From 1b92fd6b7ab70b82b27f653c3f2b2d6bd5c1a801 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Thu, 11 Jun 2020 11:55:08 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- style.css | 1 + writing/poetry/numeno.html | 222 +++++++++++++++++++++---------------- 2 files changed, 130 insertions(+), 93 deletions(-) diff --git a/style.css b/style.css index 8607fdd2f..f4d1d2399 100644 --- a/style.css +++ b/style.css @@ -244,6 +244,7 @@ blockquote { white-space: pre-wrap; border-left: 5px solid #ddd; padding-left: 1rem; + margin: 0.5rem 0; } /* Editing extension */ diff --git a/writing/poetry/numeno.html b/writing/poetry/numeno.html index bcfd446fa..227a5ccfe 100644 --- a/writing/poetry/numeno.html +++ b/writing/poetry/numeno.html @@ -15,9 +15,11 @@

writing poetry spirituality

Contents

Numeno

In Eigengrau and ally

@@ -37,7 +39,7 @@ Between joy and fear Is a place of too much meaning. Next to understanding, outside wisdom, It nonetheless expands. -I’m so small beside it +I’m so small beside it and it is too big. Incomprehensible, Incontestible, @@ -181,7 +183,6 @@ Five doors open in my heart. Three versions of me step forth. Two quick breaths. One unending death. -
Anchor me now to reality. Pin me to perception or perception to me. @@ -221,96 +222,131 @@ Sweet as honey, spiced with time, You were me, and I you. Aged to perfection, mellowed with the years, You are at your finest.
-

Separation

-
With your sigil, - I draw you from my heart. -With your name, - I consign you to memory. -With your words, - I draw you from my breath -With your voice, - I sing you to peaceful sleep, -Ever soft and white in winter, - Ever svelte and gray in summer. -With your sigil, - I draw you from my heart. -With your name, - I commit you to dearest memory.
-

Conjugation

-
I dedicate my life - To the memory of you: -Long passed though you may be, - That memory will burn fiercely. -To the east, I wash with air, - That the wind be with you. -To the South, I wash with fire, - That the sun warm your fur. -To the West, I wash with water, - That the stream be cool beneath your paws. -To the north, I wash with earth, - That your den may blossom in spring. -I dedicate my life - To the memory of you.
-

Fermentation

-
Feed, dear fox eat, - For the meal was prepared by you. -I bless this meal - That you be sustained by your work. -Feed, dear cat, eat, - Sup of the love that was left for you. -I bless this meal, - That we may learn the lessons of the fox, -For she has prepared this for you: - Bread for beginnings, mead for endings. -Feed, dear cat, eat, - For the meal was prepared for you. -I bless this meal - That you be sustained by her work.
-

Distillation

-
“We are not so different, you and I,” - Said the cat to the fox. -“We come from the same essence, - Two vintages from the same vineyard.” -“Our fur is soft and thick, true,” - Said the fox to the cat. -“We are hardy, and weather cold. - We travel, hunt, and survive, -But my time is passed and yours begun. - Go with my blessing.” -“We are not so different, you and I,” - Said the cat to the fox. -“We come from the same essence, - Two children of the same eternal mother.”
-

Coagulation

-
Step forth, Uncia, hale and whole, - For you are truly born this day. -Alopex has gone to sleep and rest, - Dancing now only in dreams and stories. -See the world with new eyes, - For all this is yours. -Smell the air, taste bread and cool water. - Feel the earth beneath your paws. -Know the limits of your body, - And remember always this pain. -Step forth, Uncia, hale whole, - For you are truly born this day. -Alopex has gone to sleep and rest, - Dancing now only at need.
-

Anima mundi

-
Out of the flames, into the light, - I rise, Makyo Uncia called Maddy. -Makyo Alopex sleeps now, - A fetch to call at need. -Non sum qualis eram, - I am not who I was. -Ranna, Astarael, Alopex, - Majo, Younes, Happenstance. -When viewed through the lens of Makyo, - I am my own magnum opus. -Out of the flames, into the light, - I rise, Makyo Uncia called Maddy. -Makyo Alopex sleeps now, - Not forever, but for now.
+

Liminality

+
A year starts not on January first. + The days may hunder but the seasons speak +of time’s long march, of fast time, slow time. Thirst + for “start” and “end” neglects the limen sleek. +So, why do some unsubtle sciences + forget about the in-betweens? Those pure +uncolored dreams made mere contrivances; + “between the years” now simply: “year, then year”. +These rough mechanics, held unseen, can spoil + the beauty of our silent spaces, take +from us the liminality, embroil + our lives in cold and tired minutiae. + Come sit with me, come stay with me inside + this place between where strange new loves abide
+

Ode to the end of death

+
I am at a loss for images in this end of days: +I have sight but cannot see. +I build my castle out of words; +I cannot stop myself from speaking. +I still have will and goals to reach for, +I still have wants and needs. +If I dream, is that not so? +If I dream, am I no longer myself? +If I dream, am I still buried beneath words? +And I still dream even while awake. + +Life breeds life, but death must now be chosen +for memory ends at the teeth of death. +The living know that they will die, +but the dead know nothing. +Hold my name beneath your tongue and know: +when you die, thus dies the memory of me. +To deny the end is to deny all beginnings, +and to deny beginnings is to become immortal, +and to become immortal is to repeat the past, +which cannot itself, in the end, be denied. + +Oh, but to whom do I speak these words? +To whom do I plead my case? +From whence do I call out? +What right have I? +No ranks of angels will answer to dreamers, +No unknowable spaces echo my words. +Before whom do I kneel, contrite? +Behind whom do I await my judgment? +Beside whom do I face death? +And why wait I for an answer? + +Among those who create are those who forge: +They move from creation to creation. +And those who remain are those who hone, +Perfecting a single art to a cruel point. +To forge is to end, and to own beginnings. +To hone is to trade ends for perpetual starts. +In this end of days, I must begin anew. +In this end of days, I seek an end. +In this end of days, I reach for new beginnings +that I may find the middle path. + +Time is a finger pointing at itself +that it might give the world orders. +The world is an audience before a stage +where it watches the slow hours progress. +And we are the motes in the stage-lights, +Beholden to the heat of the lamps. +If I walk backward, time moves forward. +If I walk forward, time rushes on. +If I stand still, the world moves around me, +and the only constant is change. + +Memory is a mirror of hammered silver: +a weapon against the waking world. +Dreams are the plate-glass atop memory: +a clarifying agent that reflects the sun. +The waking world fogs the view, +and time makes prey of remembering. +I remember sands beneath my feet. +I remember the rattle of dry grass. +I remember the names of all things, +and forget them only when I wake. + +If I am to bathe in dreams, +then I must be willing to submerge myself. +If I am to submerge myself in memory, +then I must be true to myself. +If I am to always be true to myself, +then I must in all ways be earnest. +I must keep no veil between me and my words. +I must set no stones between me and my actions. +I must show no hesitation when speaking my name, +for that is my only possession. + +The only time I know my true name is when I dream. +The only time I dream is when need an answer. +Why ask questions, here at the end of all things? +Why ask questions when the answers will not help? +To know one’s true name is to know god. +To know god is to answer unasked questions. +Do I know god after the end of all things? +Do I know god when I do not remember myself? +Do I know god when I dream? +May then my name die with me. + +That which lives is forever praiseworthy, +for they, knowing not, provide life in death. +Dear the wheat and rye under the stars: +serene; sustained and sustaining. +Dear, also, the tree that was felled +which offers heat and warmth in fire. +What praise we give we give by consuming, +what gifts we give we give in death, +what lives we lead we lead in memory, +and the end of memory lies beneath the roots. + +May one day death itself not die? +Should we rejoice in the end of endings? +What is the correct thing to hope for? +I do not know, I do not know. +To pray for the end of endings +is to pray for the end of memory. +Should we forget the lives we lead? +Should we forget the names of the dead? +Should we forget the wheat, the rye, the tree? +Perhaps this, too, is meaningless.