cover of book, stray birds R.Tagore (1916)
 

CHAPTER ONE - Rabindranath Tagore
WEEK THREE. conversation by clair and charlie

 

3

 

The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.  R. tagore 


~  ~  ~




i am thinking how similar flowers are to human beings.  with their heads and their bodies and their arms and the way they blow around in the breeze. 
clair 

I am haunted by the shadow of what is not. In the fall of a dandy lion seed,  in a hand that touches skin no longer, I hold onto possibilities like melting water, and wonder, are we shaping fragments to suffocate love, or reaching closer to what makes us more than memory of an I or us?  It is too much to conceive that everything is as confused as me, that even a bee flies in torment from the sun.  At least a tree reveals our stillness. Kicking at fungi and leaves, I revel in undergrowth, run through thought.

charlie

what is confusion?...is it a reaction to what is pure and complete but which is just difficult to understand?...

as much as i myself try to understand, do things need to be understood?... do we need to understand all the processes of the body for our body to perform those functions perfectly? and if not then how helpful is that understanding? ...or is it just simply baffling?

animals are better at just being, following their wings and finding the right things! the bees probably especially!

thats what i think... though thought can be very beauty-flowered!
cl

i think the ultimate moment is one where thought is no longer required, because it has created itself - but you have to get there through understanding and the sensation of experience, which is the hard bit. I'd rather be a bee then be me, until i think about it....

My mind's latch opens.  Unguarded at last the day retreats from urban defeat.  Heavy battalions of consciousness sink in the evening mud.  I gallop free, leaving my rucksack of thoughts and identity, a traitor from reason. If they catch me, will they shoot me with being?  I want to, want, to, do.  Once I knew how to make a kite, but now I fly. 
ch 

     ~   ~   ~

...winter got his spikes out again today...i soooooooooo wish i had got it together to go somewhere warmer... gosh! that would be like a dream!! an absolute delight!!! my body wouldnt know what had happened to her. away from his frostly footsteps and in a warm cosy land.     mind you, how loved is janruary? no wonder he is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo bitter!!  would it help if i loved you? how quickly would you change?... does being warmer interest you?...i could feed you soya hot chocolate and sugar coated blueberries on toast until you lost your spikes or until they became a little rounder.  ....do you like the sound of it!?   reply ASAP cl

there is such heavy superficiality under the sun. The glint of false surfaces, shaded eyes, sleeping meaning lost in cocktails and deckchairs. l love the chill of real frost, kissing with steamy breath, the ice and thaw of thoughts, the journey of darkness into spring dawn ahead. ...

ch

charlie, if i ever catch you with you passport lined up in some que waiting to go somewhere hot i shall tell mr frost who will come swiftly into the airport and chop it up with his gigantic frosty scissors! 

mmm...

cl

;)


~ ~ ~

there are lots of crazy sounds tonite coming from other peoples lives.  they let me in to their world a tiny fraction without knowing that i exsist or can hear them.  and i lay listening.

cl

In the bath, blanking out voices of the day from people I don't really know, with commentary on a game I don't understand crackling from a black box, and I think of how a kiss dissolves everything between us.
ch

how is your book on snogging coming along charlie? ... all the different receipes for different kinds of kisses... can you send one to the blog?  it would be nice to see :)
cl

i'm in my hotel in exeter, room 101 funnily enough....the book has stalled a bit as i'm not sure it can be done without another artistic snogger collaborating ...but here is an example ...

A lays down face up on their back, and B lies chest down with their head raised above A so their face is on top of A with their nose places where A's chin is. As B begins to kiss A, opening out lips and sliding tongues into eachother's mouths, so the opposite facing tongues will be able to glide along their surface area and rub up and down as part of a deep kiss known affectionately as 'the cat'.  
Just one of 101 and more ways to re-connect through the meditation and art of kissing.

ch

wow charlie, you really are something else!! @ * & :)
cl

  

cover of book, stray birds R.Tagore (1916)

 

CHAPTER ONE - Rabindranath Tagore

WEEK TWO.  conversation by simon and clair

  

2

 

O troupe of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words. R. Tagore

~  ~  ~ 


The only footprints you'll ever find in your words are your own. Do the vagrants need you to speak for them?
simon

mmm... yes but things, people and other animals, can inspire words...so words get tainted or painted ... what colour are your words?....what colour do they enjoy being/would you like them to be? 

can there possibly be a colour which is not enjoyable...?

ive been realising the absolute beauty of all emotions... for example, the absolute purity and beauty of anger ...this emotion is not a demon...no more than any other... its the way we use it (or abuse it) which causes the dis ease and recently, when i felt anger, inside, i felt like smiling...
clair

Words, whether beautiful or ugly, are always limited. Unlike silence. Emotions, whether pure or muddled, are never more than a small part of who we are.

S

is silence unlimited?  i guess silence in itself is never ending, ever growing!  as nothingness is... never ending and eternal ... 

the less there is of something, the less there is to disappear or fade away ... but! silence and nothingness have the following limitations - sound and somethingness.
c 

Silence and space enable sounds and things to exist and vice versa. A sound needs silence out of which to emerge. Without things there would be no space, as space can only exist between things. I like living in a universe that is beyond my imagination. 

S

so do you feel that you need to have something in order to have nothing?  i feel unsure...i think that nothingness is so cleaver and self sustaining that it needs absolutely nothing and it can go on f o r e v e r!  it never runs out.  

and is someone genius without something seeing that genius?  
and is someone loving without someone to love? 
c 

simons music is found : http://www.myspace.com/lunarians

  cover of book, stray birds R.Tagore (1916)
 

CHAPTER ONE - Rabindranath Tagore
WEEK ONE. conversation by clair and alex

1 

Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. R. Tagore.


~ ~ ~


everything is one. leaves whisper secrets of life and death round our feet and ankles, birds come and go in the same way. everything which is alive is dying.... is that true of everything?
clair
 
Everything is two, too. After I sigh I breathe in. Everything which is alive is living. Even as it dies. The end is in everything, but beginnings are too. The leaves underfoot may be dead, but look what they inspire. Breathe in...
alex
 
am i ready to really breathe?.... its a long time coming, shallow footsteps of breath have come awandering... but they must...or i must... push a little more deeply 
clair

Breathe. Push. Deeper. Birthing, or nine months earlier. Either way is creative. We dig through the ground and try and find the living. Is it all just struggling through rocks and earth? Sunlight dapples ground through leaves as they fall. Colour dances under footsteps. There are songs about autumn leaves. 

alex

      'we dig through the ground and try to find the living'.
  
i like that.

what is capable of loving...  is the sunshine? like honey it falls, getting smiles from faces as it does

...and animals who like to live alone, do they love less?

c

If I can love then so can you (and the sunshine and the honey and the lonely and the falls and the smiles and the faces).

So nothing can. Or everything. Is love? Everything is love. Nothing is.

The leaves don't crunch underfoot once the rain comes. Mulch underfoot. Something to grow out of.

When will I grow out of it.

Love. Mulch.
a

mmm.... lovely.  the trust...the surrender that we will feel where to grow from... and to.... it will be dark,  there will be roots and depth... 

...like intuition...is strong like special soft magic.  magic whos ears pick up the silence in things... the place where the feelings are... some feelings who get covered in soft blankets and some who wake up like flowers.
c 

Wake up. Can't see the trees. Can't see the birds. Everything is in mist. Clouded hidden and lost.

Want that autumn sadness back. Better than this bleak waiting to grow. Silent sleeping flowers must wake up soon.
Roots laid in autumn leaves wait patiently.

Can I?

a

what was nice about the autumn sadness?
c

There's nothing wrong with endings.
a

alexs blog is at 

http://unstruck.wordpress.com/