cultivating the creative spirit kept alive by mysticks + madmen, pagans + poets, witches + wyrdsmiths, shamans + scribes . . .


home ~ 2:22

 

Be like the flower
who even gives its fragrance
to the hand that crushes it

Imam Ali  (via universeobserver)

(Source: thehindublog)

Don’t sit and wait. Get out there, feel life. Touch the sun, and immerse in the sea. ~ Rumi

(via hanging-teeth)

(Source: tymurf)

Cobalt Blue

operahousegirl:

Monet almost never used
the color black in his paintings
“white lead, cadmium yellow,
vermilion,
madder,
cobalt blue,
chrome green”
But not black.

I wonder what I’d do
without the color black—
I think I’d fear the night less
If I knew I was only shadowed
in darkest shades of cobalt blue.

What I write is different from what I say, what I say is different from what I think, what I think is different from what I ought to think and so it goes further into the deepest darkness.

Franz Kafka (via mermaid-echoes)

(Source: katelizabeth)

sndrewacott:

posting because it’s burns’ night

and because i’m rediscovering my love for paolo nutini

Ꭿ Ᏸ Ꮸ Ꭰ Ꮛ Բ Ꮐ Ꮒ Ꮠ Ժ Ꮶ Ꮭ Ꮇ Ꮑ Ꮎ Ꮅ Q Ꮥ Ꭲ Ꮜ Ꮙ Ꮗ Ꮍ ȥ 

http://earth-age.blogspot.com/

apoetreflects:

“Every man’s memory is his private literature.”
—Aldous Huxley

apoetreflects:

“Every man’s memory is his private literature.”

—Aldous Huxley

Sylvia Plath

sketchofthepast:

“Certain poems and lines of poetry seem as solid and miraculous to me as church altars or the coronation of queens must seem to people who revere quite different images. I am not worried that poems reach relatively few people. As it is, they go surprisingly far—among strangers, around the world, even. Farther than the words of a classroom teacher or the prescriptions of a doctor; if they are very lucky, farther than a lifetime.”

—Sylvia Plath, “Context”, from Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams (Faber and Faber, 1977)

apoetreflects:

And we will explore besides the empty space that you left in your poem,
the empty space that you left in each word.

—Roberto Juarroz, from “A fly is walking head downward on the ceiling” in Vertical Poetry, translated from the Spanish by W. S. Merwin (North Point Press, 1988)