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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2020-06-11 11:55:08 -07:00
parent 750c975764
commit 1b92fd6b7a
2 changed files with 130 additions and 93 deletions
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style.css
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@ -244,6 +244,7 @@ blockquote {
white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre-wrap;
border-left: 5px solid #ddd; border-left: 5px solid #ddd;
padding-left: 1rem; padding-left: 1rem;
margin: 0.5rem 0;
} }
/* Editing extension */ /* Editing extension */

222
writing/poetry/numeno.html
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@ -15,9 +15,11 @@
<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">poetry</span> <span class="tag">spirituality</span></p> <p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">poetry</span> <span class="tag">spirituality</span></p>
<h2 id="contents">Contents</h2> <h2 id="contents">Contents</h2>
<ul> <ul>
<li>Numeno </li> <li>Numeno</li>
<li>Overflowing with words</li> <li>Overflowing with words</li>
<li>On numbers</li>
<li>The year starts not&hellip;</li> <li>The year starts not&hellip;</li>
<li>Ode to the end of death</li>
</ul> </ul>
<h2 id="numeno">Numeno</h2> <h2 id="numeno">Numeno</h2>
<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em> and <em>ally</em></q></p> <p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em> and <em>ally</em></q></p>
@ -37,7 +39,7 @@ Between joy and fear
Is a place of too much meaning. Is a place of too much meaning.
Next to understanding, outside wisdom, Next to understanding, outside wisdom,
It nonetheless expands. It nonetheless expands.
I’m so small beside it I&rsquo;m so small beside it
and it is too big. and it is too big.
Incomprehensible, Incomprehensible,
Incontestible, Incontestible,
@ -181,7 +183,6 @@ Five doors open in my heart.
Three versions of me step forth. Three versions of me step forth.
Two quick breaths. Two quick breaths.
One unending death.</div> One unending death.</div>
<hr />
<div class="verse">Anchor me now to reality. <div class="verse">Anchor me now to reality.
Pin me to perception Pin me to perception
or perception to me. or perception to me.
@ -221,96 +222,131 @@ Sweet as honey, spiced with time,
You were me, and I you. You were me, and I you.
Aged to perfection, mellowed with the years, Aged to perfection, mellowed with the years,
You are at your finest.</div> You are at your finest.</div>
<h3 id="separation">Separation</h3> <h2 id="liminality">Liminality</h2>
<div class="verse">With your sigil, <div class="verse">A year starts not on January first.
I draw you from my heart. The days may hunder but the seasons speak
With your name, of time&rsquo;s long march, of fast time, slow time. Thirst
I consign you to memory. for &ldquo;start&rdquo; and &ldquo;end&rdquo; neglects the limen sleek.
With your words, So, why do some unsubtle sciences
I draw you from my breath forget about the in-betweens? Those pure
With your voice, uncolored dreams made mere contrivances;
I sing you to peaceful sleep, &ldquo;between the years&rdquo; now simply: &ldquo;year, then year&rdquo;.
Ever soft and white in winter, These rough mechanics, held unseen, can spoil
Ever svelte and gray in summer. the beauty of our silent spaces, take
With your sigil, from us the liminality, embroil
I draw you from my heart. our lives in cold and tired minutiae.
With your name, Come sit with me, come stay with me inside
I commit you to dearest memory.</div> this place between where strange new loves abide</div>
<h3 id="conjugation">Conjugation</h3> <h2 id="ode-to-the-end-of-death">Ode to the end of death</h2>
<div class="verse">I dedicate my life <div class="verse">I am at a loss for images in this end of days:
To the memory of you: I have sight but cannot see.
Long passed though you may be, I build my castle out of words;
That memory will burn fiercely. I cannot stop myself from speaking.
To the east, I wash with air, I still have will and goals to reach for,
That the wind be with you. I still have wants and needs.
To the South, I wash with fire, If I dream, is that not so?
That the sun warm your fur. If I dream, am I no longer myself?
To the West, I wash with water, If I dream, am I still buried beneath words?
That the stream be cool beneath your paws. And I still dream even while awake.
To the north, I wash with earth,
That your den may blossom in spring. Life breeds life, but death must now be chosen
I dedicate my life for memory ends at the teeth of death.
To the memory of you.</div> The living know that they will die,
<h3 id="fermentation">Fermentation</h3> but the dead know nothing.
<div class="verse">Feed, dear fox eat, Hold my name beneath your tongue and know:
For the meal was prepared by you. when you die, thus dies the memory of me.
I bless this meal To deny the end is to deny all beginnings,
That you be sustained by your work. and to deny beginnings is to become immortal,
Feed, dear cat, eat, and to become immortal is to repeat the past,
Sup of the love that was left for you. which cannot itself, in the end, be denied.
I bless this meal,
That we may learn the lessons of the fox, Oh, but to whom do I speak these words?
For she has prepared this for you: To whom do I plead my case?
Bread for beginnings, mead for endings. From whence do I call out?
Feed, dear cat, eat, What right have I?
For the meal was prepared for you. No ranks of angels will answer to dreamers,
I bless this meal No unknowable spaces echo my words.
That you be sustained by her work.</div> Before whom do I kneel, contrite?
<h3 id="distillation">Distillation</h3> Behind whom do I await my judgment?
<div class="verse">“We are not so different, you and I,” Beside whom do I face death?
Said the cat to the fox. And why wait I for an answer?
“We come from the same essence,
Two vintages from the same vineyard.” Among those who create are those who forge:
“Our fur is soft and thick, true,” They move from creation to creation.
Said the fox to the cat. And those who remain are those who hone,
“We are hardy, and weather cold. Perfecting a single art to a cruel point.
We travel, hunt, and survive, To forge is to end, and to own beginnings.
But my time is passed and yours begun. To hone is to trade ends for perpetual starts.
Go with my blessing.” In this end of days, I must begin anew.
“We are not so different, you and I,” In this end of days, I seek an end.
Said the cat to the fox. In this end of days, I reach for new beginnings
“We come from the same essence, that I may find the middle path.
Two children of the same eternal mother.”</div>
<h3 id="coagulation">Coagulation</h3> Time is a finger pointing at itself
<div class="verse">Step forth, Uncia, hale and whole, that it might give the world orders.
For you are truly born this day. The world is an audience before a stage
Alopex has gone to sleep and rest, where it watches the slow hours progress.
Dancing now only in dreams and stories. And we are the motes in the stage-lights,
See the world with new eyes, Beholden to the heat of the lamps.
For all this is yours. If I walk backward, time moves forward.
Smell the air, taste bread and cool water. If I walk forward, time rushes on.
Feel the earth beneath your paws. If I stand still, the world moves around me,
Know the limits of your body, and the only constant is change.
And remember always this pain.
Step forth, Uncia, hale whole, Memory is a mirror of hammered silver:
For you are truly born this day. a weapon against the waking world.
Alopex has gone to sleep and rest, Dreams are the plate-glass atop memory:
Dancing now only at need.</div> a clarifying agent that reflects the sun.
<h3 id="anima-mundi">Anima mundi</h3> The waking world fogs the view,
<div class="verse">Out of the flames, into the light, and time makes prey of remembering.
I rise, Makyo Uncia called Maddy. I remember sands beneath my feet.
Makyo Alopex sleeps now, I remember the rattle of dry grass.
A fetch to call at need. I remember the names of all things,
Non sum qualis eram, and forget them only when I wake.
I am not who I was.
Ranna, Astarael, Alopex, If I am to bathe in dreams,
Majo, Younes, Happenstance. then I must be willing to submerge myself.
When viewed through the lens of Makyo, If I am to submerge myself in memory,
I am my own magnum opus. then I must be true to myself.
Out of the flames, into the light, If I am to always be true to myself,
I rise, Makyo Uncia called Maddy. then I must in all ways be earnest.
Makyo Alopex sleeps now, I must keep no veil between me and my words.
Not forever, but for now.</div> 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&rsquo;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.</div>
</article> </article>
<footer> <footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-06-11</p> <p>Page generated on 2020-06-11</p>