January 2010
15 posts
bhakti poetry to krishna
“The night is painted red
and I am ready,
dressed to get undressed.
This is my night
with the king.
The sheets are fresh.
My eyes have their dark coloring.
I am jasmine with its night aroma.
I’m so happy I go out
tossing gems to the hungry.
He has put on his beautiful
dark face.
I am happy
because now my wedding night
is eternity.
What hurt me is gone.
Don’t...
“I’m working at trying to be a Christian and that’s serious business. It’s like trying to be a good Jew, a good Muslim, a good Buddhist, a good Shintoist, a good Zoroastrian, a good friend, a good lover, a good mother, a good buddy—it’s serious business. It’s not something where you think, Oh, I’ve got it done. I did it all day, hotdiggety. The truth...
whimsicalities:
Jon Brion, Theme from Eternal...
Therapists Report Increase in Green Disputes →
psychotherapy:
As awareness of environmental concerns has grown, therapists say they are seeing a rise in bickering between couples and family members over the extent to which they should change their lives to save the planet.
In households across the country, green lines are being drawn between those who insist on wild salmon and those who buy farmed, those who calculate their carbon footprint...
bumper stickers spotted today in east portland:
“Driver carries no cash: He’s married.”
“Wife and dog missing. Reward for dog.”
portland. it’s not berkeley.
(but I love it!)
Shannon Burns
universalhumansituation:
Love Poem Where are all the medium-sized towels? I love you. Shannon Burns’ chapbook Preserving the Old Way of Life at Factory Hollow Press online store
“To live remains an art which everyone must learn, and which no one can teach.”
– Havelock Ellis (via psychotherapy)
“The dream of a single, true love won through appearances, of romance as the key...”
– from Young, White and Miserable: Growing Up Female in the Fifties by Wini Breines
Kept Burning and Distant
whimsicalities:
by Linda Gregg
You return when you feel like it,
like rain. And like rain you are tender,
with rain’s inept tenderness.
A passion so general I could be anywhere.
You carry me out into the wet air.
You lay me down on the leaves
and the strong thing is not the sex
but waking up alone under trees after.