Relationship persists so long as subsidiary cause persists,
and subsidiary cause persists so long as quest persists,
and quest persists so long as thou persistest,
and thou persistest so long as thou sees Me not;
but when thou seest Me, thou art no more,
and when thou art no more,
quest is no more, and when quest is no more,
subsidiary cause is no more, and when subsidiary cause is no more,
relationship is no more, and when relationship is no more,
limit is no more, and when limit is no more, veils are no more.
Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.
A people sometimes will step back from war,
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.
Sometimes our best intentions do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.
– Sheenagh Pugh
Saturn. Lead. Gravity. And gravitas. With Saturn comes a quality of substance, a depth of being. Within the planetary pantheon, Saturn equates with the visceral experience of ‘now.’ Time as ‘is.’ What you are grappling with — now, what you are attempting to learn and master — now, to comprehend and stick it out — there’s Saturn.
Uranus. Can language even describe its particular electricity and type of fire? Think about electricity for a moment. What in the hell is it exactly — other than some mysterious force born of friction? Dane Rudhyar once called Uranus an ambassador from another galaxy. Wow. Read more
“—if it once gleamed, if it ticked, if it buzzed, if it
oiled eternal youth, if it whispered
on an old tape with the sexual lure of infinite
cash, if it said I am your private
castle and you are a queen, if it lit a thousand
bulbs, if it shaved a thousand hairs, if
it declared God loves you, if it promised
to cure harelip eczema scabies rage,
if it clipped hangnails, if it delivered proverbs, if it hugged
the ass—it’s laid out on a collapsible
table or a mat on asphalt, money will change
hands, money will change us
all, change Gypsies professors Nigerian whores
limping children drugged babies
iPodded teens Somali refugees artists in
drag illegal Albanians cruising pols We said
one world We said isn’t my money good enough
for you Switch blade Switch banks The Cloaca
Maxima accepts all currencies The Tiber
leaks yellow between its legs venereal
venerable duty-free luxurious silken rippling
classical waves sold and soldered solved reflected here—”
— Rosanna Warren
Sometimes when I see the bare arms of trees in the evening
I think of men who have died without love,
Of desolation and space between branch and branch,
I think of immovable whiteness and lean coldness and fear
And the terrible longing between people stretched apart as these
And the cold space between.
I think of the vastness and courage between this step and that step
Of the yearning and fear of the meeting, of the terrible desire
I think of the ocean of longing that moves between land and land
And between people, the space and ocean.
The bare arms of the trees are immovable, without the play of
leaves, without the sound of wind;
I think of the unseen love and the unknown thoughts that exist
between tree and tree
As I pass these things in the evening, as I walk.
– John Tagliabue