nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp Aye-aye, Cap'n... ⛵


The good thing about dreams, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, is that they can always sail again, even if apparently wrecked.  Fancy a voyage among those stars?


Both sides of that equation are highly sensuous, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  You must be in a languid and luxurious mood, to see yourself reacting so deliciously to warmth and light.


Of course, a geode needs both a hammer to break it and a light source to allow it to sparkle, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


Hmm...  I take it you have been musing out in the open air, nostr:npub17t5n8xvz4ksqjq5l25w2jp5lldztuqaw8pfv8y9aqsyg2aye92fqkym390.  Always a revealing exercise...


Both funny and suggests a good deal of frustration, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


Very astrological in the general feeling of this, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

The "ever after" sounds like what I've sometimes described as "beyond the stars" - the idea of a state where everything is one.  I think it covers a number of concepts, and suggests you are feeling connected to a greater, universal reality or consciousness.

Or I may be missing the point entirely...!


Well, I'm pretty sure a blade can be both precise and violent when it is used to punch holes, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


The hex, then, is the curse of darkness, distress, hopelessness, and you identify someone as able to pierce that for you, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

There is a violence, a determination, in this punching of holes, though.  Albeit it is directed at whatever darkens your world.

May this give you comfort.


Get on with you nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  Of course you could!


It is always interesting to hear a poem in the writer's own intonation, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  Thankyou.

Does this mean you are also thinking of branching into audio books?  Just a thought for you to play with... 😉.


Ah - that's what you really look like, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


It is remarkably coherent for a stream of consciousness, and, it seems, surprisingly revealing, even to yourself, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


Far be it for from me to suggest you should not burst, if that is what you want, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp


There is loneliness, almost abandonment in that one, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp .  It has a visionary sense.  A dream, maybe, at least a visualisation, to express breathlessness of a grief or sadness.  The mountains are a brooding, watching presence, the trees resigned to the tragedy of the lonely heart.  Blood and bone may be the sacrifice, but it is insufficient an offering to relieve, to take the pressure off, the chest and to permit freedom just to breathe


"Feral" blood, presumably, indicates wild, untamed passion.  Wrist and neck are pulse points - therefore consciousness of an increased heart-rate..  A pressure that seems about to break forth on account of someone absent.

Breathe, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp , and commune with the stars.  Lest you burst.


The sepulchre, an earthbound, restricted place where there is no light, sense, feeling.  The stars, the freedom of the sky, the cosmic givers of life.  A significant change of viewpoint; though I would continue to protest, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, that, whatever has brought this about, you were actually up there already.  You just needed to see it.  The real change, perhaps, is a sense of self-worth.


I cannot see you not achieving your goals, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


Hmm... I see the storm in the final element of this one, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  The heat of a too cruel summer building a tension to be roared out in a release from the sufferring of purgatorial sun's fire.  The weather getting you down, I take it.

By the way, as you mention rose, I recall you have wild roses nearby.  Roses do well with spent coffee grounds, of which I suspect you have plenty.  Don't overdo it though - they can make the soil very acidic.


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp How long ago was this?


Shocked quartz.  Found where lightning strikes, meteors impact, or other cataclysmic violence has occurred.

So, someone has had an effect on you that you liken to such a phenomenon, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp ?  Maybe, though you undervalue yourself as having been a mere "bed of clay" in that case.  And it is interesting that you would represent yourself as, effectively, thunderstruck.

If that interpretation is correct, you pay someone a huge compliment.  But, perhaps, there was always more that shimmers and is shot through with precious metal in yourself than you credit.


Riiight...

It does, rather, depend on whether you buried them under the concrete, of course, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  .  But composting your enemies at least puts them to some good use I suppose.

Interesting to see your vengeful side, though...


Then go, meet the one who waits in the darkness nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  ...


You really, really know how to tempt me, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  I'm on my way.

I have a feeling nostr:npub149krsp59ryfu6fxc2aec9caqy8gd8dhtn3wgxe6efxgdzpd0sesqrdpcwq has his head in his hands, groaning "Oh no, they are off again..."  Poor chap.  We keep hijacking his threads...

Anyhow, it is late here, and I must consider sleep, so he can start to relax as well!  Night-night.


Then you have less hope of restraining me than you have of exercising restraint, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp 🤣

... unless you persuade me to surrender...👀


Catch me if you can, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  🏃♂


May I ask, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  - why does that suit you are wearing have those spikes on the end of the tail...?
😲😲😲


I'm waiting, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp .  Anticipating... 🐈⬛ 😈 😆


Have you not heard of relativity, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp ?  From a where I stand, you seem quite young enough to be snapping whilst wielding a whip.

[Sits back and waits to see how she will play with that one... 🤣]


Seems fine as it, is to my ear, at least.

There is a dreamlike quality to this one, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp .  A chrysalis is what the immature creature creates around itself.   Making one of moonlight suggests night-time contemplation.  A preparation in meditation of the damaged psyche - perhaps one that has not been permitted to develop fully - to take flight as it should.  The sense is that it has been earthbound, but that this is not its real nature.  Maybe it is the wings themselves that were broken; now created anew that the person might be able "to fly" at last.


nostr:npub1f9y5ufl6t4ts5echh5l09yuwp3gnthfdf3pgyt2gh0yger2aewzq5tnac4 Ahem...

I suspect I am some way further along that road than either of you, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  & nostr:npub149krsp59ryfu6fxc2aec9caqy8gd8dhtn3wgxe6efxgdzpd0sesqrdpcwq  - so, please, young whippersnappers, do not wish yourself into age related tiredness and maudlinity any sooner than is necessary.

"Maudlinity"...?  Have I just made up a new word?


Hmm.  More to this than meets the eye, I think, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

You could, almost, be referencing tattoos with the "inscriptions", but that is both too obvious and does not fit.  They are not in braille, far less carved runes, and, so, are not deciphered by touch.  Nor, as far as I know, are you literally bearing runic script in scar tissue.

So, what you seek is a mental, emotional touch, to sense the scars of that non physical nature that may run deep, but are still there to be felt on the surface.  Old wounds that memory refuses to smooth, but cuts open again.  The mouth is not a reference to a physical kiss, but to words of empathy and understanding, giving meaning to the experience of this life (this flesh) in an expression that, however loving, supportive and understanding, is innocent of anything improper (without sin).  The canopy of stars is an almost dreamlike communion, or communication that, as "beneath the sky", could be anywhere on this earth.  Distance no impediment.

I hope you find the communication you seek, if I am correct about this.


Ultimately, in what, here, is called death, then, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  That seems to look forward to a particularly intimate embrace.  More a melting into one.

For now, in dreams, where the same is possible.


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp ... another...?


The cycle of life in the macrocosm, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, that constructs us all from stardust and flings our atoms, intermixed, into space.  And who knows but they may be remade into another star, to burn together once more...


So the cataract is sorrow, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp .  It is sorrow itself that blinds your heart... to what?

Not love, for you address one in those terms.  Maybe, though, the realisation, the free acceptance, the confidence of it.

The temperature that consumes blinding sorrow?  The conflagration that is the very nature of the heart itself, then.  I would, philosophically, suggest the temperature of the explosion that manifested a universe of life, which prefigures the emotional fire of one's inner being.

There's another poem in there, somewhere...


A presence set free on the storm wind, sensed by those willing to be free themselves...

I know that feeling also, nostr:npub17t5n8xvz4ksqjq5l25w2jp5lldztuqaw8pfv8y9aqsyg2aye92fqkym390.


I'm glad you edited your comment, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  Autocorrupt had rendered version 1 an exercise in cryptography...! 😆


They are possible only because of what you have shared, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  The honour, then, is mine, at your hand.


We do not know what state the stars are in, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  - we see only what they were over more or less vast periods of time.  Hence, their exhumation - their light becoming almost a form of immortality for the fallen bodies of the heavens.  It is in this context that I would tend to read the rest of the poem - this is life, death, rebirth and immortality pictured in the seemingly endless cycles of movement.  Maybe the deranged cadence of the tender heart is the rhythm or song of one who sees this, beyond all rational, scientific refusal.  And even the earth itself is caught in this same series of interlocking cycles within the greater cycle of the cosmos.

And so, it moves.


Earth, then, becomes as an island in the ocean of the night; a poor, benighted place.  But even that ocean, that night sky, is damaged.  How is it bruised?  You pour your heart out to the moon and stars, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  - has the sky itself suffered from your "graceless dread" over time?  Do you feel it has witnessed too much?

"Graceless" has an idea of ingratitude, suggesting you know the dread is misplaced.  A dread of what?  Given the promise of escape and what you say awaits, of rejection, I suspect.

Bruised or not, in, or perhaps beyond, that sky, the waiting arms.  Something restorative, safe.  A hope for a love to be found, at last, beyond time and place, perhaps.  This strikes me as an idea that is of a highly "spiritual" nature.


Fear of causing unwarranted pain to another - hesitation in reaching out, betraying, perhaps, too tender a concern.  Maybe a fear that the reaching out may lead to rejection.

Yet, if that heart has already been touched, what real basis can there be to tremble, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp?  The power of fear is always greatest in anticipation, I think.


nostr:npub149krsp59ryfu6fxc2aec9caqy8gd8dhtn3wgxe6efxgdzpd0sesqrdpcwq The stick is always waiting, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


Then I will seek to remind you often, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

Any thoughts, nostr:npub149krsp59ryfu6fxc2aec9caqy8gd8dhtn3wgxe6efxgdzpd0sesqrdpcwq?  Do you need a gruff and bad tempered old Welshman barking "Take a rest" at you??? 😡🥱😆


As do I...  Question is, how could this be possible in a virtual world, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp & nostr:npub149krsp59ryfu6fxc2aec9caqy8gd8dhtn3wgxe6efxgdzpd0sesqrdpcwq


In the words of Clannad, no matter where you go, we will find you, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

There is but one answer to this.  I think we need some sort of poets' relaxation and recuperation club, Michelle & nostr:npub149krsp59ryfu6fxc2aec9caqy8gd8dhtn3wgxe6efxgdzpd0sesqrdpcwq


The fire within is admirable.  But that does not mean you are obliged to be consumed in the conflagration, though, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

Duty is a strange concept.  Imposed from outside, or self imposed, it has a habit of blinding people to their own needs, I find.  You are the fuel to that fire.  Be economical, if that is the issue here.


Do I take it you are back home, nostr:npub17t5n8xvz4ksqjq5l25w2jp5lldztuqaw8pfv8y9aqsyg2aye92fqkym390 ?


That is very kind of you, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


nostr:npub149krsp59ryfu6fxc2aec9caqy8gd8dhtn3wgxe6efxgdzpd0sesqrdpcwq Well, I want to hear you, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, and if anyone does not, it is their loss.  You say what you feel; how can that not be worth hearing?

Not that I am so arrogant as to claim to make you feel anything, of course...!


Then go with that feeling, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


There is no point in poetry that evokes no reaction, nostr:npub149krsp59ryfu6fxc2aec9caqy8gd8dhtn3wgxe6efxgdzpd0sesqrdpcwq  & nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  Never be ashamed to feel it.


All that you are physically - that is inevitable, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  But all that is, in a more "real" sense, you - I think that may always have been beyond the reach of the cosmos.


Actually the same question, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp - just the opposite side of the coin.


In the evening quiet, conscious of one's own heartbeat in the silence, diving into the melancholic gathering of darkness, the mind chanting a song of life and feeling, the soul dancing rhythmically in light of the stars to invoke a sense of the presence of another...

I can picture this, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp , and wonder how common an experience it is...


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp

https://libranet.de/photo/110752223265061e47c4c06058084162-0.gif


The realm of pure fire, then, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  - or of pure consciousness, as I tend to think of it.  Where all is one.

Philosophically, poetically, you are there already, if the concept has any meaning.  On that basis, the dreams are only fragile from the standpoint of current perception.  Therefore, the love you describe must be yours already, for the other must be there also, and part of the same unity.

A poem deceptively simple given the depth of the philosophy behind it - quite apart from the depth of the feeling expressed.


So, a sense of moving in unison with another beyond any physical (maps) or temporal (clocks) constraint.  The sense of a quiet timelessness rather contrasts with those explosions, though.  You are back into a "many lifetimes" outlook and either referencing aeons of stellar cataclysm as pointing to great antiquity, or you picture past passions rather less long and slow in those ancient existences.  Or both, I suppose, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


Well, the similarity is just my way of looking at it, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp .

You must decide whether I've grasped the wrong end of that particular big stick...!


Yo have posted two this evening, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, and I find I cannot divorce them.  This is like the second stanza.  You deal with sun and moon between the two.

In the first, it is as if your emotions and desires are uneven, rocky, but the sun's light - perhaps the light of some love or understanding that you feel - fills the gaps.  There's almost a dentistry at work in the gold amalgam filling cavities, bringing relief.

In this poem, though, the sense is that of a remembered pain, an apparition - and thus a memory - of sufferring.

That this is a muttered curse suggests, maybe, private, self judgement; that it is splintered suggests something fragmented, even incomplete, and that it is a "disuse" of diffuse starlight might mean you are struggling with a memory of pain you know you have the capacity to remake into a more positive thought or feeling, for dwelling on it as it is offers you little (meagre recompense).

Turn again to the sunlight, then, and let it heal, rather than submerging in the wound, or drowning with that image before you.


Interesting thing about a passage tomb is the potentially significant alignment.  Newgrange is huge, but, at the appointed time, it is flooded by light.  So, your grieving heart has its hope of darkness dispelled, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

Perhaps, also, the earth - itself a tomb - binds together the fractured stone that sinks into it.


The skein of dreams, presumably, is what I usually call this web of reality.

If you are unravelled from it, you are teased out as an individual thread, a personal dream, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

That you remain gloriously tangled - your complexities and secrets remain.  This also suggests you find pleasure in this.

I think...


Best send me an invoice, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp..


Thought I had already, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp ...


I can make a poem of it if you would prefer, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, but it would take longer...


And, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, in the greater economy of the cosmos, that ash may, sometime, become a living part of a new world, and we may meet again before another witness.


Then the kiss is from the sun, or one you picture as the sun, I take it, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp .

Again, that is not  physical wound, but deep.  There is some relief, or healing, at least, in cauterisation, but the night, the moon, brings the stillness to feel it unsullied by the distractions of day.


I make no admission, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


I take no responsibility for your compulsions, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp - particularly the wicked and merciless ones... 👀


That is for you to judge, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp


Interesting nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  ...

The question is "What are the scars?"

Well, assuming the divide is physical, one of distance and time, then to be corrupted there has to be some form of communication overcoming the constraints of the map.

Ley lines are postulated as an ancient system of navigation, of communciation.  "Aetherial" scars, as ley lines, would, then, be of a more esoteric nature.  Corrupting the distance, they are something that renders physical divide meaningless.

What sort of scars can become such?

Not of themselves physical, as that has no potential to become what is suggested  Some sort of emotional wound, then?  Maybe that caused by the divide itself?

If so, a wish that pain, loneliness, heartache be replaced by a sense of communion with the distant other.  An orientation toward that other and sense of nearness and shared understanding, perhaps.

All under the same sky, as I've said elsewhere.  Therefore, the influence of the stars - it being "written in the stars", I suppose, would seem entirely appropriate.  Of course, the distance of the stars makes all global distance seem trivial.  A change of perspective?

I have no idea if I am on the right track.


Maybe, but it won't stop you pressing on mercilessly, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp Hellllllp...!!!
😱😱😱


Sometimes, you are just plain wicked, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp... 🤣


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp One might suspect a deliberate attempt to tantalise is secretly hidden in that assertion...!


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp I'm doomed... 🤣


Shhh...   don't tell everyone, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  You'll destroy my reputation...
🤫


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp Ad I thought I was confused...
🧐


And why to I get the impression you are that which is totally consumed in the impact of this particular asteroid, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp?


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp I very much doubt you look like that @Michelle...!!!🤣🤣🤣


And you have surpassed yourself again, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


Really, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp !  I've never before heard such a naughty and mischievous laugh from you!!!


We all bear the signs of ageing, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp - and, personally, I've never been inclined to hide that.  Is the dread at the inevitability and inexorably of that insistent march of time, whether in you or another?

The shadows can be formed of exhaustion, grief - all things that time can bring in cruel abundance.  But I do not believe there is any "umbrage".  The night sky might make time, as we see it, meaningless in the encompassing ages it holds; but the stars are there, and it is the clouds that hide them.  They, too, are temporary and will pass.  Keep looking, and those stars will appear for you, eventually.


Rhythms of speech that ebb and flow... melodies of intonation accentuating tides of meaning, opening chasms and soothing voids.  You hear this; you move with, and are moved by, it, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

That is the poetry in you answering the poetry of another voice, to feel the height and depth another mind expresses, and be changed by it.

Perhaps you have the same effect yourself...

There is something very moving in this imagery (and yes, there is a bit of a pun there as well, but it seemed an obvious phraseology use!).


Careful - you'll get me all embarrassed, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp...
😉


I merely say what I see, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


Then give it freedom, that you may sing a wilder song, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

Not that I believe for a moment that your heart was ever a prison, let alone a pit of hopelessness, or your desire so completely restrained.


Use Sirius as a signpost, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp Well beyond your years...!
👵👀


A focus for your desire, be that for comfort, rest, peace or otherwise, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, and a source of light and beauty in your darker moments, I take it.


nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp Not intended, but noticed after written and left there purposely!!! 🤣

Mind, you seem not so very modern yourself, below the surface, my ancient friend...!!! 😉🤣


You seem to be drawing some of your imagery from ideas of archaic, maybe celtic style paganism, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  I sense, though, an idea of someone hardened by life's inevitable rituals.  Bog iron, impure ore depsits leeched from groundwater; bone coal, a black, hard, rocky anthracite; both unyielding, both hidden from view in earth or water.  The core of someone moulded by harsh experience.

At least the spirit of this one is more pure - as steel is to iron - but harder, sharp, maybe dangerous.  Yet with memories - ghosts.  Perhaps of kinder times; of what was before the impurities were burned off and forged steel?

You see this one as almost a sacrificial blade it seems.  I can only assume that the kisses are meant to soften all that hardness.  Almost as if the altar victim hopes to overcome the priest.  If that is correct, and if achieved, who becomes, and who makes, the sacrifice?

There's a certain irony there, if this interpretation is near accurate.


Holy, Holy, Holy is thy shirt, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp...???


Fashionable??  Never been called that before, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.  All my fashion is 3 decades old...


We'll be like a pair of standard lamps, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp.

Flying, otherworldly standard lamps...

🛸🛸🛸


... but you said nothing about wearing a UFO on your head, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp ...
😆


Exalted to the heavens, eh, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp?

I'm sure a necklace of stars would be most becoming on you!!!


The temples may be abandoned, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp, but the spirit still yearns to make its offerings.


That requires an impressive trust, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp


You take this imagery from current environment in a too hot summer, I take it, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp ?

I take it that the "supplication" also mirrors the bending of the grass, and what is sought is refreshment, something life affirming.