her colors are muted and she looks tired.
‘holding up,’ she says,
and i’m just holding up too but god, this contrast;
light and dark,
soft and bold,
melancholy and anger,
beauty and the furthest thing from it.
she is unsettling, yet…
not in a bad way.
not at all.
and she is lovely.
her eyes are gentle,
blue like twilight
(and i understand for the first time why
they’re supposed to be the windows to the soul).
her hair is not spun gold
and she doesn’t shine like the sun;
she is the moon in all its glory.
the kind of light she carries cannot be explained–
it’s in her bones and the way she walks,
and the way she speaks.
like she doesn’t want to be seen or heard.
but she is beautiful.
god built the universe
with a voice like that.
when a girl loves a girl the stars fall to the earth.
1. Sexual- restraining inhibited appetite, becoming a slave to desire 2. Physical surroundings ~the comfort created by material acquisition 3. Money, Resources, Abuse of Power, discarding spiritual invocation 4. Fear ~ Elevating consciousness into higher dimensions so the torment of fear evaporates 5. Hatred ~ the ability for extreme love can transmute to hatred 6. Ambition ~ the power of devoted aspiration transmutes to a vessel of healing 7. Pride ~ Grandiose self delusions to unraveling ego so body can connect to soul 8. Separateness ~ forced isolation, disconnecting the self, and transmuting this into union 9. Cruelty ~ satisfaction resulting of maltreatment, often for reasons of power
Scorpio is a sign of judgement and tests, resulting in the figurative phoenix rising from the ashes and eventually triumphing in glory. form light, soul light, and the pure light of life emanate and coalesce in Scorpio. The head of the hydra held 9 raging heads. (”Returning, Hercules stood before his Teacher. “The victory is won”, the Teacher said. “The Light that shines at Gate the eighth is now blended with your own”.-Francis Merchant). The Scorpio’s first test involves relinquishing the need to prove to God, or fellow men that he or she is something, it’s consciousness must be aligned with acknowledging the grand delusion, that nothing is containable or capable of being possessed, because none of it exists. -C.
I awaken to your glory.
Lightness of being
In a strong
My lust grows
I envision you
Against my lips
Hot to the touch
Passing my lips
Filling my mouth
Inhaling your scent
My lover’s consent
All that you’ve meant
Never letting go
Until you are spent
Body and soul
Today is foretold
The demons be damned
With you I will stand
ALL WHO THINK THAT CAN
ALL WHO WANT TO
ALL WHO WISH TO
I am not alone
I have you
You’ve been true
My day starts
What falls apart
You won’t let me down.
Thoughts of you
From foreign lands
In the distance
The wondrous sound
Of another brewed pot.
-Special thanks to the lovely @sonador-reveur who’s own prose inspired me, but THIS time, as the dark liquid flows through my vein, the point of view of a COFFEE ADDICT.
May heaven and earth make me glorious.
May Lord Ingui and the wise sage god Woden make me glorious.
May I attain the glory of divine light.
May this great glory never abandon me.
May it never abandon my people, among whom let me be a speaker of truth.
Mē wuldrien heofon and earþe.
Mē wuldrien Ing dryhten ond Wōden se wīsa god.
Ic begiete þæt wuldor hālges lēohtes.
Ne forlǣte þis wuldor nǣfre mē.
Ne forlǣte hit nǣfre mīn folc, gemang þǣm ic sóþspreca bēo.
Må Himlen och Jorden göra mig ärorik.
Må Ingvi Frej och vise man-guden Oden göra mig ärorik.
Må jag uppnå det heliga ljusets ära.
Må denna stora ära aldrig överge mig.
Må det aldrig överge mitt folk, bland dem låt mig vara en sanningssägare.
Mögen Himmel und Erde mich prächtig machen.
Mögen Fro Ing and der wissend-weise Gott Wotan mich prächtig machen.
Möge ich die Pracht des göttlichen Lichts erlangen.
Möge diese große Pracht mich niemals verlassen.
Möge sie niemals mein Volk verlassen, für das sie mich ein Künder der Wahrheit sein lasse.
Heathen prayer for truth and enlightenment. Translated into 4 Germanic languages.
Song of the Irish Brigade, performed by David Kincaide
A song popular among Irish Confederates during the American Civil War.
Oh, not now for songs of a nation’s wrongs, not the groans of starving labor; Let the rifle ring and the bullet sing to the clash of the flashing sabre! There are Irish ranks on the tented banks of Columbia’s guarded ocean; And an iron clank from flank to flank tells of armed men in motion.
And frank souls there clear true and bare To all, as the steel beside them, Can love or hate withe the strength of Fate, Till the grave of the valiant hide them. Each seems to be mailed Ard Righ, whose sword’s avenging glory Must light the fight and smite for Right, Like Brian’s in olden story!
With pale affright and panic flight Shall dastard Yankees base and hollow, Hear a Celtic race, from their battle place, Charge to the shout of “Faugh-a-ballaugh!” By the sould above, by the land we love Her tears bleeding patience The sledge is wrought that shall smash to naught The brazen liar of nations.
The Irish green shall again be seen as our Irish fathers bore it, A burning wind from the South behind, and the Yankee rout before it! O’Neil’s red hand shall purge the land- Rain a fire on men and cattle, Till the Lincoln snakes in their own cold lakes Plunge from the blaze of battle.
The knaves that rest on Columbia’s breast, and the voice of true men stifle; we’ll exorcise from the rescued prize- Our talisman, the rifle; For a tyrant’s life a bowie knife!- Of Union knot dissolvers, The best we ken are stalwart men, Columbiads and revolvers!
Whoe’er shall march by triumphal arch Whoe’er may swell the slaughter, Our drums shall roll from the Capitol O’er Potomac’s fateful water! Rise, bleeding ghosts, to the Lord of Hosts For judgement final and solemn; Your fanatic horde to the edge of the sword Is doomed line, square, and column!