Perfect Harmony

Snuff the fires and the liars.

Tower

From the Dark Tower We shall not always plant while others reap The golden increment of bursting fruit, Not always countenance, abject and mute, That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap; Not everlastingly while others sleep Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute, Not always bend to some more subtle brute; We were not made to eternally weep. The night whose sable breast relieves the stark, White stars is no less lovely being dark, And there are buds that cannot bloom at all In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall; So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds, And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
Countee Cullen

33 Points of Light, Ever Expanding

The world completes a metamorphoses. A constellation, a rhizome takes root in time/space. Every point is, after all, connected to every other and every act sets off a chain, unbroken.

Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me:
``Pipe a song about a Lamb!'' So I piped with a merry chear.
``Piper, pipe that song again;'' So I piped: he wept to hear.
``Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy songs of happy chear:''
So I sung the same again, While he wept with joy to hear.
``Piper, sit thee down and write In a book, that all may read.''
So he vanish'd from my sight, And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen, And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs, Every child may joy to hear.

Incanto/Encantada

Summer Sun

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

Robert Louis Stevenson

Desire Fullfilled

Aldebaran burns, a ruby beacon for Venus as she crosses the threshold of Gemini. Jupiter lavishes abundant favors, joyous for her presence while tripartate Rigel, pulsing blue, summons her to bestow her graces on the Witch's Head. In the lovely hours of the perfect summer, all shall be fulfilled. Spica portends all wishes to be granted, the omens are clear and the crows have said it's so. This is the time incandescent when fortune, like a moth to flame cannot resist the summoner. Coven of stone at Mono's shores give back the stars to the sky, listening and passing our entreaties heaven-ward. Earthly sky-seed but not bound, heaven opens to a witch's plaintive call, the nebula glows. Red door and finger of God, an easy path opens before us. The air is balmy and sweet and the river swift, but gentle. Gratitude remembering abundance now treasured.

The Magician

Sleep Party, Beyond the Event Horizon

Lascivious avarice unquenchable reflected in each, ravaging and writhing- love impossible now

And in this disenchantment they shall savage their very hearts- They'll claw themselves ragged in their frenzy to flee, but the trap was well laid and They've their own demon made. Karma was the one thing They couldn't believe in.

Travel is Dangerous, True

But sometimes much less so than the thing that one leaves behind. Unfamiliar roads are an ever unfolding mystery, a temptation toward the sublime and even as the stars break free as the city light that froze the night sky in sodium vapor mist, as the darkness is revealed, the place you leave becomes insubstantial.Some travel is a casual affair, and some is a last ditch escape from what could have become a sealed tomb. What awaits in a new country? What we left was unnatural and unfit for habitation by other than heathen. This new place, unknown. All signs are good.

Grazi