Birth Happiness

Sibelius Violin Concerto

Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com!
You registered on WordPress.com 5 years ago.
Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging.
Happy Birthday
Blue Butterflies & Me
Happy Birthday om!
The birth of my blog has truly birthed happiness and good friends. Thank you all so much for not only supporting my blog, but for supporting me and my life. I recall making the journey alone from Louisiana to Arizona driving a U-Haul truck and pulling a car in high winds, but I knew that my blog friends were with me and keeping me in their thoughts and prayers. This amazing community has helped me grow spiritually, creatively and consciously. I have made some really great friends here, and I love you all.
Thank you all so very much~
Namaste
Sindy
Advertisements

Here I Love You

anna-raz

Here I Love You

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.

Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Pablo Neruda

Painting by Anna Razumovskaya

Winter Solstice

white-maiden

Solstice draws nigh
dark days, long, longest night
deep remembrance
journey of the soul
moving, ever moving
moving to stand still
still in the darkest light
the most glorious light
light of the undying Sun
standing sill. still point
where we bask breathe
delight in Light, Love
pure beingness
This ever turning play –
dance of dark and light
our soul’s shadow dancing
concealing and revealing
gently, reverently mirroring
cosmic flow and rhythm
of which you and I are part –
One in the eternal dance
movement-Eternal moment
meeting, re-uniting ever again
as One . . . separating, then returning
again and again

HollyRose Gosselin

~Thanks to Holly Rose my FB friend, and sistar~

Solstice facts

Archangel Raziel

 art by Jessica Galbraith

Life Is Bigger

Wave abstract11

R.E.M.

Oh life, it’s bigger
It’s bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I’m choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt, lost and blinded fool, fool
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up

Consider this
Consider this, the hint of the century
Consider this, the slip
That brought me to my knees, failed
What if all these fantasies come
Flailing around
Now I’ve said too much

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream
That was just a dream

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream
Try, cry, why try
That was just a dream
Just a dream
Just a dream, dream

Art

Gwen Duda

I did not realize that Micheal Stipe was a visual artist and a director, as well as a singer-songwriter. This song and video from 1991, is just as relevant, and current 25 years later. That video is a very nice bit of film-making.

Sea Serenity

purple-boat-and-friends-elizabeth-blaylock-johnson

The Ocean

The Wide Ocean

by Pablo Neruda

Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit
of your gifts and destructions, into my hand,
I would choose your far-off repose, your contour of steel,
your vigilant spaces of air and darkness,
and the power of your white tongue,
that shatters and overthrows columns,
breaking them down to your proper purity.

Not the final breaker, heavy with brine,
that thunders onshore, and creates
the silence of sand, that encircles the world,
but the inner spaces of force,
the naked power of the waters,
the immoveable solitude, brimming with lives.
It is Time perhaps, or the vessel filled
with all motion, pure Oneness,
that death cannot touch, the visceral green
of consuming totality.

Only a salt kiss remains of the drowned arm,
that lifts a spray: a humid scent,
of the damp flower, is left,
from the bodies of men. Your energies
form, in a trickle that is not spent,
form, in retreat into silence.

The falling wave,
arch of identity, shattering feathers,
is only spume when it clears,
and returns to its source, unconsumed.

Your whole force heads for its origin.
The husks that your load threshes,
are only the crushed, plundered, deliveries,
that your act of abundance expelled,
all those that take life from your branches.

Your form extends beyond breakers,
vibrant, and rhythmic, like the chest, cloaking
a single being, and its breathings,
that lift into the content of light,
plains raised above waves,
forming the naked surface of earth.
You fill your true self with your substance.
You overflow curve with silence.

The vessel trembles with your salt and sweetness,
the universal cavern of waters,
and nothing is lost from you, as it is
from the desolate crater, or the bay of a hill,
those empty heights, signs, scars,
guarding the wounded air.

Your petals throbbing against the Earth,
trembling your submarine harvests,
your menace thickening the smooth swell,
with pulsations and swarming of schools,
and only the thread of the net raises
the dead lightning of fish-scale,
one wounded millimetre, in the space
of your crystal completeness.

 

 

Painting By

Elizabeth Blaylock

The Lord’s Sunday

Tree TopBirds NestTree Bottom

Lorde

~

Spring

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Birds’ love and birds’ song

Flying here and there,

Birds’ song and birds’ love

And you with gold for hair!

Birds’ song and birds’ love

Passing with the weather,

Men’s song and men’s love,

To love once and forever.

Men’s love and birds’ love,

And women’s love and men’s!

And you my wren with a crown of gold,

You my queen of the wrens!

You the queen of the wrens —

We’ll be birds of a feather,

I’ll be King of the Queen of the wrens,

And all in a nest together.

She Walks In Beauty

lizard goddessShe Walks In Beauty

(listen here)

Hey everybody! Fun full moon, right? I felt this one, turning me into a monster, well Ms. Cranky Pants anyways. This 8 week condensed British Literature class is, and isn’t to my liking. I did manifest this situation, so never mind, I won’t whine.  I just really love this era of literature, and an online course doesn’t have the same impact, or benefit that classroom discussion does.  With that said, I had to just blow by “The Satanic Poets,” Blake, Shelley, Byron. I spent about eight hours, not nearly the level I want to go. I had no idea they were classified that way. omg my mom would take that so literally. lol In all my reading I did not get a clear answer, was it Lord Byron’s hero, that merited the name, or did it have to do with Blake, and Milton’s, “Paradise Lost”? I do know they questioned, and that’s awesome, but that is a harsh moniker. Don’t you think? Dang that crazy Lord Byron is still enigmatic. True embodiment of “The Trickster,” his own Byronic Hero. A list of mischievous characters and actors faces come to mind. The type of character desired by both men, and women, the bad boy, the rascal, the scoundrel. The sly grin from Gary Cooper before he jumps on his horse and rides away, “Frankly I don’t give a damn, my dear.” lol or whatever Rhett Butler says to Scarlet O’Hara. My imagination runs absolutely wild when I read about these guys. An exciting time in thinking with the German Philosophers, like Immanuel Kant, and there was the French Revolution. So much good literature packed in here, but honestly I am more intrigued with the writers. I do love this poem by Lord Byron.

 

She Walks in Beauty

By

Lord George Gordon 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!