Amigo Absoluto

It is strange to be here. The mystery never leaves you alone. Behind your image, below your words, above your thoughts, the silence of another world waits. A world lives within you. No one else can bring you news of this inner world. Through the opening of the mouth, we bring out sounds from the mountain beneath the soul. These sounds are words. The world is full of words. There are so many talking all the time, loudly, in rooms, on streets, on television, on radio, in the paper, in books. The noise of words keeps what we call the world there for us. We take each other's sounds and make patterns, predictions, benedictions, and blasphemies. Each day, our tribe of language holds what we call the world together. Yet the uttering of the word reveals how each of us relentlessly creates. Everyone is an artist. Each person brings sound out of silence and coaxes the invisible to become visible.~John O'Donohue Artist~Vladimir Kush 1965 Moonlight Serenade

When everything is moving and shifting, the only way to counteract chaos is stillness. When things feel extraordinary, strive for ordinary. When the surface is wavy, dive deeper for quieter waters.~ ~Kristin Armstrong

        Silence is golden © Hanna Heath It is not your conversation That keeps me entertained        But rather the way you look at me That makes me feel sustained It’s the curve of your lips And the curl of your hair T’is all of the little things That make me stop and stare It is not your intelligence That drew me close to you   It is not your sense of humour That has thrown me all askew It’s the touch of your hand And the thoughts in your head       T's all of the little things The things that don’t get said It’s not your vivid history That’s made me fall in love It’s not your comprehension Of the world or what’s above It is your soft temperament And the way you smile at me T’is all of the little things That make me want to see It’s no...

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; So I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. ~ Pablo Neruda [Art: Joseph Lorusso]    The Cosmic Dancer

Loneliness Epidemic Someone recently said to me, “there is an epidemic of loneliness.” There it is! Now I know why my heart flutters when dusk approaches and my soul shivers at dawn. I forgot to get Vaccinated - Mike Essig

I am memory from my past of my history and my years. And as time goes by at the subway stop, I remember you with the newspaper and a very strong coffee. Your eyes fell on me I do not know yet because I smiled at you, You were not my type, not even the dust of a night. I fell in love, like the spring of flowers, and we had, we went two united souls. One day everything broke how the waves break on the beach without remedy, and you became remembrance. My soul is naked in these verses, I stay like this, with nothing to cover my feelings. The people at the stop are impatient, they give me back to a present, in which only I wait for the subway, with a book in hand and many wishes in the other. ~~ María Elficarosa

A Gift Just when you seem to yourself nothing but a flimsy web of questions, you are given the questions of others to hold in the emptiness of your hands, songbird eggs that can still hatch if you keep them warm, butterflies opening and closing themselves in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure their scintillant fur, their dust. You are given the questions of others as if they were answers to all you ask. Yes, perhaps this gift is your answer.~Denise Levertov Artist~Second Chances by Stephanie DiFormato

"Nature is not something that can be seen by the eye alone- it lies also within the soul, in pictures seen by the inner eye Edvard Munch Picture by Don Hong-Oai

A bird comes flying from the West, It flies for the East, Towards the Eastern garden-home Where spices breathe their perfume and grow, And palms rustle and springs give coolness – And the  miracle-bird sings, flying : “She loves him! She loves him! She carries his likeness in her small heart And carries it sweetly and secretly hidden, And does not know it herself. But in the dream he stands before her, She entreats, and weeps and kisses his hands And calls his name, And calling, she wakes, wakes, and lies startled, And rubs, astonished, her beautiful eyes – She loves him, she loves him !” ~~Heinrich Heine (1949)     

She Walks in Beauty By Lord Byron She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

To realise it was a dream you need to wake-up ! Then you realise that there is no owl, and no string. If you act upon your gift to look a little deeper (attention), slowly, you can start to see for how long you have identified yourself with mind manufactured images. There is not one minute during the day when your attention is not stollen by images, stories of past or future, there not even one minute during the day when you do not see yourself (your mind made personal image) fighting, calculating, solving, different life situations ! Enquire and look ! Then you will see who you are beyond the dream! Then, you AWAKEN ! The mind machine has no longer the power to affect you ! Julia Tunariu      -  Anartist    

I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is. - Anne Sexton - Ph : Nirav Patel In an Italian Mood

Noctural remission : Death dropped by last night. I never expect him, but he was lonely and I was available. What’s up, I asked. Same old shit, he said. You have no idea how hard this job is. Absolutely no one wants to see me. Ever. Must be lonely. Lonely, he said, you can’t imagine! Most of them die as soon as they see me. Do you know how hard that makes it to have a meaningful relationship? Or even get a date? Death lit a cigarette, unafraid. Oh, I can imagine. Well, let me tell you; it’s damned frustrating. Sometimes, I’d just like to cuddle, but I’m not into corpses. Yuck. Death isn’t much of a conversationalist. Mostly he just whines. It’s all about him. He tends to ramble. I just quietly let him talk. He did. Have to be going, he said finally. Must meet the soon to be dead. Rush, rush, rush… and Santa Claus thinks he has it bad. Thanks for listening. See you soon. No hurry, I replied. I swear his missing lips smiled as he turned and left. It took a while before I re...

Perhaps it is possible to discover more in silence than in speech. Or perhaps it is only that those who are silent among us learn to listen. ~ Alice Hoffman ~

VIOLIN She sleeps in her rose wood bed, under a blanket of velvet red; old and alone and forgotten, she dreams of the love she once had. Once again she recalls his caress on the curve of her hips and her chest as he moved his bow on the strings of her soul, playing her sound 'til his passion was spent. ~~~ They traveled the whole world over, to every city and town; the maestro, his bow and violin, bringing each curtain down. ~~~ He died in a cry of sweet refrain, clutching her strings to his heart; as he fell to the floor in a final encore, tearing her world apart. ~~~ So she sleeps in her rose wood bed, under a blanket of velvet red; her strings still filled with the song of her soul, etched by the maestro that loved her so long ago! BY ELAINE GEORGE 

What color does a child see when they look in the sky before they know what blue is.What color did you see before someone told you it was red. There was a time when even the elders didn't know what the color yellow was. The names of color were given by man.It was the way what they saw made them feel that caused the names. First was black. Nothing could he see.There was total darkness.The black of night.Dark-evil. Then came white.Let there be light and all the spectrums from heaven merged into one. Angels are represented by white. Next to be named was red.The fire of the ruddy faced red lipped Norse men and women. The red velvet sashes and red wine.Their hearts fill and became red with passion. Then yellow followed thousands of years ago.At the time the same word was used for green.In the English laurels when the wheat field burst yellow in the afternoon before the shadows revealed the crop was still green. Ahh blue. The most beautiful color.Blue came from Scandinavia where t...

Perhaps it is possible to discover more in silence than in speech. Or perhaps it is only that those who are silent among us learn to listen. ~ Alice Hoffman ~

“People look for retreats for themselves in the country, by the coast, or in the hills. There is nowhere that a person can find a more peaceful and trouble-free retreat than in his own mind. . . . So constantly give yourself this retreat, and renew yourself.” Marcus Aurelius

“All you have to do is wait. Sit tight and wait for the right moment. Not try to change anything by force, just watch the drift of things. Make an effort to cast a fair eye on everything. If you do that, you just naturally know what to do. But everyone's always too busy. They're too talented, their schedules are too full. They're too interested in themselves to think about what's fair.” Haruki Murakami

Ice cold, the plunge into this place. The swirling torrent, pushing, pulling tearing at my soul. Feel my body try to follow soundless rhythm dancing to an unheard tune that beats and pulses in sharp crescendos the rise and fall of music, above the sweet lull of a melody. Below, the fast, staccato beats, feel the fingers caress the bow as it beats across the strings. The vocal bubble escapes as the music thrills me, feel it at once. symphonies explode in my mind. Fast, faster. Conduct the images, the music grows. Shaking, exhaustion Almost done. Fast, faster, pulled, feel it, the panic of the end. Fast, faster, try to reach for that last glimmer of sunlight, and! ... the drums falls away.... The pulse is gone, the music has claimed another drummer. Now the moon shines across the gentle lullaby of a surface. Soon the drummer will rise. Sir Bubbles

"What if you slept And what if In your sleep You dreamed And what if In your dream You went to heaven And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower And what if When you awoke You had that flower in you hand Ah, what then?" ~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge Artist~Daniel F. Gerhardt 

The Love We Share  Silent snowflakes fall Collecting in still corners Covering the earth Forming a smooth white surface  Reflecting the fading light Afternoon daydream An echo of your laughter And screams of delight As you hurtle through the snow  Before tumbling off the sled I still miss those days Laughter and hot chocolate Sitting by the fire Steaming socks and popping wood  And warmed by the love we share ©jbz

 by Geert Meijer 05-02-2017 Picture by WeAreNotFamous Friendship with myself Recognition of belonging Core of my existence Acceptance at last… I am who I am And have peace with it Serenity and strength Uncomfortable, sure Awareness Of myself Of my surroundings Recognition Connectedness Friendship with myself

"When I open them, most of the books have the smell of an earlier time leaking out between the pages - a special odor of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between the covers. Breathing it in, I glance through a few pages before returning each book to its shelf." ~Haruki Murakami Artist~Thieves books by Agnieszka Filipowska

What the body says... I was born here, and I belong here, and I will never leave. The blue heron's gray smoke will flow over me for years and the wind will decide all directions until I am safely and entirely something else. I am thinking this this winter morning... of transformation Of course I wonder about the mystery that is surely up there in starry space and how some part of me will go there at last. But I am talking now of the way the body speaks, and the wind, that keeps saying, firmly, lovingly: a little while and then this body will be stone; then it will be water; then it will be air.~Mary Oliver Artist~Rosemary Millette

«...Comme elle est délicieuse l'eau ! Comme il est pur le fleuve ! Comme ils sont purs les gens d'en-haut ! Que leurs sources soient effervescentes ! Que leurs vaches débordent de lait ! Je n'ai pas vu leur village. Sans doute, au pied de leurs haies, se trouvent les empreintes de Dieu. Là-bas, la lune éclaire l'étendue de la parole. Au village d'en-haut, les murs sont sûrement petits. Les villageois savent ce qu'est le coquelicot. Là-bas le bleu est vraiment bleu. Si un bourgeon fleurit, tout le village est au courant. Comme il est étonnant ce village ! Que ses venelles soient remplies de musique. Les gens d'en-haut comprennent l'eau...» --Sohrâb Sepehri "... how delicious is water! How pure is the river! How pure are the people from above! May their sources be effervescent! Let their cows overflow with milk! I did not see their village. No doubt, at the foot of their hedges, are the fingerprints of God. There, the moon i...

" only the internal explosion Allows you to shine ". P. Coehlo

stardust soul dust our essence sent bound for the night sharing ourselves each one all we came from out there to here everything connects the air, the flowers...us who we are 'we are star dust, we are golden... and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden...' ~LyniGirl LyniGirl's Ink Drops

“I live my life in widening circle That reach out across the world. I may not ever complete the last one, But I give myself to it. I circle around God, that primordial tower. I have been circling for thousands of years, And I still don't know: am I a falcon, A storm, or a great song?" ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

And the Wildest © E.L. My hand to the earth grows a bounty a harvest to reap but my hand to the sea ripples away reaching far beyond me the earth holds my purpose but the sea holds my dreams and the wildest of my imagingings -photo via Simple Pic Like the Night

From Frankston into Cranbourne The road runs all along Between green-golden stretches, A lovely way of song, With thrushes singing loud and gay And blackbirds clear and strong. From Frankston into Cranbourne We went, and cared for none. The pines along the wayside Showed yellow shoots, each one; And the bare old orchard trees were gray As cobwebs in the sun. Where the bracken's frosted silver Rimmed spikes of pearly heath We saw the cream clematis Weave lacy wreath on wreath Above the jade-green fuchsia bells And greenhoods underneath. The purple sarsparilla Spread out a cloak of pride, And flat-faced little sundews--- Each chalice opened wide--- Were white flotillas floating on Some tangled, moveless tide. We knelt beside still waters, As dark as dark could be, And plucked the strange swamp-lilies, Their fretted ivory Flung up in two black-dusted wings With fairy symmetry. We watched the firesmoke rising Behind its dim blue veil; The shy young gum-t...

As a tribute to the cyclone Yasi in Australia I am, the breeze roaming free I made friends with a butterfly. We sing, of that ultimate time When we will, both die.. All day long we played Falling in love all the while Skipping, blossom to blossom Made my - butterfly smile. Somewhere about sundown On a beach - next to some town Butterfly, died on the sand So; I tore the whole danned place down . I was a breeze, roaming free In a world that took my butterfly I am crazy, going around and around Beware my evil eye. Like the man who needs to forget I have spent my time at sea. Returning like a pirate Bringing death and misery. I bring rain - I bring thunder An unstopable angry sea. Once - I was a summer breeze Today - the world has named me - Cyclone Yasi ~ Vlado Magic Vladimir Petrosanec

"May your inner eye See through the surfaces And glean the real presence Of everything that meets you. May your soul beautify The desire of your eyes That you might glimpse The infinity that hides In the simple sights That seem worn To your usual eyes." ~John O' Donohue Image~Frank Dicksee Penelope 

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies, Fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends..."  ~ Freddie Mercury  Artist~Matteo Arfanotti 

Fernando Pessoa Segui la tua sorte… annaffia le tue piante, ama le tue rose. Il resto è l’ombra d’alberi stranieri. La realtà è sempre di più o di meno di quello che vogliamo. Solo noi siamo sempre uguali a noi stessi. Dolce è vivere solo. Grande e nobile è sempre vivere con semplicità. Lascia il dolore sulle are come offerta agli dei. Guarda la vita da lontano, e non interrogarla mai. Nulla essa può dirti. La risposta è al di là degli dei. Ma serenamente imita l’Olimpo nel segreto del tuo cuore. Gli dei sono dei perché non si pensano ... Fernando Pessoa Follow your fate... Water your plants, Love your roses. The rest is the shadow Of foreign trees. The reality It's always more or less What we want. Only we are always Same as ourselves. Sweet is living alone. Great and noble is always Living with simplicity. Leave the pain on the are As an offer to the gods. Look at life from afar, And never question her. Nothing it ca...

“Sometimes the desire to be lost again, as long ago, comes over me like a vapor. With growth into adulthood, responsibilities claimed me, so many heavy coats. I didn’t choose them, I don’t fault them, but it took time to reject them. Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness. Something is wrong, I know it, if I don’t keep my attention on eternity. May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever in the stream. May I look down upon the windflower and the bull thistle and the coreopsis with the greatest respect.”~Mary Oliver Image Chocolate Cake

“I don't know where my Road is Going… But I know that I Walk better when I Hold your Hand…” Alfred de Musset Image - © Marcy Cicchino

   “I do believe in an everyday sort of magic -- the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we're alone.” ― Charles de Lint

Like an umbrella : Love me like an umbrella does shelter me, provide cover from the rain storms I cannot avoid. When wet winds grow strong, keep protecting me, don’t bend to those gusts, be reliable no matter what, I have been raining inside for so long, so please keep the sky from dispensing its showers on me or I will be washed away, maybe melt. Protect me and I will care for you, I will let you dry in the warm air of my home, fully open, bad luck or not, then I will carefully close you, tie you securely with Velcro to keep you safe and secure until I need your storm shelter when gray clouds open again, then you can love me more as I hold your handle in my hand. ~ Anna Breslin

"Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children's faces looking up, Holding wonder like a cup. Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And for your spirit's still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night. Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be." ~Sara Teasdale Artist PhatPuppy   

Many winters I have lived Ever since the beginning of time When the first snow fell Covering the tired earth Which played with endless summer. Many winters I held the water captive On the tops of many mountains Still warm from the earth's beginning When the moon and the sun gave birth To one full circle of beauty. Many winters I blew the stars around So that the place where each star fell Was where a river grew Taking as its course to the sea The path of the winter sun. Many winters the trees slept with me And the animals walked on my breast Just as the birds drew near Seeking warmth from my fire Which took the sting from the night. Many winters I have been Companion to the lonely moon Chasing after the raging sun Which listened to our song of thanks Before releasing earth from winter. Many winters I have lived Ever since the beginning of time When out of the melting snow Came the first frail flower which said I am the spirit of spring.~Nancy Wood Art...

Love Like Salt It lies in our hands in crystals too intricate to decipher It goes into the skillet without being given a second thought It spills on the floor so fine we step all over it We carry a pinch behind each eyeball It breaks out on our foreheads We store it inside our bodies in secret wineskins At supper, we pass it around the table talking of holidays and the sea. ~ Lisel Mueller ~ Artist~Sandra Bierman