Tag Archives: spirituality

Leaves In The Wind

“The Greek poet Orpheus carried Willow branches as a symbol of the inspiration this sound gave.”

weeping willow

I pause outside as bee and lady bug fly around. 

  Sweet is the nectar from 

lemon tree and lavender. 

Letting go of worries and

 desires that do not serve me now. 

An old friend, a song, comes to mind
 
 as my "leaves in the wind."

  Perfect are old recorded songs 

and the insect, flower and tree! 

Somehow as I pause in breathing,

 I am lost in this perfection.

 The recurring of pause of being,

the repetition of listening to old songs

the heartfelt listening and watching nature,

Is my catalyst for artistic expression. 

Never to let us down !!


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pause/

hope is brightest

Last night’s dream set me on a journey of murder and fear. I left my car’s break off and it flew down the hill knocking down people, places, and things. Yet, somehow, I ended up in a cave / loft underground looking up on a reflection of Our Lady of Guadalupe. There were five or six of us looking up, out of the loft. A wood ladder hung upon the opening and straw was all around. I started to hum a song.

I did some research and found out that this song has an interesting history separate from Latin or the Catholic Church.

Franz Schubert Opus 52, 7 songs set to Walter Scott’s epic poem Lady of the Lake. (1825)

“My hope, my heaven, my trust must be,

My gentle guide, in following thee.”

― Walter Scott, The Lady of the Lake
lady-of-the-lake

Illustration for Lady of the Lake, Richard Westall British | 1765 – 1836

Original text for Ellens dritter Gesang III is Scott/Stork Text before Lain text “Catholic Ave Maria” (Hail Mary).

“The rose is fairest when 't is budding new,

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;

The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew

And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.”

― Walter Scott, Lady of the Lake

Ellen’s Third Song

“Hymn to the Virgin” by Sir Walter Scott

Ave Maria! maiden mild!
Listen to a maiden’s prayer!
Thou canst hear though from the wild;
Thou canst save amid despair.
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,
Though banish’d, outcast and reviled –
Maiden! hear a maiden’s prayer;
Mother, hear a suppliant child!
Ave Maria!Ave Maria! undefiled!
The flinty couch we now must share
Shall seem with down of eider piled,
If thy protection hover there.
The murky cavern’s heavy air
Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled;
Then, Maiden! hear a maiden’s prayer,
Mother, list a suppliant child!
Ave Maria!Ave Maria! stainless styled.
Foul demons of the earth and air,
From this their wonted haunt exiled,
Shall flee before thy presence fair.
We bow us to our lot of care,
Beneath thy guidance reconciled;
Hear for a maid a maiden’s prayer,
And for a father hear a child!
Ave Maria!

Now has come the smell of anticipation to create…after the pain of loss…

“What is actually new in these interactions is the introduction of the financial aspect; if desired, the user has the possibility to monetize his expertise. Although, we can always share our experience for free, giving users the opportunity to have some financial compensation may enhance the potential of interactions by providing them credibility, recognizing their value and establishing a relationship of equals between the parties. Some people may well feel more at ease if, to complete their project, they have the possibility to ‘buy’ someone else’s know-how.” ~https://www.quora.com/What-do-you-consider-to-be-your-greatest-asset

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Hudley the Jester…

It is ironic. My jewel, my opus magnum,  and creations destroyed by the very same scene that gave me a voice. The punk scene gave me a voice. I self-taught myself or created myself in this void of rebellion. A new world. The ideologies, punk community where we helped each other. We confront the status quo and want to change things. My memories are something I share. It took me a long time but, a validation from financial gain is a necessity for a value of one’s art. What makes it valuable is relative. Time, attempt, joy, bliss, and humor. A joining in. I join into the community of the history of punk now. I took a vow in Jung’s terms.

I am confronted with violence, destruction and hate. What is my psyche doing now? How is the Cosmos responding to this? The fire of destruction. The depth of despair. The wheel of talk that becomes tiresome to others.

Pity, maybe.

Hope, lost.

The band plays on…

I smell nothing today.

But the recurrence of something I cannot change.

I move forward as a phoenix

new possibilities new awareness

leaving the gutter behind me !

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/scent/

Baubo Protagonist number 3 : A PROFOUND Flopside comic !

Walking into the small misty temple, I at once noticed the stained glass window. I sat on the tree stump. The image was enhanced by a crescent shape design and by a few candles flashing colorful red, gold and purple flames. I took to memory the message. I knew it was true.

My search to find the great Baubo, the Holy Baubo, had failed again. Yet, her new message was presented to me in the reflective glass widow image.

She was to do it. At the beginning. She had to defeat those evil bastards…

holy-baubo

We can free Prometheus…ourselves !!

Prometheus Unbound, man is defined as “one harmonious soul of many a soul, whose nature is its own divine control.”~ The Selected Poetry and Prose of Shelley edited, with introduction, by Carlos Baker.

“… Poetry strengthens the faculty which is the organ of the moral nature of man [imagination] in the same manner as exercise strengthens a limb.” ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

“The secret of morals,” says the essayist, “Is love; or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own. A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively…The great instrument of moral good is the imagination: and poetry administers to the effect [ moral good] by acting upon the cause [imagination].’ Poetry enlarges the circumstance of the imagination by replenishing it with thoughts of ever new delight, which have the power of attracting and assimilating to their own nature all other thought.” ~ Shelley

 

Red Rose

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Over thirty years ago
Finding a red rose
stained glass
five petals.

At a common thrift store
then, upon my wall
after,  a gift to mother
upon her wall.

Now upon my wall, again
a symbol
now I know
it means good magic
supporting me
all along…

Rose Vase

“Midsummer night upon the sword,
Knights and squires are standing guard,
In the grove knightly dance they tread
With torches and garlands of roses red”

~ Johannes Steenstrup, CHR The Medieval Popular Ballad, 1968

Proud Punker Publisher

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It is the direction and not the magnitude which is to be taken into consideration. ~Thomas Paine

Today May 17 2016 is when I am finally coming out with my first Journal. A 40-page journal. This journal is based on my memoirs entitled The Seminary of Praying Mantis, My Punkalullaby. A D.I.Y project which rides the wave of punk rock nostalgia. I will continue to come out with these journals until the original written book is complete. Since my publication of poetry books, and my work on New Wave Chicken ‘Zine (and the reforming of the Misfits), my libido has increased. The first journal will be for sale soon. Consider this a little complementary journal to go along with the BIG PUNK ROCK books out there. Linking hands with the underground story to give the reader a brighter picture of punk rock diversity. A new look at the Los Angeles punk rock scene. This journal is a behind the scenes story of punk rock. A wrench in the machinery kind of journal movement.  Sorry no big beautiful pictures artfully done. Just a few words.

Honest and reflective…

Early Los Angeles Punk Rock Scene… 1979 -1989

Remember… To Be More Than A Witness…

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Hudley member and  wearing original Fiend Club T-SHIRT

suicide squirrels

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Have you seen the suicide squirrels?  Some crazy animals that run across the street. They have a big shadow going on in them as daredevils galore. Jerks hit and run and I stay to watch the detorsion dance of death. I always take time to bless ’em and put them in a bag after they die. I slow down in my car and honk and yell trying to save them too. A song by Stan Kenton called Painted Rhythm reminds me those wild beasts. They just don’t listen to me.

“Get out of the street !!”

They are damn independent, wild and organized animals… but they got a strange shadow side. A death wish.

Spring is so sweet today. The air honeyed with nectar and the birds are singing. Life can be heavenly but I never lose sight of the shadow. It is important to keep goodness and our shadows at check, or in balance, in our soul. You know the story the biggest light casts the biggest shadow.

Today I am impressed to hear the music of the wild thyme herb growing. Blossoms very small and delicate. It casts a shadow too and hangs best under one dark shadow this morning.

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https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/music/

Irrelativity

“…Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!
I find comment ’bout my looks irrelativity,
Think I’ll go and have some fun,
‘Cos it’s all for free.
I’m not searching for a reason to enjoy myself…,” – Yardbirds

009

How I looked in the dream last night !

Had one of those dreams again of being back at the scene of the 1980s. A club morphed into a Golden Voice show! The tight feelings were there of knowing all the bands and the characters and players ! Jim Kaa of the Crowd was talking in my ear when brother Gus showed up. We are not talking these days, but in this dream we approached each other for a forgiving hug when he turned into myself. How I look now.

I asked myself if I had the password to get in to the show? I said it does not matter cause I am in and not going anywhere!

Lots of guys from bands were roaming around! I was consciously aware enough to dig being back in the middle of things. Running around and being part of what was happening…like everyone else there! My scene, my friends something to offer and cover! Al approached me, we then were at an adjoining Chinese restaurant. We were shooting the breeze ! I was wondering where the bar was ’cause a cold beer sounded good to ease my social tension!

Al had a new computerized contraption that took pictures, recorded bands and interviewed bands; ready for documenting the whole scene. All from a large black computer book!

He was on the cutting edge and creative as usual. As we were eating our noodles a band came on! He said he had to go see about a band. I told him go ahead I’ll watch over your noodles until you get back !!

I awoke from the dream with a missing feeling of belonging once to a music scene that was overwhelming, wild and unpredictable. I was spoiled then! My heart will always mourn those days of youthful rebellion !

tease and tarry

Bibgo

The true feeling of real beauty within must always be focused upon !

Logan’s Run had a profound influence on me at 17. Imagining a place where people were killed off at the age of 30 frightened me. Also having all the plastic surgery you needed to be as beautiful as possible was weird. At 17 becoming 30 seemed like the end of time itself. I also remember thinking about turning 18  seemed beyond belief. My friends and I sat in a circle,while smoking, and looked up at the stars. The night was a time to talk about these things. Later as a young punk I really did not think I would live past 21.

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Mojave Desert spring equinox wild flower March 20 2016

Now in May  I will be turning 58. I am projecting celebration turning 60 in two years as a happy accomplishment. Life is very precious. So many of my close friends are gone as well as my parents. I have learned that letting go of life is a natural process as we get older.  I hold onto my experiences, friendships and books a little less each year. Nature is my special key of hopeful continuity of life. The dependability of the sun and stars is great comfort to me. Yes music, poems and art embellish a long life too.For me, as a crone, letting go is the key of life as I get older. It has become easier to let go.

Besides sooner or later we all will be ash in the wind. It is only a matter of time.