And between the standing stones
That pen the horn-ed power
She stands adorn-ed
Strong but fragile lithe
Sudden sunlight bronze reflecting
As I within without look closely on
Visioned from my library of dreams
As insubstantial as paper and leather
Another watches me
As I sleep seeing
A tome triangular bound
From dream to vision
Traditionally, free will or pre-determination has been one of those 'mutually exclusive categories' questions. The more that I think about this one though the more it appears to me that it is more of an 'uncertainty principle' question. Put simply: which will apply depends on what you are looking at, at what level and for what purpose. 'Choice' is essentially a sentient activity, that is a thinking decision has to be made. We live at a biological and cultural level of experience and have no real…
I said, 'I love you but I am not in love with you'.
Much later, I looked in my heart and saw that I had lied to myself.
Why did I do such a thing?
Was I afraid that you would run away?
Was I afraid to face my fear of loss?
Maybe neither or both but it makes no difference.
My heart aches with the same sweet yearning.
I write my soul in blood.
Waiting for a voice that speaks to my soul
In these dark silent nights when the dreams fly wild
Of swords, the fealty sworn and favours worn
Truth divined in the lines and signs of the sky
A raven messenger or a fairy princess may signify
Attendance at court, a mirror crack'd, oaths honoured
In vigil, dark silent knight, hold true.
Somewhere out there, somewhere in here, there is a place where the dreamers go when the dreams need to be found, when they have left and Psyche sits like Narcissus gazing in a dark pool in an old place ... on the edge of silence. Where there are no words.
Lips pressed against mine. Returning from the darkness. Distant voices.
'Is he breathing?'
'I think he is breathing on his own now.'
'Are you ok, Dave? You stopped breathing there. I had to give you mouth to mouth.'
Why am I lying on the floor? ... and jeez, I feel ... weird.
Strange to brush with Le Morte again.
And the bit that really bends my mind ... I can't remember going there.
Now, as the air becomes clearer and that special yellow-filtered light glows in the world outside my window, I am once more at home. In the sense of Fuchsia's attic in Peake's 'Gormenghast'. This is my time of year, always has been - I don't know why ... add it to my growing list of unknowns. But that it is, of that I have no doubt. When that first chill morning arrives and the clear light fills the thin air. When the leaves begin to take on their autumn collection. The New Look - every year. I…
This is a psychometric test based on the work of Carl Jung and Isabel Myers-Briggs. Jung first coined the words introversion and extraversion ... one of the axes measured in the test. I have found it remarkably insightful, but then I am an INFP ... Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceiving ... only one percent of the population apparently.
If you are interested, follow the link:
I would love to hear what you think.
Black, ragged-feathered and portentous. Odin's bird ploughs a furrow through the sea-grey sky. Straight as a singular dice cast. Inexorable course, written as I watch.
Pausing in mid-beat, casting a dark marble, glistening orb. Line of sight. Fixed, I am already past. The corvid flys on, running from the morning sun.
I take another draw, wash it down with a swallow of industrial strength.
And later, much later.
When the sun has passed its zenith.
I exchange unexpected confidences with…
After a week of laughter and companionship with friends, a week of family comings and goings, time for chess and visits, city and seaside ... a quiet time, a time for reflection.
Soul looked at the sword, the word, the wyrd, the way, the truth perhaps. Cleaned and sharpened, its edge catching the moonlight silver, the firelight gold. One last wipe with a soft cloth and she slid it fluidly back int…
She said, 'Come here when you need to breathe'.
... and I did
... go there
... and breathed.
I had buried my heart deep where I thought that no one could ever find it, especially me. To feel love is to feel pain ... to feel. She opened me up like an ancient tomb, found the hidden key, unlocked my heart.
Blinking in the impossible brightness of a first dawn. Overpowered by the sudden strength of an emotion that I accepted as mine. Everything I had sought to bury, eradicate, destroy.…
It's hot, it's late and the thunder rolls quietly around the humid distance. Not a night for sleeping, it's that unbearable stickiness that makes you pray for a big storm. really, metaphorically ... yes, the pathetic fallacy lives on ... those two in that film, for instance, the ones who have been slowly circling ... somewhere between a bullfight and moths around a flame ... they must burn, the blood must flow - dependent on which metaphor you wish to pursue.
... the wish to pursue ... the des…
'Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose', sang Janis, The Dead and many others. According to the teenager in Frank Zappa's song, 'FREE IS WHEN YOU DON'T HAVE TO PAY FOR NOTHING OR DO NOTHING'. Oh, Edenic state! freedom is when you don't ask questions, eat suspect fruit offered by slippery characters ...
For the rest of us it's a proverbial lunch that doesn't exist.
OK, we are approaching the zone now. so ...
'To be hoisted by your own petard' is a figure of speech with its or…
In the moonlight we find ourselves
sitting in the old moonlight
horned waning and golden
blue-silk-sheened in the night warmth
the hiding garden alive with soft movement
of light on pale leaves
and deeper shadows.
I dream of her
as she rides the night
illuminating my hot blood
showing all things
in a new light
as she slowly dies
Teaching me my memories
that death is change
that she will be reborn
in argent splendour
that the summer's heat will pass