Image re-posted from Enchanted Nature Facebook page
Quicksilver glistening
To night eye of
Iridescent trails
In an ebony and indigo wood
Shimmering bark
Drips to worn paths
Made rivers of
An even deeper blue
Moon glow fills
A darkened soul
Bright as
Phosphorescent
Jellyfish in a
Black sea
Coyotes yelp
Plaintive calls across a field
Tricksters of the
Night kingdom
Romanced like I
To sing by silvery
Light
A study in the formation of frost: Photo by Noelle
Who should sing the song of goodness and well being into the world? The Buddha? Jesus? Mother Teresa? Why are we waiting for a great leader when we each have a song of love in our throat? We sing our life into being through our thoughts. Offer anger and the world is dark. Offer tenderness and the world is soft. We sing by thinking and we are always singing.
The world needs simple lullabys as children need them for soothing and sleep. And like a baby the Earth does not know its mother’s voice as stage worthy, nor if it be heard by one or thousands. The Earth simply knows our voice as the voice of love.
There are no small acts of love and no common voices. You are Mohammed or Rumi or Osho. So sing. Sing as though the world were your stage and your heart should burst with the love it has to give out. For in truth, that is how it is.
Winter Sun: Photo by Noelle
Winterscape barren as white bones picked. Edges sharp, light and dark. No color and much shadow till it weighs the heart to stone. All life in movements of sugar dust winds at high speeds across the now crusted snow. Crows cling to power lines as cattle huddle on grassless slopes. It hurts to look. To wrap oneself tight feels the only comfort. A lonely hug in a bereft land, silent, but for the wind.
Willfully, I force the aperture open wider than nature allows taking in angled rays, piercing and yet strangely soft in brilliance. Hitting the retina at full force I refuse to blink. Face warming despite wild, moisture sucking winds I open my arms wide. An invitation I give; opened and exposed. The cold strokes my warm belly as if it were a lover. I tolerate the chilly caress with shivers to remind I am no fool. I wait, each breath a blacksmith’s billows, for all treasures want for my patience. Then it comes as she tips along the mountain ridge.
Diamonds alive in the snow. Pinks and yellows arc across the lens with halos in green. Sunlight refracts off tearing lids bouncing back with a light of my own. Pupils snap wide as the eyes see what was there, but ignored – a rich, cornflower colored blanket surrounding the Earth. A blue sky as deep as Spring waters and endless as a sea. The heart quickens. It feels life and nearly breaks in exaltation of a winter’s suns penetration down to the soul. Warming the optic nerve, a pulsating signal to a wintered heart. Quiet my soul has slept in the cold, dark hours of December, but the great orb offers her hand now to dance. How could any spirit refuse a winter’s solstice waltz? Surely, I cannot.
Tree and Stone: Photo montage by Noelle
“The bad news is you’re falling through the air, nothing to hang on to, no parachute. The good news is, there’s no ground.”
-Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche
Image re-posted from the Mind Unleashed Facebook page
Long lines winding up an aisle in incense fog to papery offerings. A feeding of our soul so sterile I am drifting out the door before my mouth opens to receive. Receive what, exactly? Paper, bread, body, blood of Christ. A distorted figure that makes no sense, as I furtively glance at red dripped cross hanging, hanging, hanging for centuries that is an eternal damnation to a heart stuck on butt-worn bench. Sinner ever waiting to be clean. Sit, stand, kneel, sit stand, kneel. Tongues curling round words spoken in mindless cadence that eyes glaze from the loss of meaning. Cold seeps from stone floors into my shoes and all the wiggling toes will not warm my feet. I cough hard to shake the religious congestion loose, purulent and thick with dust.
Doors swing wide. Light pours in. Air fills my lungs.
Communion is the hunger flowing from my spirit alive and green. Running in open fields and winding up forest trails; exploding like Niagara out of the great northern territories. Communion that permeates my skin with loving rain and grounds my feet in Spring mud, a crocus rising at the equinox. Communion that fills me with such wholeness I can no longer tell where I end and dandelion seed begins its journey on the wind of my billow’s breath. Communion flooding the senses with peach juice down a child’s chin and autumn’s smoke of leaf fed fires the incense that opens the nostrils. Communion so sweet my mouth is filled with its mystical wonder and I sing out, an early morning robin alerting all to a day’s break. Communion that is an opening of the heart into a river that floods the delta with endless meandering trails that follow no crafted, structured pattern or timely release. Communion with the unknown, unrehearsed, unpredictable wonder of spirit. Now, on every breath, bookless hands raised to a midnight moon. For that I am famished, parched and deliciously ready to devour.
Working piece from Front Range Writer’s Group on reclamation of words. Marj Hahne facilitator.
Photo montage by Noelle
“Men can starve from a lack of self-realization as much as they can from a lack of bread.” -Richard Wright
Run Off: Photo montage by Noelle
This is a composite piece from a photo I took of sprinkler run off, layered with spliced sections of two poster paintings. One from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page and the other from Hippie Peace Freaks Facebook page completing the collage.
It is clear I long for balance, as each piece has a composition that embraces balance and harmony. Balance, proportion and color bring a sense of forward motion and ignite a creative hunger.
Yet, there is also a need for bits of asymmetry. Pieces that are slightly off center that bring the piece into a different kind of harmony and nurture creative innovation. An expansion that moves beyond yourself into larger views. I call it the balance of “off”. A tension that comes from being at a harmonious odd with the world around you. It is the threads in the tapestry intentionally mis-woven. The grace that comes with imperfection and the uniqueness that can only be found in what is slightly off the beaten trail.
Each person needs to find their way and I will merely pose here that the “Balance of Off” is a potent and surprisingly harmonious path to take. The Chinese understood this as yin-yang and sought it out in the balancing of their homes and lives. Apparently, I seek this too, both without and within.
Rising Autumn Moon: Photo montage by Noelle
Tunnel River Marble: Photography by Noelle
I feel the edges of my thoughts
A blind woman reading brail
Stretching them further
I feel the thinness
Emotions never go as far
As the first stone thought tossed
There’s no pulling back
Once thought escapes
Electric charges fire into a
Neuro net sky
Frankenstein’s monster lives
And like his maker
I, too, love and hate
What I create
I turn inward
Withdrawing the great sustenance
My attention
Each thought suddenly a marble
Rolling around on the floor
Agates
And crystals
Real blown glass
All colored to a feeling
A place or time assigned
Catalogs lay open on gray matter tables
A jeweler placing an order
Fiery anger
Melancholy blues
What is the hue of the day?
Urban Flow: Photography by Noelle
My spirit moves as water.
Fluid and full at a trickle as a gush.
Evaporating in the hot sun, yet frozen as the lake I stand on in muddied boots.
Permeable while demanding as a slap.
Softly infiltrating the skin and wearing my mind round as sea stones.
I pull nutrients from life as the salt water robs the drift wood white.
There is weight in my thoughts.
The settling of sediment of a thousand lifetimes on the reef of gray matter entrenched to the floor of my skull.
And still, I seep into the crevices of dams built long ago. Working steadily and freeing it all a duck feather swirling round in the eddy.
My spirit moves as water, influenced by a divine moon.
Above piece inspired from “New Organism” by Andrea Rexilius
"Nothing Exceeds Like Superfluous Jejunity "
Stories and Musings on Modern Life
Explorations in Authenticity by Michael Mark
Myths, legends, folklore and tales from around the world
❈ Silvia Ganora Photography ❈
Free to Be!
Usually Poetry
5-7-5 syllabic haiku in the english language
Love
Intertwined passions ~
Design, Make, Pray, Repeat
Auf einmal ist alles relativ
Just my various random & miscellaneous stuff...
Expanding Fully in this moment, understanding ourselves deeply, finding happiness
Meditation Travelogue 
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