blank blank fullness

“my hands want to hide in your hair, slowly stroke the depth of your hair while we kiss with mouths full of flowers or fish, of living movements, of dark fragrance. and if we bite each other, the pain is sweet, and if we drown in a short and terrible surge of breath, that instant death is beauty. and there is a single saliva and a single flavour of ripe fruit, and i can feel you shiver against me like a moon on the water.”

- julio cortázar, rayuela, 1963

Thanks to only on de marit for this gem. Kind of my other-half when you look at our sub titles...
Theirs: This is not for you.
Mine: This is for you.

"This incident is one of our last calls to change our mind and behavior. Simply, as a species we cannot continue like this, time is over. It was over long ago... Animals and plants know about this, they have been patiently trying to guide some of us into a better existence, teaching us about stillness, telepathy and the unseen world. They know way more of what we know... And now, in this nuclear incident, who think about them, who is concerned about the dolphins, whales, and all the wild life that might be affected by a potential nuclear fallout? Not a single reference on the net. I find this funny... to say the least.

Regardless of what is happening outside I am very optimistic and in a very positive mood... how can I be in a positive mood while witnessing such devastation? Well, it simply means transformation. Nothing truly new, and as we know, we are all going through the filter in one way or another."

Twitter has slyly satisfied my writing in little bits, allowing me to give and release drops at a time while behind the dam a tidal wave was where I swam, awaiting the moment when, [Oh our dear Japan...]
Satisfaction in a wide worded composition, take your time to listen while letters repeat the silence half way towards sound
My writing has been employed under other capacities, with a more structured tone of late
Yes this too is great, it's all alright, it's ok
Notebooks I carry with me, notebooks behind my bed on the window ledge, books abound fill with an array of notes for work, notes for play-work, notes for good-work, notes for love-mind-body-work.
Insights and must-do's, he, she and they all too
Me-isms from a flash of the mass of places I've placed my head, attention fed, fed, fed
Drop the work as it may seem. Undo its seams stress the intenseness of absolute loss into a 'this' -- at once you'll leave and find yourself
And she comes up for air
taking gulps between a depth swallowing sorrow, and a surface returning tears on a steady stream of all-consuming I-don't-know-how-much-love-my-heart-can-hold this is it's beat: running over and down my cheeks; yes, it's free, free, free
Like a journalist chasing the next-best lead
Impressions picked up from agendas, stories told from the book of life with our talents pointing to Omega point procession adding layers of new repetitions
And a name lost in the aisles of history creeps into my 21st century screen to place into me here those timeless realities -- whilst lilies invisibly mark the air I breathe
And at once with that she's thrust back into her seat where slides slipped by a screen along a wooden-paneled wall with ceilings high enticing dreams; Paris, school-girl scenes
Close-ups remain imprinted upon the brain Campin's altarpiece his details all are she sees
Eerie coincidences cease not to paint her nearto folly of I-can't-believe
Which of course means that's what must be, it must be, there's no clearer way, it has but thrust it'self upon my head and shivers run throughout, felt to awaken even those proclaimd dead long ago without a doubt
In this sea of possibilities how does my free will dictate such impossible chance to let it be
this my dear, the magic dance, catch the reflection, glimpse the trance

I dance like this at home everyday. Thom, thanks for inspiring me to record it with a sick set of words on buttered bass lines. Wouldn't work the same, but you did it for us all.
Go home and STRIP (+/your identity off) to this song, writhing to whatever your body hears.
Essence, come forth from our eyes closed focusing in.to[o]
I don't care who you are.
Just a suggestion.
Are you really alive?


Words:
I will sneak myself into your pocket
Invisible, do what you want, do what you want
I will sink and I will disappear
I will slip into the groove and cut me up and cut me up
There’s an empty space inside my heart
Where the wings take root
So now I’ll set you free
I’ll set you free
There’s an empty space inside my heart
And it won’t take root
Tonight I’ll set you free
I’ll set you free
Slowly we unfurl
As lotus flowers
And all I want is the moon upon a stick
Dancing around the pit
Just to see what it is
I can’t kick the habit
Just to feed your fast ballooning head
Listen to your heart
We will sink and be quiet as mice
While the cat is away and do what we want
Do what we want
There’s an empty space inside my heart
And now it won’t take root
And now I set you free
I set you free
Because all I want is the moon upon a stick
Just to see what it is
Just to see what gives
Take the lotus flowers into my room
Slowly we unfurl
As lotus flowers
All I want is the moon upon a stick
Dance around a pit
The darkness is beneath
I can’t kick the habit
Just to feed my fast ballooning head
Listen to your heart

Watch:


Wonder:
Are you un-self-conscious enough to let yourself be taken that far, that sublimely?
With or without anyone watching?

Why:
Because it's beautiful and people feel/think/move/talk/transcend thanks to it.

Dance like you can't judge.

Looking at this with an automatically anthropological eye, it comforts me, makes me feel like it wouldn't hurt to have other such seemingly senseless ceremonies. Gatherings of people for reasons not-so-serious, not so entirely focused on over-stimulating celebration either, something sort of in the middle... Sort-of way SILLY:



Men in top hats, bow ties. A gang of 'em standing around a groundhog who's wondering, "WTF?, Ouch you're squeezing too tight, I want to go back in my burrow now, Who are all those big animals out there and why are they cheering at me" etc, etc.

It's so primitive in a way, so wonderfully arbitrary, heartening that we are giving our faith over to a superstition on a wide scale (regardless of the underlying self-aware skepticism). No need for statistics to verify, to prove that ritual, regardless of outcome, has an effect... I mean, they got suited for this thing. And the scroll? Don't tell me that bit about the Steelers wasn't planned.

Here's to that so-called early Spring

“

Never obey anyone's command unless it is coming from within you also. There is no God other than life itself. Truth is within you, do not search for it elsewhere. Love is prayer. To become a nothingness is the door to truth. Nothingness itself is the means, the goal and attainment. Life is now and here. Live wakefully. Do not swim – float. Die each moment so that you can be new each moment. Do not search. That which is, is. Stop and see.

”

Hello,

I am a yoga teacher living in _____ and have been practicing for over ten years, having begun teaching last year. My goal as an instructor is to build strength while encouraging release and mindfulness of movement's power when coupled with awareness of the ceaseless breath. I once read a quote "The trust that others place in you is your grace". Before others can trust us, we must be able to trust ourselves, to establish an open relationship with the ebb and flow of life, having confidence in our ability to work with challenges and benefit from them. Trust is authentic awareness and its application to nurturing, progressive choices which encourage growth. Trust is letting go of preconceived ideas of an end, trust is allowing the moment to reveal grace. Already, as embodied yogis, dancers; movers and shakers, we've oriented our lives towards the health and happiness a solid connection with the body and mind can bring. And with this connection, we are sometimes granted that gift of transcendence, of grace in the trust of our choices at each moment. As teachers, we are so lucky to have the opportunity to share this self-trust with others. The students are a gift and their trust is our grace.

Much love,
Alexandra

Vous faites quoi aujourd'hui? What are you (formal or plural, 'you all') doing today?

Tu fêtes quoi aujourd'hui? What are you (informal) celebrating today?

Formally, you, we all, have to be doing something. But those who know you well enough to be informal like to look at it as a celebration.

Dope.

Ganesh [8b+] par Gérôme Pouvreau from Petzl-sport on Vimeo.

Thanks to

....always right.

The first few seconds of a song will usually a) rub me right or b) incite 'next', depending on my mood.

Then there are those nights where a long trip home is accompanied by good music no matter what song comes on. You can sink into the sound happily because you get past your 'mood' and feel energy on any and all levels. Ride it.

So, on nights like these, some songs get their shining moments to become 'that song', until the next one comes around...

Last night this played, and then 2:38 gets up in your face and says "HEY! HOLY @*#& aren't I good?"

At the end of a class today, while everyone was resting in their nice final relaxation corpse pose, their little cells running around to slow down and integrate what just happened, there came a slight noise from afar. A crash bang of sorts. Muffled and faraway though it was.

It set my mind off on a chain reaction; the shock of an unexpected noise to a freshly worked-out and now totally-relaxing person. And then I imagined what it would be like if I let out a blood curdling scream. Out of no where. While this room full of people were at complete, innocent rest. It took all I had not to burst out laughing. Not to snicker, even.

The little devil was dancing on my shoulder.

the way you close your eyes while brushing your teeth, tracing cleanliness like a sheet of paper pressed to a window, lighting the way over established lines
the morning you were alone and in a quiet way, witnessed a bird playing with a feather clasped in its beak, then released. the perfect turns in flight to swoop in sharply and catch it again. an engineer's precision.
the swell
knowing when to stop, when a work is finished
finding an ending opening into transition
the tug that always brings you back to it
like a person who can't be let go because
you could never have them, truly
the powerful motion backed by steadied breath and the sunlight breaks through the window onto only your mat. you don't have to you know you are connected, the fact is upon you
that quirky Rolodex you store in your head, facts and figures filed almost independently of your will
the sense of knowing when you've found something worth developing, an idea, a technique, a seed you've been looking to nourish
the pains, revealing
a joy in daring

oh my god I just discovered this!!! them! Thank you internet!!! Who knew craigslist would throw me down a rabbit hole to come out with these monkeys?

PS want Roy Orbison's glasses

We'll bury 'em?

It's the night before Christmass and as a token of gratitude and love, I would like to share a mantra of my very own making that will hopefully bestow magnificent wonders upon you.

Take a moment and picture me at the ripe age of 16, it's the end of the school year and the hard work is about to pay off. That extra Spanish class I added to my schedule a full two years prior? It was all for this: a week-long trip to Málaga and the Costa del Sol (or, as my cheap souvenir towel says, Costa de Sol).
The group gathered to reap the benefits of our high school's notorious end-of-year Spain trip, was also the group that had the officials back home call the whole thing off for future generations of would-be revelers. Though I can't take full responsibility, it's hard to deny that letting a bevvy of American teenagers loose in a European resort town (and it's environs) is asking for some measure of trouble.

I digress.

I also love catchy, impactful, succinct lines.

And as we're toasting the night of San Juan festival, our very near states of blissful intoxication, and the beach bar we're overy impressed and excited with, I blurt out a most satisfying soliloquy which has accompanied my celebrations ever since.

This Christmass, I share it in the hopes that my simple mantra will improve the lives of all who allow it reign over their raised glasses, their elevated spirits:

Good luck, success, good sex

If this trifecta could work its magic in more lives, I think we'd be that much closer to world peace.

XXX

Moi

For the trains, planes, and automobiles
that take us to our dreams
along the way,
this is for you
for the whizzing sunsets and blink-n-miss it pastures
for the comfort of being in someone else's hands
signed, sealed and
delivered
remember that 15-hour stretch
chugging over borders
provinces, regions
the change was subtle
I'd look up from my book to make sure I didn't miss it
they still had smoking cars then
and the Pyrenees were gorgeous
on to that dark ride
sent off alone and young in the middle of the night
a little scared a little sad
but you had the sleeper all to yourself
and so you wrote and wrote about missing home
at least you knew what it was you were missing
between the capital and the city of your summers
courtyard echoing in games and giggles
someone who loved you would be waiting when you arrived
or that time, cuddled against your father
reluctant to be without your mother
yet when the train stopped dead in its tracks
you were glad he was there to have your back
nervous stillness, "why aren't we moving?"
it was late then too
and the countryside didn't offer any light
wondering, where's the moon?
to pass the time he told you stories
misadventures in the mountains as a boy
your imagination ran with it
the picture of him filled in a little more
for that Towncar
that fed you
though it made a ghost of the bread winner
falling asleep at the wheel
grown tired of chasing that supposed dream
and you never looked at the driver's window the same
upon hearing the story
facing a barrel, 3 a.m.
that was real
for the cozy backseat
that let your longer-than-average little legs stretch
with your head in a pillow lap
up and down the eastern seaboard
DC to skiis in VT
and all the wealthy neighborhoods in between
everyone in the car groaning
let's go
but no, no
there's architecture to marvel at
openly despise
McMansions got the brunt of it
the extra seat filled by an aunt or uncle
depending on the season
co-pilot, reading off trajectories
that's where my relationship began
with maps
with directions
she always knows where north is
and the stars would help
through that sunroof
oh there were mishaps a-plenty
fights and escaping from a moving car
fugitive scars
it could never be normal with us
at least I can laugh about it
now
but we were delivered,
barely together
to the tops of vistas
to the edge of the sea
to those sights we supposedly
had to see
sunsets calmed down
fresh aired it out
misting falls
hideous ponchos from hell
with missy climbing a tree
bored of posing
for future memories
are we there yet?
just to fit the bill
catching your next flight
electing your seat
as if, it couldn't be, it couldn't be
the destination can't change
everything
but those
4-hour nights
light's turn-around
bite-sized and stellar
an in-flight gift making your trip out of line
that much more magical, a potential for pleasure
seated
in the sky
countless looking up as you pass by
with that thought
that question
where are they headed
the ticket knows
not the grand plans once on land
to be honest
neither does the holder
but the lightness of flying
will keep you on your toes
if not a smidge too controlled
security high
counters the freedom
of the sky
so sit back, relax
pace the cabin a bit
pull over for that dinner
on an eerie storming lake along your way
pick up the hitchiker, him with the guitar and a three-legged dog
if you don't act fast enough
you can still reverse down a 3-lane highway
just don't tell them I said it was ok
and, obviously, use the shoulder
upgrade when you can
but it's always more fascinating
to sit with the common man
pick a stranger for stories
share your own
snail's pace chugging to TGV
oh, the places you'll be
buy the ticket
take the ride
chart the
discover the landscape
of your life

"I love it when the least likely blank becomes a blank, because it reminds me that things are not as prohibitive as I think they are when I'm in neutral."
- Robert Downey Jr.

un jour, tu verras. tu te réveillera, sans te rendre compte que le temp est passé si vite.

il la regardait avec des yeux, des yeux qui montrent tout.

a quoi ça sert une montre ? tu m'as pas dit que les yeux montraient tout ?  que le temps se compte par tes regards, par des choses qu'on ne vois pas. des choses qui se montrent a nous.
n'est pas? ce n'est pas ça qui donne la bonne valeure aux heures ? 
ce n'est pas ça qui garnit aux bon compte ? 

j'ai perdu les mots de ma bouche. les sentiments flottaient parmis nos cœurs. deux têtes presque prètent a compris, qu'il n'y a pas vraiment grand chose a comprendre. plus jamais intéressé a se battre. 

bon gar, tout ce que je veux te dire c’est : perds pas ton temps. 

mais le temps n'est jamais perdu. tu te rends compte ? au moment quand j'ai plus le temps, je serais plus capable a en profiter, laisse tomber. hors du temps.

hors du commun, vas y toi.


t'inquiète mobylette. c'est l'air du temps.


dans la village, l'église sonne midi.


eh- 


oui.


je t'aime.


je sais.

Thank you mi Gala via heartmindspirit 

Also