavated from the sands

the dunes of richness and the ferocity of the valleys

being fertile in bone and soul.—

Our Greatest Fear by Marianne Williamson

http://explorersfoundation.org/glyphery/122.html

Our Greatest Fear —Marianne Williamson

it is our light not our darkness that most frightens us

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other

people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of
God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

Often said to have been quoted in a speech by Nelson Mandela. The source is Return to Love by Marianne Williamson, Harper Collins, 1992. —Peter McLaughlin”

Ever since I heard this poem recited by Rick Gonzalez’s character Timo Cruz I have been in love with this poem.  It is one of my favourite poems of all times. Though Ctuz changed the words and excluded God I thought God made the poem more powerful as in even if you don’t believe you have to admit that the way God symbolically is used here is pretty amazing.

This poem for anyone feeling down 🙂

She, house

Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. Describe the ghosts that live in this house:

Image credit: “love Don’t live here anymore…” – © 2009 Robb North – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

“So I have taken up a challenge to describe ghosts;
well let me tell you a bit of history that concerns me
  ghosts are not always a species and yes they 
  dio not manifest as poltergeist but are poltergeists like
 aneurysm are or lerts be milder and state they are fireflies 
 exploding and regrowing like phoenix embers
 
From the left side of this house pic I see a woman
Probably the shadow tones inspire tomes of long hair
But it’s easier to see women ghosts than male ones
that says something about many cultures
ghost the lingering violent types are usually women
while the noisy and petulant types are usually male –>
–> preferably adolescent looking as the ID and Super Ego 
 probably needs a sense back to  “accepted realities”  and that sir or madam
 or “.” is quite a sad affair on its own

Well, let’s get back to the main story and it’s this. This lady here or I am calling her that
is showing me her glaring profile because I wandered and trespassed into something
bad and that is her own kind of bad and she doesn’t like me eavesdropping or do anything
because droppings are bad scenery ain’t it?

I suppose that place was the kitchen but she is standing like a surgeon with instruments out
not a cool in delicate harmony with the craft; obviously she despises the kitchen, the art of cooking and the wooden sweetness of plates and the porcelain afterwares is not hers to adorn and I think the only reason she is standing here because most people knew her here and she just wants to mock them. 

So, there is a message that needs deconstruction but maybe there is no academic frivolity (actually I like deconstruction a lot but I know some people shoot ants with it when it need not be)
and so there is just the smoothness of the dark shadowy hands, no knife, no maniac mythologies of hysteria.

I get it you destroyed the house and were proud to do so
Not because you hated its nice design, (though I don’t think its Victorian and I am dunce of these quaint (like not small as potatoes small but like novelty small) types of architecture please don’t hate me for my ignorance) but it’s country pleasantry
made you feel like throwing it off the sky if you could and it’s not the house but how the house works with a crisp dawn to say “hi” to you hollowly and the burnt embers of a day with an injective authority of a night always ringing to try to tell you what to do. And though the house is small it’s lards large and greediness cannibalized by the torture of you where each failure or triumph goes through as the same. Rape, rape, rape. And they do so because such punishing order and sex and sex and order and beating and what not is considered what can bev done only to women but ironically you have proven them so horribly wrong. Snapped in two that arcane madness by becoming hysteria of a myth for a while and it was damn ugly but damn pretty because it was you post breaking point egg crack when only the poach was on and no yolk was out.

Now the door is annexed like a threshold like with slim logs
as if someone has to jump over into this madness because
it seems to you that only tragedy like that has to be jumped into
and you want no other way and will rather want it this way

But you are not dead

Far from it

Well, your life here is dead and that is what the mockings smiling unworking ghost 
is showing and that is what sums off the place; it is usually the slave not the tyrant who shows the honesty of a life, a place –> a life in a place. but guess what  you are not a slave nor a tyrant anymore you are just you

And so I see you smiling mocking in a kitchen that is not you holding nothing
showing me that you are strength; and glimmer in and out showing me, telling me

“I am alive now.””

rags to riches

 

we are bored of poverty, handsome though we struggle hard, soft against the ashen and the grime — our crime becomes that we fashion the rags to riches rhyme! Oh please, a beggar on a street may or not as what he seems but most beggars are not symbologies waiting for their carcass scanned but here we do the the gallery view and be satiated at defiling the masses

rags to riches only work when you blow the cunt or cock or all for 2 cents a pop and then get pushed and moved around like some bad tasting of 5 start food. Here we become happy being the fat of the rich cat so we take the blows for them as proxy to their crimes.

Don’t tell about rags and riches; don’t tell I am dumb while I have been selling flowers since 4 now I am 10 but the man who molests me still eager to touch me and yes I am a man thus my tongue stays quiet but everyone knows what’s going on as I stare at women or men in their moving houses ( a car is so nice need not be an RV) and try to get them to buy flowers. Always discontent about the way they behave but always holding my tongue.

You glossy immortals are but celluloid crowned and soon you wax will wither and the tether to your bough will crackle with brimstone from you own asphalt scales and you will consumed and phoenix-born to us and soon you will know that the rags are there to wash and keep the clean of the riches and no  Cinderella transformations happen much for even Cinderella came back from the party and went back to rags so her riches were still dependent but we will not be contented by a 1 percent foul play that poisons the broth of the brood.▬

Helen

 

Constellation Cygnus*
Image by garlandcannon via Flickr

 

You’re spinning like a web
and the oceans caught up
ballerina with feet so clumsy
you think you misread

but you know better
when the stars are shining
you know better
when the clouds are howling

wind and rage can find you peace
wind and rage can you find you peace

you are seldomly hopeless
though you are ordinarily versed
you climbed up the moon
with the sun’s hair as ladder

Helen
keep on moving
Helen
wash and bathe with the ocean
Helen
keep on moving
if your heart stops
the world stops
because no one knows you
Helen
you are rich in eyes
Helen
you are sunshine and moonlight in a ting bottle of flesh
keep on dancing

And when the stars dance with feet so highly advanced
can primitive man hope to catch up?
and when the moon swiftly changes gears
can motor cars understand?

You Helen you can
you are the man who can
Woman dance with those stars
and race along with the moon
on some other constellation

Helen
Do you believe?
Helen
never scar

 

Let them say
what they wanna say

Words fade as sand
Only Wisdom graduates to stone
and fate can take all shapes and form

maybe one day when you are a shooting star on a far away map
I’ll learn to dance with the stars as well

Helen be strong
Helen be strong…