Monthly Archives: April 2016

dear future me,


 

just so you know

today april 26, 2016

after ten days of up at 6 24

busy til way after mid night

i got to lay down in a fresh made bed

 all day the sun filled the  room

 still strong at 4 30

fell  asleep wearing sunglasses

 

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We Don’t KNOW Anything ‘Cause We Can’t


 

We Don’t KNOW Anything ‘Cause We Can’t

 

we can label

we can call this        a blade of grass

but can we explain

exactly what it is?

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Do you KNOW the grass ?

 

Space = Energy


 

Space = Energy

________________________

eg: The Universe.

Contains all energy

is all energy

________________________

Organized into vast amounts of space hence

Space = Energy

 

SO CLEAN YOUR ROOM !

while mom was away

Siane part 3, real magic, by pd lyons


 

Real magic has the quality of knowing. By paying attention you get to know things and when they will happen. With this knowledge you can create the illusion that you cause the inevitable to happen. Real power is when you have people convinced that they can’t get along without you. But there are other things, things beyond people. Once I convinced the wind that it couldn’t get along without me.

 

I’d go out to the top field where the horses ran free. Where they worried themselves only with petty grievances, grazed as they wished regardless of day or night and sometimes lulled by whatever dreams it is that horses dream. lay like dead things strewn.

On a grey out crop of lichenined stone I’d stand, turn my face to the sky and say:

 

“If I could be anything in the world

I would be the wind.

To kiss the sea.

Embrace the sky

Caress the earth.

Come wind I call you

Bring the rain, bring the storm,

The lightning and the thunders roar.

Come wind I love you!”

 

I tried this several times and sometimes the wind would come up strong while other times calm and quiet. In other words, I made no impact what so ever. But I did not give up. By now the horses took notice of my antics and drew around as if seeking inspiration from my sermon on the mount. Perhaps they found some but the wind did not. Once I got so angry this is what I said:

“If I could be anything in the world

It would never be the wind,

Insignificant bastard of the heavens

Ignorant victim of a manipulative earth,

Carrier of piss spit bird droppings

Owner of dust and ashes….”

 

At this did the wind hesitate even for a moment before it went back to ignoring me?

 

Eventually the horses too lost interest in my daily ritual. After all I brought no carrot or apple, I didn’t respond to their sparing for attention and I was as bored as they with their rearing, bucking, bluffs.

 

Finally, I decided to give up. I decided that if I couldn’t be master then I would surrender. So when the wind was quiet, I’d say,

“As the wind is quiet and still, so am I.”

And too if the wind moved from the East I’d say,

“As the wind I too move from the east.”

 

So it was with every direction and with every temperament. As gentle breeze or herald of the storm and too through the seasons such as that of summers comfort or raging winter’s howl. For a whole year this was my daily practise. There were times when I thought I ‘d be carried away, dragged along the ground or else motionless so long I ‘d drop from fatigue. this did not happen. But I did begin to really know the wind, a scent on the air, look of the sky, temperature from yesterday compared with today, slight almost invisible trembling of leaves – all were signs. So closely did I follow that I became as if a shadow to the wind.

 

In time my movements became just slightly ahead until it was I who cast a shadow called the wind. Until once more late autumn and, I could say “Follow my hands as I have led you this way forever.” And the wind, having no memory of forever, believed that this was so and therefore had always been so. How could it doubt I was who I claimed to be? After all, had we not moved together and had it not now been reminded that this had always been?

So once again I spoke, my purpose being to keep my image in its fragile memory,

“I have known you with whisper, shout and breath,

Shared with you submission and mastery,

Shared with you the gift of motion and stillness

Now  remember me!”

 

And the wind enveloped me and inhaled and from the breath of my voice to the scent carried on every hair of my body – I was known!

 Quiet then rocked with shivers head cradled between my knees, my own steamy urine pooling around my toes before trickling down to where a bald faced chestnut mare stood watching like a ghost…

 

 

Siane Part 2 , by pd lyons


Siane. Part 2

 

PART II

 

When I was born I saw the world through the eyes of a crow. For at least three maybe four days. On the day the crow returned my soul to my body I was able to see again through my own eyes. The first person I saw through such eyes was she who was my nurse. When I was older she told me of this event. Explained how I was special because usually crows do not return such a lost or stolen soul. That children’s souls are so sweet they are usually eaten right away. But she had this feeling about me and stayed by me constantly during those days so that my worried parents might try to get some rest. I asked her if it was because my soul was not sweet that it wasn’t eaten. She laughed and told me that even the most wicked person was born with a sweet soul.

 

 

 

So what did I see when I saw through the eyes of a crow? Well one day as I was still child enough that all chairs were big enough for me to curl up in, I did so in the kitchen. Staring into the fire I heard the voice of my nurse, softly, tenderly she spoke and quietly falling asleep still hearing her voice I began to dream. And she, from whom I have never had reason to doubt and from whom I have only known loyalty and love, this is what I told her from my dream state about those days when I saw through the eyes of a crow:

 

 

A great grey sky almost to rain. Leaves gone to colour muted by soft and steamy morning. While Below, arched like great green cat backs, farming lands bordered by trees rowed up like man soldiers behind walls of stone which long ago toilers of these fields had so piled. Then as if in memory I saw them, those man-things building walls. Stones like teeth, roots like tendons pulled from a dark open earth. Then as if in further memory I saw those same lands in a time before the man-things, a time when all was tall forest, hard wise wood forests before the man-things came….

 

 

But now its only overgrowth, sapling and briar borders along these scrubby pastures where I must keep my attention. Now my vision follows the lay of the land, rolling down to a small valley curling with a silver stream then over again until directly below me a field just before the water slips into the woods. It is a field now for the dead of men. Vivid in an otherwise dull landscape their blood pulls at me. A rare moment – Not only much flesh but none among them upright, none to bury these fallen in the ground as if some seed to sprout anew. Now they are still, delicate, exposed, but I cannot let my vision linger long. There are my comrades feeding, they will leave aside some favourite scrap for me. But I cannot let my vision linger long. I the watch must keep… Until, finally my turn. I hear the call “Come. Come. Come.”. My legs tense with a will of their own, push off. The earth happy to see me rushes up in greeting and with a jolt I’m standing wide awake before the kitchen fire.

 

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Siane, by pd lyons


 

Siane
 
Part One
 
He truly loved the land more than anyone ever did, as if this loving could make the land forget how he had come, as one adopted through the wedding chamber. With skepticism and disdain the land responded, for this sentimental tender love – this was not enough!
And the horses? Well they adored him.Their noses quivered at his presence,they raced, stood up on their hind legs, sang for him even took bites out of each other to draw his attention. But they would not let him ride. For they were brothers and sisters with him, beloved companion, never to be considered master. And he? He admired the land for its strength, how it showed to him its true face and for that he said “What great spirit, a terrible beauty. How fortunate I am to be chosen to see the true face of the land.”
Towards the horses he was also grateful and for that he said “What noble blood, what rare beauty. I am so fortunate to be allowed to know their secrets.”
While both the land and the horses  looked to one another and said “Well what can you do with a man like that?”
   
Now she, who had taken the man to her wedding bed, she held the land tight with her own hands and so marked it with her own blood. That was how the land was won. Her own flesh protecting and defending and willing to do so over and over – That was how the land was kept. It was she who led the horses to shelter when the sky burst at midnight, kept them from prairie fires, dipped her hands into their mothers at the time of their birth and with a voice of smooth leather and singing bees subdued even the most bold among them. To the land she was forgiving. Admiring its resilience she would say “So beautiful yet so obstinate – you are the breaker of my heart but I will never leave you.” To the horses she was wise and often amused would say “You make me laugh when you try your tricks on me but I won’t let you forget our bargain.”
While both the land and the horses  had long ago looked to one another and said “Well what can you do with a woman like that?”
The man of course could not understand all the ways of his wife. In his opinion her discipline kept her from appreciating the beauty that surrounded her. But he would also say, as was his nature “I admire her strength and abilities. Truly this is a magnificent woman. If she were not my wife and therefore part of me I should envy her these things.”
The woman at first was quite perplexed regarding her husband. She suspected perhaps some flaw in a man who would refuse to master such things in a way similar to her own. On this she pondered for some time before concluding that because of his way, surely he had never known loneliness. So then she did say “My husband has this nature which I cannot my self afford to indulge in. Yet it is also true that being joined to me he can do this for us and we will both benefit from the balance.”
So their wisdom of what marriage truly is prevailed and luckily for me because that is what I was born into. My parents of course taught me their ways.With the horses my mother taught me how to ride, my father, how to share their secrets. She, how to hold the land,he, that I could love it more than anyone who ever saw it. And I, being a true issue of their wedding bed, understood both and formed a way of blending each, a way of my own

 

 

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Photographs from a Scorpion Night, by pd lyons


 

scorpion night 1

scorpion night 1 pdlyons

 

scorpion night 2

scorpion night 2 pdlyons

scorpion night 3 pdlyons

scorpion night 3 pdlyons

 

scorpion night 4 pd lyons

scorpion night 4 pd lyons

 

scorpion night 5 pd lyons

scorpion night 5 pd lyons

 

scorpion night 6 pdlyons

scorpion night 6 pdlyons

 

scorpion night 7 pdlyons

scorpion night 7 pdlyons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

scorpion night 8 pd lyons

scorpion night 8 pd lyons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

scorpion night 9 pd lyons

scorpion night 9 pd lyons

 

scorpion night 9.5 pdlyons

scorpion night 9.5 pdlyons

 

scorpion night 10 pdlyons

scorpion night 10 pdlyons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TRUE – the only enemy


  the only enemy is your own thoughts the division of the people is the delight of the oppressor – do not help your oppressor!

Source: TRUE – the only enemy

“breath(en) flux ” by Michael McAloran — Poethead


I # .…silence yes/ silenced yes/ as if to ever having done with it/ stripped solace no/ vital lapse in all depth of becoming-un/ as if because it were unto/ ash unto/ no/ pure as never was/ ever was/ given to yet it cannot/ asks of dust what climb or other than / […]

via from “breath(en) flux ” by Michael McAloran — Poethead

Maybe its time to surrender? maybe its time to “forget”


Maybe the best way to remember

is to forget history.

to be free of all the ancient and not so ancient fears.

maybe the best way to honour the fallen and maimed

is to bring forth a courageous world – one heart at a time,

courageous enough to not become enslaved to the same errors

that justified so many deaths and miseries before?

A courage based on kindness not right or wrong?

One heart at a time – how about yours?

 

pogo 1971 walt smith

Maybe its time to surrender?

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