Celebrate ©carine roth

18 Mar Celebrate carine roth

Posted at 18:02h in Creation by
0 Likes

Rage against the dying of the Light,

Greet every new Dawn.

In my arms, a bouquet of Paper Flowers, the flowers that never fade...

 

Ceremony, *carrying... a bouquet

of flowers

and take

earth and sky

for witnesses

*from lat. ... to bear (help, hopes, news, glory, etc.)", lat. chrét. "to bear, to support; to endure, to undergo; to bring, to procure; to carry in oneself, to have in oneself".

 

Remember names,

naming words.

 

To feel everything dissolve in the powerful wind that shakes the plants and blows away the birds' wings,

bright red, intense colors of the life that beats here.

 

Force

Amnesia

Everything fades away, leaving this blank silence filled with curiosity.

Who are you? What's your name? What's your name?

 

The mad desire to meet...

 

The plants and the rocks and the clouds and the birds and the lizards and the mountains and the two oceans, one on each side of the earth, and the sun rising while the huge full moon sets on the other horizon, the two horizons, the two stars in the sea, to rise and disappear, all mirrors one, the other, of the Other, all is there, high-precision alignment... and on and on and on and the flowers and all the beings, theToustes, the perfect word coined by Guido, a tender friend of the heart. Toustes who don't know their name, since nothing here is called what you call it.

Everything has another sound, another voice.

To rediscover the meaning of language, the other language of this land, before it's stolen.

To carry in my arms, in silence, a bouquet of eternal flowers

 

Here we are.

 

Like offering oneself as a gift, mourning and forgiveness, today, yesterday, tomorrow, offering oneself as a gift, offering oneself to oneself.

Bird language.

 

Thank you

Path to Intimacy.

 

you trace,- with your fingertips, -words of love, -invisible,

surface, -rough, -rocks.

Tenderly, Joyfully

 

 

I am a Zebra

We each had to say who we were And then it was the next girl's turn.

If this reminds you of life Then you're dead right.

"I am the lion" claimed the tallest girl in a reedy falsetto.

Somewhere on the Serengeti
A lion raised a shaggy brow
And showed his pride a sceptical tooth.

"I am the elephant," admitted a plump girl pinkly, with no hide at all.

Somewhere in the Serengeti
a war-torn elephant ear flapped In irritation.

And so it went, down the row.

Parents strained to hear
The genteel giraffe, the civil leopard, The mild buffalo and, of course,
The unobtrusive rhinoceros.

I was the smallest
Sickness had put me off my food But I had the voice of a seventh child And I knew what this was all about.

"I am the ZEBRA!" I called out.
I called out for the quagga, for the muzzled, for all browsers, for the small, for the ungulate, for the hunted, for the herd.
"I am the ZEBRA!"

And though the audience laughed (such a small girl with such a big bark), somewhere on the Serengeti
my courageous vegetarian kin
looked up, and nodded.

Finuala Dowling

 

Walking this earth, African, walking as one prays,

walk like a prayer.

Leaving nothing behind, the ineffable being there of what is there... It's not a question of knowing or determining, but of welcoming, never again projecting anything outside, knowing that everything is me of what crosses me, my responsibility, my choices.

Here I am... one hand on your chest. Hold your ownAsleep curled up in the caves, protected, vulnerable, watching the waves crash on the shore far, far, far away, in the slow motion of an old-fashioned silent film. When we were young, when the world was not yet over and supposedly dying. Child of the earth, of the water, of the air, of the waves, stardust, fire of the world! I take your hand, mine, here.

I won't abandon you this time.

I walk in Ceremony, every day, every moment.

This is life, this is ceremony.