Empowered Yellow Human 5/10- 22, Stillpoint, Summer, White Castle, White Castle 2018

Full bodied thunder
Emptied itself out last night
Lightning up the sky

Following my ear
The roaring of lion leads
Water over rocks

Spirals down below
A vibrant verdant blanket
Trailing behind deer

In community
Many spiders weaving dreams
One spoke to my heart

Dancing with the sky
Traveling trunks soar up high
Light and dark mingle


Empowered Yellow Human 5/10- 22, Stillpoint, Summer, White Castle, White Castle 2018

I step inside trunks
They point the way to spirals
Written in green leaves

The path is above
I see it while I’m cradled
By rough hewn ancients

Stretch up and create
Sky mingling branch and leaf
Together spiral

I belong to them
I belong to nobody
I am sprouting up

It is mystery
The rustling language joining
Matter with spirit

Surrounded by light
From within it spirals out
Touching and fusing

This is new for me
Thoughts are beginning to come
Flickering in hand

May~ Snake Sutra Works of Heart

Art of The Book, Empowered Yellow Human 5/10- 22, White Castle, White Castle 2018

The book::  Thundering Silence by Thich Nhat Hanh, page 21, though I read the whole thing through slowly digesting.  This months art spiralling from slow sowings, small pieces coming up, little bits of this, little bits of that, digital collage art healing journey, sacred secret alchemy . . . made a little book for Lindy and gifted it to her, assorted small pieces happening . .  . . Book Of Focus perhaps, made the inner cover pages . . .

Not feeling very hurried, so letting stories come together by being pulled to them rather than pulling them toward me or a bit of both!   Book of Mysteries and Exploration so far, a rather layered affair . . . . . . went back to the Rilke poetry from January’s book selection and pen and inked a poem, III from The First Ten Sonnets to Orpheus, page 199, all around the boxes, then washed and inked and watched it keep changing . . .

and who is Orpheus::

“Orpheus (Greek: Ορφεύς) was considered one of the chief poets and musicians of antiquity, and is still a symbol of the art of music. By dint of his music and singing, he could charm the wild beasts, coax the trees and rocks into dance, even arrest the course of rivers.

The best known Orpheus myth is about his love to Eurydice, described in several musical masterpieces. When Orpheus’ wife, Eurydice, was killed he went to the underworld to bring her back. Fascinated by the beauty of his music the god of the underworld allowed Eurydice to return to the world of the living. Although warned against looking back, he did so anyway and lost his beloved wife once again.

He lost interest in women after that event, but they did not lose interest in him. Thus, a group of angry women attacked him with their bare hands, and tore him to pieces. Orpheus’ head floated down the river, still singing, and came to rest on the isle of Lesbos.

Apart†from being a symbol of music, Orpheus is considered as one of the pioneers of civilization; he is said to have taught mankind the arts of writing, agriculture, and even medicine.

The mysterious power of his music today is shown in the power of science. The indestructibility of his music symbolizes the will power needed to achieve significant results in life, as well as in medical research.”

“His mother is Calliope, the Muse of epic song; his father is either Apollo, the god of song and the sun, or Oeagrus, a river god and also the god of the bitter sorb-apple tree, and a king of Thrace. These sound like heavenly parents, but most of them are not Olympian. At best, Orpheus is sometimes called a semi-god. He is a shaman, a priest with magical powers, which include the ability to speak the language of animals, to fly, and to go down under the earth. And this too is how he may have originated—as another shaman, among many. His home is Thrace, specifically the Rhodope Mountains that lie on the border of modern Greece and Bulgaria, and the vast plains just north of them. These are still called “Orpheus’s mountains”, and to the people there—scraping a living among the rocks and the pine forests with their cats and cows and clunky Russian cars—it is right to name the schools and roads and hotels after him, because he is still there, among the folk song and birdsong, the pelting mountain streams and the murmuring trees.

Shakespeare reminds us that for many people, not least the ancient Greeks, song is the most important thing about Orpheus. He sings; and that is his story. He does nothing else, but that is enough. Through music and words he makes magic in the world: more magic than any other poet since, and there was, the Greeks believed, no poet before him. From him came all their holy stories, all their theology and philosophy; alphabets, calendars, crop-compendiums, nature studies, the secret names of the gods and the names of the stars. Orpheus travelled with the Argonauts to find the Golden Fleece, because only he could sing his way past the Sirens, and lull asleep the Dragon who guarded the Fleece on the tree. He replaced the primitive worship of the wine-and-nature god Dionysus with the civilizing cult of Apollo; blood sacrifice with libations of milk and honey; wild savagery with measure and order; cacophony with notes of music and the shining strings of the lyre. He taught that Zeus had made man from the ashes of the Titans, the earth-giants, and the lightning with which Zeus had killed them: ashes and fire. For the first time in human thought, man was body and soul. And all that, you’ll agree, would be more than enough to fix Orpheus in our human memory.”