becoming Beauty

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~

Becoming Beauty

face up floating

in a sea of glass

~

Beauty lies below me

 in the elemental caprice of

sunlit patterns reflecting sky

~

Beauty circles above me

in clouds collecting salted tears

We all become the ocean when it rains

~

Beauty walks behind me

with gravity leaving footprints

Its strength the shifting sands

~

The wind of Beauty

blows quietly within me

ever seeking itself without measure

~

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The source of this gorgeous photo is unknown

Fragile still

max ernst

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Fragile like smog shadows rifling valleys

the mountain holds its breath

~

Fragile like feverish water

the ocean aborts the moon’s children

~

Fragile like bees loosing direction

and stamens playing their last hands

~

Fragile like children born overwhelmed

by viruses perplexed

~

Fragile still

like a flower 

self-sewing in the garden

in blooming will make no mistake

intelligence in its unfolding

~

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Artist: Max Ernst

The unbearable awkwardness of three

6e4da506b7be3eddeba037828b3b4904

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Doubt and Belief silently argue

as they sit upon a box

~

Trust joins them

adding 3 wheels to the box

~

giving much needed mobility

to their ping-pong debate

~

everyone’s muscles still tense

when they pass Hope or Violence

~

as they meander

around the countryside

~

looking for the exact spot

where their grief is buried

~

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photo credit: unknown

The nimbleness of intelligence

microbiome

~

How many times

will I shed raw and return?

Or is it a stronger current

amorphously assembling and deconstructing

in circuitous layers of attendance

as I unwittingly rally

behind the porosity of thought

the seduction of knowledge

~

I am a small planet

a symbiotic microbial world

my mind’s peripheral orbit

has flung so far out

in its trajectory that now

my axis seems nearly invisible

but I can still feel it…

this bright nucleus of love

teeming with life

~

Tepid fleshed, soft and juicy

I navigate through

this microbial stew

with winged thoughts

a heart that prisms lightning

and opposable dancing thumbs

exploring this finely tuned internal edge

tingling with the emotive tracings

of “new” frontiers

~

While underground

the nimbleness of intelligence

arises in quietude

fervent, listening

patiently listening

for openings of emergent steam

clear signs of the heat of engagement

~

I look “out there” from inside the swarming warmth

positioning myself in the spaces in between

practiced in resistance to the consistent hum of patterns and static

The quietude continues to rise from its circuitous path

this time through the soles of my feet

rising to the opening in my sky when I hear

“Out here! Out here! Not out there! We’re right here!

We’re all right here… playing in the fields of wild light”

~

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Picture source: Teach the Microbiome

Mamma clock

Turrell

~

You were never adventurous

insisting on sticking to interaction

proscribed a sure thing

trying to be a “good girl” but always told

you were never good enough…

I was the one thrown into the air by each season

intoxicated by a flower’s breath

building new homes out of cardboard or snow

exhuming pets I was curious about death and bones and teeth

climbing trees listening to their heart sap

nipping change from Norman’s penny jar just for the sneak of it

not caring much about showing my girl parts to the neighbor boys

my anatomy a fire fly in a jar

And there you were pushing me off

unsteady on two bicycle wheels

as if your moods weren’t the day’s bad weather

and me always approaching you with the caution

of the kid held flat out in high winds

and now you were casting me off like a baby bird

as if you yourself knew how to fly

Well…little did I know your strange insistence

was giving me more than wings

your internal Mamma clock was saying

it was time I learned to fly

sending me on my way

with all you had learned of trust 

and the red apple of your love

watching me

as I took off and kept rolling

~

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Artist: Terry Turrell

Verde Corazon

fern

~

my sleeping fingers hear night rain

they sweep wide 

opening a window

my waking skin is dampened

smelling wakened soil

~

my blood is pulsing

melting runoff

~

breathing it all in

deep as my lungs will take it

  tender buds

unfurl in my brain

without thought

~

full to bursting

~

………………………………………………………………………………………..

photo: nezartdesign

Finger prints

magdalen

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You were imprinted on my fingertips

written as dim memory

in line and skin

~

I kept your image at arms length

or balled it into a fist

A turning away

from the violence

As if there is no real death in ascending?

~

As a child

it is true

I was taught to expect some relationship

while being impressed into the feverish tribe

of Jesus watching

~

Before me

pale lipped men

created tension

bells ringing

Climaxing

with a tiny chaste taste

~

Who clothed me

in this rag tag skin of living words?

Held hostage

~

Until

I fall pummeled and wading

in the waves of this unexpected birthing

Free now to love you simply as a man

~

A man of flesh and bread and wine

who once lived to turn the world.

~

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Artist: Caravaggio

Their cadence syncopated by raindrops and bird calls

~

Max Ernst

   ~

Softening their intelligence

transparent as water and air

they meander through the maps of their minds

unraveling the edges of illusion

~

Circumnavigating the solid grid of references

they walk deftly under the ladders of hierarchy

The flight of their passions

entertaining the complexities of insight

~

Their cadence syncopated

by raindrops and bird calls

they resonate as bells ringing

weathering the storms of vulnerability

~

Each of their words

the flesh of their hearts

their ageless spirits

carry loss as kites in the wind

~

While planting bright seeds

in fecund dust

where some may grow

under the radar

~

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Artist: Max Ernst

 

He sang my pulse a metronome

#4

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I once took a lover

Substantial as the undertow

He sang…

He sang my pulse a metronome

As mermaids surfaced mesmerized

~

He showed me between his strong legs

Thick hairs, long soaked in the moon

Permeated with his strength and compassion

~

To love and be loved is evermore

His words becoming the flesh of dreams

I moved like seaweed in his tides

Undulate and grounded

Melding with the cello of his landing

~

Compelled, the spirits

Shufflling wistfully in dust

Remembered their names

Became eager for color

Incanted lullabies

Spellbound by our heat

As it rose to claim them

~

Proud, my body animal

Went to ground bearing seed

I became witness and thunder

Rounded and swelling in storms

Unfolding broad wings bearing rain

A haloed tunnel of bone and cusp

~

All forgotten in the first cry of birthing

As in this moment my world split in two

And continued to divide into ocean and land

Both realms indigenous to the lost souls of Man.

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Artist:  “Whispers” Monique Passicot

Loosely Binding

Hanji

The making of Hanji paper ….

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Mulberry bark

Gather,

skin, boil, wash, pound

In winter

cover with the root mucus … of hibiscus manihot.

Blended together … artfully form.

In a warm room … dry slowly … covered with stones.

I am durable … unpreserved I outlast civilizations

Enter my door … I am cool in summer, warm in winter

Impenetrable … the rain that falls can not dim my light

~

Accompanied by cricket sound in a field of stars

I sit in the soft glow of papered lamp light

it’s ancient tradition a beckoning

all my loved ones resting deep in sleep,

and tonight a great nest of grandchildren

dreaming of mountain tadpoles

and the wild strawberries they picked

as their own sun kissed bodies ripened in the sun

In this moment

I wonder at the naturalness of this great love that binds us

I am dazed by this spiraling life my heart forever flies towards

while still maintaining my own self … full, nurturing, self providing

I sit here like an open field arms held wide for it all

Tonight looking out at the shadows cast in response to our light

the dreaming of this family and the vast silence of living surrounds me

I wrap myself round with the wonder of it all

At the strength and resilience this steady cadence our hearts beat

Seemingly fragile

But oh, so strong

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Hanji paper is a traditional paper made in Korea from the inner bark of the paper mulberry. It is durable with archival properties and can be openly displayed in museums without protection. It is a good ventilator but can also keep a room warm so it is used to cover their wooden framed doors. It is also waterproof. It’s translucent qualities lend well to the artistry of shading lamps.

Hanji Paper Artist: Kitty Jun-Im