he had watched her soft like snow edited by pd lyons


He had watched her

Soft like snow

Every movement

A steady meticulous tenderness

Touching each part of the world

One particle at a time

Acknowledged gently

Precisely

Irrevocably

 

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It Must Be 11 O’clock Somewhere In This Writing Life


Pdlyons's Explorations

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coffee from Java, blue willow from Japan, black currant jam from aunt Tessa, morning from Ireland

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Busy Work – Geshe Kelsang Gyatso


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Busy Work

Some people think that they will practice the dharma once they have
finished with their worldly business. This is a mistaken attitude
because our work in the world never finishes. Work is like a ripple of
water continually moving on the surface of the ocean. It is very
difficult to break free from our occupations in order to practice
dharma. The busy work with which we fill our lives is only completed
at the time of our death.

– Geshe Kelsang Gyatso, Meaningful to Behold

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Food porn #ww470 #30days


afro-futurism scholar

Phorzhicoa is a dangerous, (and outlawed) underground collective dedicated to Hoomudl, God of the Watchers.

I am addicted to watching people eat.

My name is Sara to those who still know me outside of the collective. My Watcher siblings have yet to name me, for I am still young as a feeder, and my talents have yet to emerge beyond mere gazing. I work among normal people, dress and talk like them, and even work like them. It just so happens I tend bar at a restaurant in a quiet residential area at the edge of the city near a small college. Most of the customers believe me to be a student earning money for books and rent, so my tips help to keep me afloat in the outside world. But it is here where I find myself drifting into a moist cloud desire as my watcher eyes peek out…

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would i see you there by pd lyons


would i see you there

with your big face smiles

your sense of wonder

your denim styles

you were shy to me

yet you followed me

when I turned around,

until you betrayed by your own laughter

I had no idea

What you would dare.

Oh

But where ever you are now

I cannot say

Whatever you went through I have no clue

Those streets those hometown streets

Once mine

Once yours

I have not returned

I have not ever left

And you not really you

but still the you I used to know

Wouldn’t you be there

If I went back

Your big face smiles

Your denim styles

Your ever wondrous self.

Where else could you really be

Who else could you ever be, to me

he had watched her soft like snow by pd lyons


 

He had watched her

Soft like snow

Every movement

As if the whole world

More tender than herself

A steady meticulous tenderness

~

She was not afraid

She was aware

Touching each part of the world

One particle at a time

Acknowledged gently

Precisely

Irrevocably

 

Today A Day For Mothers, Rightfully So,pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

Today A Day For Mothers, Rightfully So

but I want to tell about those other days
like every time I see my daughter
especially how she has those
dark brown eyes

Days when I whistle or sing
though my own voice so much harsher
still my love of music comes from having heard you

And now these days of early spring
when each flower I can name
I learned their name from you

The birds I feed,
mornings in the garden
even blue jays, even crows –
joy of which I learned by watching you

and how many other everyday things?
so many more, so very many more…

so sure, you’re not “here” today
at this restaurant
clinking glasses sparkling wine
but inwardly I take my own inventory
grateful for this life
how all the days of it
truly are my mother’s days.

for Flora

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Imagine relaxing so completely that even your imagination is still


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Don’t dream it, be it.

DSC_5298 Imagine relaxing so completely that even your imagination is still

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Who is the non-symbolic me?


Pdlyons's Explorations

My concern is that Jung’s approach is an indulgence in ones own or his own personal mythology. Concepts that put a further layer of fantasy between person and what is. Granted it is wonderful to have all these deep and wonderful images with which to identify aspects of oneself, the world, the universe. I myself loved it, the adventure of anima, animus,shadow, hero. But aren’t we just playing at stories and fantasy then calling it truth. A certain element of applied fallacy, agreed falsehoods dressing the psyche in elegant emperor clothing? Would it be better to develop courage to sit our selves and our patients down without grandiose or compartmentalizing the experience of self? To say this it it. This is the simplicity of what is going on. To lead on to the authentic experience in direct fashion, no need for fantastical symbols. If we have a non-symbolic relationship to…

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God Lights a Cigarette, by pdlyons


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God Lights a Cigarette

On the wood, shadows. Down the
windows, hazy through the drapes
spills the rain. The night,
curving rolling with motion still
whispers with winters needley lips
everything is passing through me.

There is you with your joy – me,
I’m trying to find depressions,
though I’m not sure what I feel.
You are magic mingling essences –
I am day dreaming on physical matters…
my lamp flickers with distress,
it moves the room with my voice:
help me
I’m drowning,
suffocating,
breathless…

*
To be born of your music,
in your magic my life blooms,
my thoughts, words – dissolve into
rich emotions tuned to immortality.

Lost in the lighting of a match,
in between the space and flame –
I become the sparkle in your eyes,
then I return…
Slowly I am returned,
I am the gold ring in your ear –
the unnoticed sensation.

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