Well Halo Aummingbird
It is my sureful Plea to meet You.

Well Come to the Sight and thank You for the read.
IT is all ways good to Be in Good company.

Stick around a while and share with Us Your's Elf.


Chahles

"the Very air
that beComes, Breathes"

mmm.

from Night Songs
to Day Breaks...
and back again.
The feeling
of Open Land Freedom.
Infinite possibility
is a quiet, steady
presence in each Breath.


The flowers of late
winter
and early spring
occupy places in our hearts
well out of proportion
to their size.

~ Gertrude S. Wister


Beautiful, Chahles.

Aummingbird,
I've spent so many quiet moments
reading through there.
It is a wonderful Site.
Everytime I walk away
with something.

Fallin asleep
whilst Waking
Your Dreams are in the making.


Waking only in the morning
is a small subtle warning...

Those in between slowments
that miss Your stare
those hurried little
seconds
When You don't care.
The wanting to be outta here
or somewhere far away
the wishing that the Ride would stop
and the Path would lead the Way...
The Wishes and Want to's
The want to and the have to's
The Shoulda Woulda Couldas
The Wish I did
and wish I didn't do's...

Falling asleep whilest Waking
Your Dreams are in the making.

Every Slowment counts.

Breathe by breathe.

Breathe Deep.


Sigh.



Chahlie

Crazy times like these are all I live for
These gray sky, blue heaven days
That roll by on clouds
In many ways
On stormy days; lazy ones too
Fast and slow through far too few
Still a heart attuned
(If not completely out of tune)
Can't help but feel the harmonics
In the room outside the rooms
And get washed over then
Embraced
Then tidied up by zen
A sun-drenched neck or tousled hair
Reminders of these days spent where
(And when)
The air and sky upon their own,
The very spaces that we roam,
Release of fearful expectations,
And half-hearted hesitation,
On these crazy, breezy days and
Their less animated babies
Crash and tumbled through my life
And took me home.

Such days I live for..though.

daf

P.S. Aummingbird, Chali, Dove.. You guys are amazing. We should have an online open mike.

Chahles ! Thank you for the warm welcome!

Sorry so late in getting back here. I'm glad i found the string again.

Yes, it's great to be in Great company. I hope to be spending more time here...

Peace
,
A

BlueDove,

Same here girl.

Lots of Love,

Beautiful daf.

And yes, that would be fun! Hopefully soon. hehe.

{{{ }}}

The New Year is Up On Us

Can You Feel the Breath of Spring?

It is gentle.
And Fierce.

A Bit o De Bite.

The Veil between the Seasons...
Where things seam different
Both Day and Night
They seam the same.
But oh the Difference!




Oh the Wondrous Touch of It

And You Begin A Gain!

SpringTime is for Poets, Lovers and Gardners.

Happy Spring & Ostara EveryOne!

Day has finally caught up with night once again and for today the two are in perfect balance. The time has finally come for we above the Equator to awaken from our winter hibernation and prepare to plant the seeds of our hopes and dreams. May they all bloom to their fullest potential.


Tracey

On Good and Evil

by Kahlil Gibran



Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil.
For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?
Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters.


You are good when you are one with yourself.
Yet when you are not one with yourself you are not evil.
For a divided house is not a den of thieves; it is only a divided house.
And a ship without rudder may wander aimlessly among perilous isles yet sink not to the bottom.


You are good when you strive to give of yourself.
Yet you are not evil when you seek gain for yourself.
For when you strive for gain you are but a root that clings to the earth and sucks at her breast.
Surely the fruit cannot say to the root, "Be like me, ripe and full and ever giving of your abundance."
For to the fruit giving is a need, as receiving is a need to the root.


You are good when you are fully awake in your speech,
Yet you are not evil when you sleep while your tongue staggers without purpose.
And even stumbling speech may strengthen a weak tongue.


You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps.
Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping.
Even those who limp go not backward. But you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness.


You are good in countless ways, and you are not evil when you are not good,
You are only loitering and sluggard.
Pity that the stags cannot teach swiftness to the turtles.


In your longing for your giant self lies your goodness: and that longing is in all of you.
But in some of you that longing is a torrent rushing with might to the sea, carrying the secrets of the hillsides and the songs of the forest.
And in others it is a flat stream that loses itself in angles and bends and lingers before it reaches the shore.
But let not him who longs much say to him who longs little, "Wherefore are you slow and halting?"
For the truly good ask not the naked, "Where is your garment?" nor the houseless, "What has befallen your house?"

On Joy and Sorrow

Kahlil Gibran


Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater thar sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

In response to your " Life Is a Flame "


Brighid

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6F_gV8QnP10


Thanks

Lisa Thiel ~ Song To Brighid

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AI3koxpmlyM

such beautiful music, Star.
thank you.








The Winding Stair


My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
'Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is done:
Who can distinguish darkness from the soul

My Self. The consecretes blade upon my knees
Is Sato's ancient blade, still as it was,
Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass
Unspotted by the centuries;
That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn
From some court-lady's dress and round
The wodden scabbard bound and wound
Can, tattered, still protect, faded adorn

My Soul. Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematical of love and war?
Think of ancestral night that can,
If but imagination scorn the earth
And intellect is wandering
To this and that and t'other thing,
Deliver from the crime of death and birth.

My Self. Montashigi, third of his family, fashioned it
Five hundred years ago, about it lie
Flowers from I know not what embroidery -
Heart's purple - and all these I set
For emblems of the day against the tower
Emblematical of the night,
And claim as by a soldier's right
A charter to commit the crime once more.

My Soul. Such fullness in that quarter overflows
And falls into the basin of the mind
That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind,
For intellect no longer knows
Is from the Ought, or knower from the Known -
That is to say, ascends to Heaven;
Only the dead can be forgiven;
But when I think of that my tongue's a stone.

II


My Self. A living man is blind and drinks his drop.
What matter if the ditches are impure?
What matter if I live it all once more?
Endure that toil of growing up;
The ignominy of boyhood; the distress
Of boyhood changing into man;
The unfinished man and his pain
Brought face to face with his own clumsiness;

The finished man among his enemies? -
How in the name of Heaven can he escape
That defiling and disfigured shape
The mirror of malicious eyes
Casts upon his eyes until at last
He thinks that shape must be his shape?
And what's the good of an escape
If honour find him in the wintry blast?

I am content to live it all again
And yet again, if it be life to pitch
Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch,
A blind man battering blind men;
Or into that most fecund ditch of all,
The folly that man does
Or must suffer, if he woos
A proud woman not kindred of his soul.

I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest.


~ W.B. Yeats