LIKENESS

"Always look for likeness..."

said the young Hopi clown priest, dressed in black and white, with splashes of red, yellow and much blue...

A THOUSAND AND ONE STORIES

As mil e uma estórias das sementes da romã e da viagem de Perséfone para dentro dos territórios da Morte (e do inferno de Hades), da Mãe territorial, do Pai no Julgamento e das Leis.

E da menina que puxa, já fazia tempo só o que queria era correr pelo terreiro, achar a romã madura, com as unhas abrir a casca devagar, pedacinho só pra tirar um gomo, mais fininho e delicado que mexerica ou laranja, veludo do vinho do Tio, transparente de ácrido lúcido. E de chupar não sete nem mil sementes mas cada gomo inteiro. Devagar. Sem contar. Escorrendo o suco gostoso pelos lados da boca. Cuspindo o bagaço amargo e os carocinhos no chão do quintal para as galinhas. Morrer nisso. Era tudo que a menina queria.

Talvez a menina soubesse mais que Zeus, mais que Demetria, mais que Hades, mais que Wall Street, mais que todos e mais que ninguém. Talvez. De incipiente mulher, na mudez que veio depois.

Talvez a menina soubesse de coisas que já tinham sido explicadas… na criação. E ficou sem voz.

The thousand and one stories of pomegranate seeds, Persephone’s journey into Death Territories (Hades’ Hell), of the territorial Mother, of Father in Judgment and of the Law.

And of the girl who, well, all she wanted was to run through the backyard and pick a ripe pomegranate, rip the skin slowly with her fingernails, just enough to carefully take a segment, more delicate than an orange, finer than a tangerine, each seed inside, velvet red as Uncle’s wine, transparent acrid and lucid.  And to suck, not seven, not a thousand but each entire. Slowly. Without counting. Good juice dripping down the sides of her mouth. Spitting the bitter fiber and the hard seeds in the yard for the chickens. To die, doing this. It was all the girl wanted.

The girl apparently wanted things that had already been explained… in creation. And she lost her voice.

Maybe the girl knew more than Zeus, more than Demeter, more than Hades, more than Wall Street, more than all and no one. Maybe.  Incipient woman, in the dumbness that came later.

http://bodydivineyoga.wordpress.com/2014/10/06/rewilding-the-yoga-body/

SLIVERS

"It is foolish to approach the infinite as if it is a product of the finite world. The infinite is primary. It is an inevitability of nature. The finite world follows in its wake. The finite we experience is a secondary component. And at some level we all know this." Harris.

 

In vindication for all my religious and mystical thoughts

about everything and about nothing
I will pour my poetry on to you
like a liquid with no vessel to contain it
Wonder and invent you
almost be romantic about you

And in the end

you and I will fall flat
between slivers in a parallel universe
a mundo splashed side by side
like treasures in a chest hunt
gift for the other

we will travel,

we will imagine,
die and compost
in the same no place at all
in the beginning
of earth and of dirt.

 

Erica Weick