
The onion, now that’s something else.
Its innards don’t exist.
Nothing but pure onionhood
fills this devout onionist.
Oniony on the inside,
onionesque it appears.
It follows its own daimonion
without our human tears.
The onion, now that’s something else.
Its innards don’t exist.
Nothing but pure onionhood
fills this devout onionist.
Oniony on the inside,
onionesque it appears.
It follows its own daimonion
without our human tears.
…
A self-portrait at a retreat brought out the artists in all women. At first a bit hesitant, we quickly had fun and started painting a vision that we don’t often share. How do we see ourselves, not with the eye, but deep inside us?
Continue readingI dreamt of bright flowers
that blossom in May;
I dreamt of green meadows
and merry bird-calls.
Continue readingIf I were a tree,
I could stand there still.
I would sink deep into my roots and
rest from the haste of life.
When my Sorrow was born I nursed it with care, and watched over it
with loving tenderness.
***
His head on my shoulder
I feel his breath on my neck
A quick kiss, then a deep sigh
Letting me know that he is happy
Not fitting in, is not always a bad thing.
Sometimes we have to be true to ourselves.
Sometimes we just aren’t in the mood.
A friend in Germany sent me the link to a song, and I would like to share it with all my blogging friends. The lyrics are in German, sung by many famous European artists who all decided to not ask for any kind of pay or reimbursement to be able to participate in this powerful arrangement.
Continue readingIt probably started
in a whisper, a murmur,
a low tone hardly caught by the papers,
a sticker, a poster,
a brick wall with slogans in fresh black paint
How dare we let a glossy page
trap us in a self-conscious cage?
It’s criminal.
It’s cruel.
It sets us up for our fall.