Posts Tagged ‘ candle ’

“Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms…”

“BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Live fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. 

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, To which time will but make thee more dear! No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns on her god when he setsThe same look which she turned when he rose!” 

~ Thomas Moore ~

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Crimson Angel; Sunshine Dance

 
As sunlight filters through the bright vermillion curtains, the walls glimmer in the summer light.  I see the sun through the curtains beaming like a firefly set high in the cerulean sky.  The rays spread to the deep burgundy floor, which shimmers in the sun.  My toes capture the warmth, which floods steadily through my body like humidity. My bed, entranced by daylight’s rays, seems to smile at my wardrobe, as a drowsy sunbather might do on a temperate day out of the sun.  Minute particles of dust waft in and out of view like dancing, glittery fairies, very much alive for their daytime parties.  Photographs on the wall, though some cracked, many a tie caught me reminiscing over times now lost, though memories staying fresh incessantly, never decaying.  
 
They, too, seem at ease basking in the majestic sun’s beam.

“…far beneath the bitter snows, lies the seed that with the sun’s love, in the spring becomes the rose…”

I don’t remember a lot of things; usually I cannot help but be clutched by the whittling hands of life.  Sometimes when I sit perfectly still and trick myself into a soft slumber, my dreams swiftly manage to escort me away from my weary life to places where the memories that I can never grasp are born.  In my dreams I may visit a lush though over growing garden, deep in the crevices of May.  The amber sun bores heartily on my back as I explore the garden. I lean over the harlequin grass to move the messy thorns with such care not to harm myself, I spy an object of such beauty that not even the garden’s excitements could not compare. As a larger quantity of thorn-ridden branches fall clumsily to the grass, something amidst the tiny alcove where the thorns were sparkles.

Such an object would be found being sculpted by angels in the depths of heaven; it’s a rose.
 
The rose shimmers as I reach out to caress one of the seemingly everlasting rose petals.  To touch the cerise petal would have the same effect as if you were to stroke a dove’s feather.  I look back to my hands and gander at what they have become; the rose’s angelic magic had gently wafted away from the petals onto my hand.  I could see other beatific glitter which was lightly floating away in the wind to other pastures, much further away, perhaps some with roses that were as blue as an impossible moon emitting a serene ultramarine.
 
Surrounded by thoughtful, tranquil scenes, the depth of my slumber intensified…
 

Footprints in the Sand

Anais Nin Quotes and Writings

“A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked…”

“Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age…”

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom…”

“Anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic…”

“Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living…”
 
 
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”
 
“How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself…”
 
“I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.”
 
“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
 
 
“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish it’s source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings. “
 
“Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together. “
 
“The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle. “
 
“There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic. “
 
“We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing.”     (‘The New Woman’, 1974)

 

And So it Shall Be…

♥ Love and Nectar ♥

Tell me what you ache for.  I don’t want to hear one more dysfunctional family history as an explanation for your current human frailties.  Let me taste your stories in the salt of the tears I brush from your eyelashes.  I long for a slow motion meander in the getting familiar places.  I want to spiral close, almost touching, to the place where we can feel the heat in the air between us; an unhurried journey as we sift through new scents of each other, let them linger, breathe them in.  Allow our bodies and hearts to taste the impulse to move toward each other.

I want to be courted by the truth.  Let the stories that are telling our lives spin out in long multi-colored threads.  Don’t tell me too much too soon. Don’t hide anything.  Tell the tales of your heart; offer them like perfect pearls coming up from the depths of the sea to be strung together, each gently clicking against the other~ luminous and iridescent as they come.  Ten years from now I want to hear a story from your childhood that I have never heard before and know the delight and ongoing awe of seeing each other for the first time, again and again.

Give me each picture perfectly and slowly so I can sit with it and find you, and the glimpse of me, and the foreshadows of us there in the details.  I want to talk in seemless conversation all night long and find ourselves able to hold the silence together; our intimacy sharpened by shared solitude.

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.  I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.  It doesn’t interest me how old you are.  I want to know how much life you’ve lived.  I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love; for your dream, or for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.  I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by lifes betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.  I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, fade it, or fix it.  I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or remembering the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.  I want to know if your story is your own; one you created or if someone created it for you.  I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself or are you so loyal you will betray yourself to save the feelings of another.  Can you bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul?
 
I want to know you: your past, your dreams for the future, who you are now. I want to love you, be there for you, share our worlds together.  This, above all else is the meaning of true love.  Come- find me as I find you.  Hold my hand and hold me close as we jump into chaos and into the unknown…….

~Oriah Mountain Dreamer, “The Invitation”