HRTsOnFyR

Sep 2017

Simon Leake

Song

This all started as a song,
a song that built identities
then laws and empires,
fuelled by material wealth,
upheld by vague data.
Wherein the song was lost
and here we stand
on the crest of sound wave,
a vertiginous ***** before us
beyond which are better words
than the unfortunate love.
Given pressure and time we find
the impression of a memory
that has its end in a song.

#song #civilisation #love

Sep 2017

Sam Hawkins

with golden path walking

i am a walking tree on the path of the sun

In my shamanic experiences, as a healer, this aboriginal 12 beat form and its message of our primary cosmic relationship to SUN helps with activation/remembrance, drawing forward, little by little, our awareness of our heart's desire, our service mindedness, our loving nature. Opens the question: How May I Serve?

Do you wish to change?
Bring awareness to the natural power
you already have through your
bodymind & SUN relationship?
Uncover your soul's unique purpose?

Think this magical sentence while walking at slow tempo, medium and uptempo or while shuffling.

Experiment with how you shape it, with texture. Make it your own. Speak it, sing it; smile softly. Magnify the positive power of the message through movement. Even when completely still, you are moving. At the physical level, your one hundred trillion cells are highly active! Be still.

We humans are holographic mini-suns, right down to the super super tiny of us, at the quantum level. By this nature we are connected to and fed by SUN, as green plants are. We can choose to activate our awareness of this truth --- thus naturally be called forward to radiate our messages of Unconditional Love for ALL Life. To the benefit of ALL.

We are genius in hiding, with great love to share. Each of us matters and by choosing to change ourselves, we can change the world.

First, we must pause and breathe.
Wake Up to What Is.

Sep 2017

Pagan Paul

Stealing The Sky

.
Three meet upon the moor.
Clouds boil, the thunder roars.
Magick crackles about the tor,
voices raise to chant the call.

Fires at midnight burn with power.
Time stands still in the witching hour.
The moot works in the night to devour,
to catch the moon and starry showers.

Mystical nets float way up high.
Glowing globes with which to scrye.
The howling wind screams its cry,
as ancient powers steal the sky.

© Pagan Paul (2017)

.

#poetry #metaphor #sky #moot #madness #mania

Sep 2017

Pagan Paul

India

.
Silver charms on an anklet ******
as her foot stamps down once,
crossed dainty in front of the other,
and her hands start a slow ascent.
From hips up into the air
in the nonchalant action of the flame,
arcing a half circle about her waist
she turns to face the assembled crowd.

A tabla starts a sleepy beat
and the sitar player awakens,
or returns from a meditation,
readying himself for his introduction,
to blend a melody of the Moon
with the woven movements of dance.
The beat increases and four taps
signal a change in the rhythm.
The following note is punctuated
by the tinkling of the charms
and the first strum of the sitar,
sending music to the starry sky.

And her hips sway in gentle waves
as her hands mimic the lotus flower
in cups of dreams above her head,
and the anklets jangle a soothing sound.
The wrists twist and move graceful,
delightfully twinned with the neck of a swan,
and her body sways like a leaf in the wind
to the melody from ages past.

The tabla starts a frantic beat
as the sitar player lets fly,
his new unrestrained chords
dilute the night with ecstasy.
And she dances in her trance,
skin shining with the dew of reflected joy,
her lithe body telling the story
that began before the dawn of time.
A crescendo summons the dance to end
and silence fills the void,
but far into the deep dark night
silver charms on an anklet ******.

© Pagan Paul (01/09/17)

.
An evening spent in the Rajasthan desert in a nomads camp,
with the stunningly beautiful Jaiselmer sandstone fort in the
background changing colour as the sun set in the west.
.

#poetry #india #gypsy #dance #desert #nomad #culture #music

HRTsOnFyR Aug 2017

Love is A Verb

I solved the riddle, Alice dear,
This weren't your dream at all...
Your dreams are host to nobler men,
No princes here; Just frogs.
They flap their wet and gleaming lips,
Professing works of love...
Now dripping wet from all their spit,
And chapped from all their rubs,
You still don't feel a bit more safe,
And just a bit less loved.

#loveistheanswer