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July 25th, 2004

04:37 pm

Kahlil Gibrahn, excerpt from The Prophet

You were born together, and together you
shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when the white
wings of death scatter your days.

Ay, you shall be together even in the
silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance
between you.

Love one another, but make not a bond
of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between
the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from
one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat
not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each
other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain
your hearts.

And stand together yet not too near

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow
not in each other's shadow.

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July 24th, 2004

04:30 pm - x-posted for your pleasure.
"This hunger of the eyes, skin, of the whole body and spirit, which made others criminals, robbers, rapers, barbarians, which caused wars, invasions, plundering and murder, in Djuna at the age of puberty alchemized into love. Whatever was missing she became: she became mother, father, cousin, brother, friend, confidant, guide, companion to all. This power of absorption, this sponge of receptivity which might have fed itself forever to fill the early want, she used to receive all communication of the need of others. The need and hunger became nourishment. Her breasts, which no poverty had been able to wither, were heavy with the milk of lucidity, the milk of devotion.

This hunger. . . became love.

While wearing the costume of utter femininity, the veils and the combs, the gloves and the perfumes, the muffs and the heels of femininity, she nevertheless disguised in herself an active lover of the world, the one was actively roused by the object of his love, the one who was made strong as man is made strong in the center of his being by the softness of his love.

Loving in men and women not their strength but their softness, not their fullness but their hunger, not their plenitude but their needs."

-Anais Nin
Current Mood: complacentcomplacent

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July 23rd, 2004

07:11 pm
I fell asleep today with a little black cat curled up on my stomach, purring over my uterus, and had strange dreams about dark children and pale, endless, lights....

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July 22nd, 2004

03:47 pm - Subject: (optional)
If the past is a solid oak buffet whose legs must be unscrewed and whose drawers must be removed before, in an altered state, it can be upended into the entryway of our minds. Then the future is a king size water bed that hardly stands a chance, especially if it needs to be brought up in an elevator.
Current Mood: chipperchipper

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03:08 pm - There's this thing he writes about beauty...
There with her eye on the ball, she'd paint, and paint, and paint. She would dedicate herself to...well, she'd have to call it "beauty" for want of a better word. She wouldn't be sentimental about it, or self-righteous, or even spiritual and pure, and she wouldn't get defensive when ridiculed or misunderstood. Beauty, she would not carry like a banner. Nor would she take refuge from the world in it like a hermit in a shack. Beauty would just be her every-day thing.

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