Palettal Prose: Christopher Edwards- Astrology I

Earth

open your eyes
spirit child
open your eyes
cold war begins

open the sky
spill out
spirit child
bad moon rising
the eye of the wolf
kill kill kill

Air

oh the land of the free
my melting blue heart
the flowers of time
blowing in the wind

creatures of lust
blood vomit shooting star
surrounded by surrender

Water

came home from work
with a briefcase full of money
and a hungry belly

did you hear the news today?
an airplane went down
lost in some remote forest

killer whale costume
chaos
a sea of red
chaos
a sea of blood

Fire

the near bright future
i love you so much
i love you like i love no others
i love you like a thousand dead mothers

in tangerine summer
i have loved you like a sister
i will love you like a brother

the future is ours
ours to create
ours to destroy

~Christopher Edwards

Spirit is a Demanding Mistress

The entirety of my goose-bump covered body wants to believe in the cold, but this chill cannot be compensated by heat. My longing heart knows it’s not a frigid day that pursues me but the relentless spirit world, driving me to reveal myself. It is only when submerged in a scribble of expressions, the only way I truly know how to share myself, that my skin turns smooth again.

It’s impossible to ignore the driving madness of a force like this. Too long have I neglected my pen – blocked, battered, inspired and dwelling in an incapacitating inability to face my genuine veracity. Only a scroll, an index, and a thumb can begin to understand. I cannot stop. It has taken a sure fraught  millenia to start. My claim on this world is far less demanding than its on me.

These insistent angels and guides have had enough of my passive display of waiting. They cannot take another iota of excuse or the un-necessitated  revolving door that holds me in this cycle of repressed gifts and unclaimed prayers.

Exhausted by sight, I close my eyes to the uninterrupted runnel of consciousness that fastens me in the wake at night. In the shadows, my most precious manifestations lie. Daylight has become a mere fog in which I gratify the cloud cover and sickly winter light. It is in this darkness that my most radiant purpose lives. The lucidity that ensues, transforms fantasy to an immortal, attainable truth.

Palettal Prose: Blanket of Miracles

I stand on a blanket of miracles.                                  skin and spirit,

I drum.

I am strange stuff and dark magic:

broken bones and black feathers,                                I stand on my blanket of

chants, fire, wood and                                                    miracles

so many tears.                                                                   and dance, singing

Tears like drops of moonlight                                       I am

along an evergreen path.                                               the blood of my mothers,

I am soft kisses and slick touch,                                  dangerous knowledge,

heavy and round,                                                              fire and water and 

like my grandmother.                                                     salted bread.

I arch,

reciting fever prayers                                                       I come to this place

to old forest gods,                                                             to remember my beginning.

breathing the rhythm,                                                    I come to this place

and giving birth to the world                                        to honor my end.

Then I curl up

This is no spell.                                                                on my blanket of miracles,

I am deep memories and                                                exhausted,

lies long forgiven.                                                            to dream my daughters

With tongue and teeth,                                                  into being.

~Katharine Saunders, from We’Moon

Palettal Prose: Kintsugi

Thank you Matthew Burditt for sharing this concept with me…

Kintsugi (金継ぎ?) (Japanese: golden joinery) or Kintsukuroi (金繕い?) (Japanese: golden repair) is the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer resin dusted or mixed with powdered gold.

As a philosophy Kintsukuroi can been seen to have similarities to the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, an embracing of the flawed or imperfect. Japanese æsthetics values marks of wear by the use of an object over time, this can be seen both as a rationale for keeping an object around even after it has broken, and as a justification of Kintsukuroi itself, highlighting the cracks and repairs as simply an event in the life of an object rather than allowing its service to end at the time of its damage or breakage.[9]

Kintsukuroi can also relate to the Japanese philosophy of “no mind” (無心 mushin?) which encompasses the concepts of non-attachment, acceptance of change and fate as aspects of human life.

Not only is there no attempt to hide the damage, but the repair is literally illuminated… a kind of physical expression of the spirit of Kintsukuroi ….Mushin is often literally translated as “no mind,” but carries connotations of fully existing within the moment, of non-attachment, of equanimity amid changing conditions. …The vicissitudes of existence over time, to which all humans are susceptible, could not be clearer than in the breaks, the knocks, and the shattering to which ceramic ware too is subject. This poignancy or aesthetic of existence has been known in Japan as mono no aware, a compassionate sensitivity, or perhaps identification with, [things] outside oneself.

~Wiki

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Moon Day Musings: November 10 2014

she could not make sense of the things that were meant for her, but she was drawn to it all, and when she was alone, she felt like the moon: terrified of the sky, but completely in love with the way it held the stars.

~r.m. drake

photo by: Ron Worbec

photo by: Ron Worbec

Thank you Ron Worbec for use of your beautiful photos!