Romantic – are you in love? my secret & ??? Artistic – did you express yourself? do you express yourself? Memories – what are yours? Music floats you up to the clouds Lifetimes of wanting to but never doing.dreaming dreams. creating worlds in your own imagination. the silver screen.it is magic.we need it to carry us into our imaginations in the most ultimate of ways – through all our senses as we watch images on a screen.
“Silver Screen” By Morebarn Written by Gary Waldman Painted, Directed, & Animated by Julie Gratz
The Album artwork for “Made by Hand” and the video for “Silver Screen“ were collaboration projects between KALEIDA and Gary Waldman that began at the beginning of 2013. Both pieces were truly “Made by Hand” in the spirit of the album, as all of the artwork and landscapes were hand-painted with oils, and the animation is hand-drawn frame by frame. 43 feet of painting, and 13,000 frames later, we’re proud to share this piece with you.
I was able to watch 10 minutes of this film on a Preview Clip. It is not available yet outside of the theatre on DVD. It is on SAME DAY AS THEATRE for $8.00 HD. For the view into the elements of “The Best Offer,” I was intrigued just watching Geoffrey Rush in the opening moments, alone, sitting properly at a table, in a restaurant of a high reputation, I am sure, in England. Just watching him sit is a curious moment. We discover an important fact regarding his inner life and outer as well. It is his birthday the next day but the wait staff bring him a superbly made dessert with one candle already lit. He watches as the candle burns down. He must leave before Midnight but is sure to inform the wait staff to let the dessert staff know how pleased he is with the cake.
He walks into his office. It is his birthday. It has circulated he cannot abide Mobile Phones. So, he received only one in his packages this year.
The phone rings. He answers but pretends to be his assistant. A woman is urgent to speak with him. Her father highly recommended him as the one to handle their estate antiques and art work. She is frantic to have him accept the request. He is intrigued but doesn’t reveal his identity nor does he commit himself to meeting with her.
Auction. He is taking the bids on an antique from the time of Galileo. It brings in over a $Million Euros. The next item is a portrait of a young lady, in her lower teen years. She looks innocent. The bidding starts. This is when Donald Sutherland gets in on the proceedings. D.S. wins the bid for $10,000 Euros. After all is finished, D.S. meets with Him, G.R., in his rooms. He is examining the painting. At first, I thought maybe there was a famous painting under this young lady. But now I am not sure. He gives D.S. a handful of money. I deduct from them both that D.S.’s character is a painter. It gets a bit vague as the scene ends.
He, G.R., is sitting in a room. As the camera scans and he follows the eye of the camera, we are seeing walls filled with portraits of women of all ages and eras. The curiosity mounts when you view the scan of the immensity of all the portraits. I wondered whether he came upon them in a manner not suiting his position.
There is a sense of mystery in this film. It has me wanting to see this as soon as it becomes available in the way in which I like to watch my cinema.
Out of curiosity, it is my kind of film with a touch of film noir, a woman who is withdrawn from the world who his seeking Him, G.R., out. He eventually, does become interested in the mystery. It has all the elements of a film I would choose to want to see.
Since I have only seen a small length of “The Best Offer,” I can only cast a “cinema theoretica” guess. I would want to see this film. I will when I am able and give an addition to this review. Until then, if you want to see “The Best Offer,” it is suppose to be in theatres and it is available with Xfinity On Demand for a FEE. [Xfinity is Comcast].
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 10th December 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
private writings to dr. annie haskell, psychoanalyst extraordinaire,
my choice in form of storytelling is using letters with dreams, thoughts, poems, images,
music, art, describing my scripts, recent one ‘brief sacrifice,’ film is waiting for release,
psychotherapy, psychoanalysis, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner & outer workings
of the mind, soul, body, emotions, and bipolar—prefer mentally creative, or interesting,
or a brain misfiring; in the mix are abuse, crashes, near drownings, illegal drugs presently,
hallucinations, hypersexuality, time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuations,
imagination, fantasy, the never ending need to discover my self, my soul, my eternal serenity, my bliss
see you down the rabbit hole.
namaste! madison taylor
HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM THE TAYLOR-ANDREWS CLAN
Private Writings: Chapter #38 — Dream Scribers
Tuesday 3rd June 2008
I want to go into what we talked about today, as close to the words we used as possible. It is a matter of my remembering accurately what we said & what I remember we said. To see how close I am to recalling what is real & imagined.
The first thing I did was read my last letter to you. It described something metaphysical happening, yet it was real sexually but it felt so spiritual. Our bodies blended into one. Scottie felt like me & I felt like I was her. How is that possible? It felt exactly the way I described it. When Scottie touched me I felt she was within my body touching outward. When I touched her skin it felt like my fingers were touching an angel. My hand passed through her flesh into spirit. Pure energy. If that makes any sense at all.
That sounds metaphysical to me, not on an intellectual level, but within the power of deeper magic.
I am going to try to write what I heard you say to me.
“Relax Madison. Close your eyes & follow my voice. Breathe deeply. Let the air fill your lungs. Let your lungs fill your entire body as though they were your body. Feel the air touch the furthest points of your extremities. Let your breathe cleanse throughout your entire body.”
“Feel the sensations of your breathe touching you. Let the air become the touch of Scottie’s hands. The touch is innocent. It is purity allowing your flesh to receive her gentle touch. All other sensations of touch are drifting away. They cannot harm you. Only Scottie’s hands & flesh are touching you.”
“Let all other thoughts & feelings from other people be released from your awareness. Let them float away from you. They are going far, far away, never to return. Only the touch of Scottie & the people you trust will be allowed into your awareness. The purity of touch will be from those you accept into your area of safety. All else will leave you, never to return. Your safe place belongs to you. No one may enter without your permission.”
“Breathe in. Don’t forget to breathe & then release the pain. Release the memories from the past. They may not want to let go easily. But push them far away. Make them move away from you. Release them. Let them go. Only feel the goodness of touch from Scottie & others with whom you trust & love.”
“Keep taking in deep breathes & feel Scottie near you. Feel Jonathan near you. Only those people you trust. Feel my hugs when we are comforting you & when we are saying goodbye at the end of a session. You have returned & you are back in my care. You are safe here with me. Only good people can come into this room to spend time with you here.”
“The one’s you want to release shall be banned. We will only talk about them but they will be allowed to enter in your safe place. If they try, they will be told to leave. They are not wanted here with you & me. Scottie can enter. Only people you want to enter can come into this space. They are the only ones who are welcome. Now breathe in some really deep breaths. Hold each one for the count of five & then release. Keep breathing in & release”
“When I start to count backwards from ten I want you to return slowly, to become more alert with each number.”
“Ten. It is time to start feeling your body centering in this room.”
“Nine. Feel your arms & legs coming back to your senses.
“Eight. Feel your back straightening out & feel the sensations traveling up your spine.”
“Seven. Feel the center of your abdomen awakening to your awareness.”
“Six. Feel the sensations of the center of all your deep sensual feelings awaken.”
“Five. Feel your chest expanding with air as you take in each breath.”
“Four. Feel your heart beating in your chest & warming your body.”
“Three. Feel your shoulders let go of the weight of the world. They are loosening up.”
“Two. Feel your facial muscles stretching in a smile. Open your mouth wide & stretch the muscles that surround your lips, nostrils & forehead.”
“One. Start to open your eyes slowly. As you open them, gradually open them to stretch out your forehead further. Take a nice deep breathe & release any residual tensions you may be feeling.”
Your relaxation exorcism really gets rid of the darkness. Any that may be lingering are chased away with your words. They feel your strength transporting from you into to me & through me. The evil is vanquished & I feel freer inside & all around me.
I feel the goodness of having Scottie around me & near. Making love with her was the freeing of my soul into pure heightened awareness and sensual & sexual energy, unblocked from the demons that held my senses captive.
We did all of this today but did not have time for the dream I had last night. I meant to tell you about it, but there was so much we both needed to say & do, there was no time. I will tell you now. It may not be as clear as it was when I first woke up from dreaming, but I will be as accurate as possible.
When I woke up early this morning, I realized I had the most disturbing dream. The location was at one of my parents stores. People were standing around inside this huge red building. The doors, which were the size of almost the whole front of the building, were wide open. I was floating above them all & wondering what these people were waiting for. It was then I realized, they were waiting for my father to bring the products these people wanted. In this case, it was computers. The odd thing was, they were expecting my parents to take care of them, like slaves. Suddenly, it came to me, the realization that my parents were never coming. A flash flooded by mind with an awareness they weren’t just not coming. I remembered in my dream, my parents both were dead.
A friend appeared a moment later from my childhood. A woman I was once in love with & extremely attracted to. I haven’t seen her in years. For some reason her parents’ penthouse was connected to the NYC store on Fifth Avenue & I had my own room there. In the room there were two older model TV sets.
The dream jumped back to the huge store. A party had developed. All the people that attended were from the elite of society, just like the people who were customers in the stores my family owned. I remember the one in NYC, from when I was a kid. All of them are dead now.
In the dream, I was flying above them. I felt like a snob but I was reacting to their snobbery. I began going around singing a lamentation which was on the more joyful side then sad. The authorities came to close up the NYC store. To lock it up for good. I became very angry and yelled at him that this place once belonged to my grandfather and had been in the family since the 1700s. In my mind it didn’t seem fair that this was being closed up and taken away from the rest of my family.
Somewhere inside of me, I, somehow, felt the family business should have been continued by someone in our family. I started having memories of the NYC store and saw it vanish before my eyes. That is when once again I would have the realization that my parents were dead.
The family business is gone now, bought up by a corporation. Our family home where we grew up in the suburbs is gone, too. It had been demolished after my mother’s death. All of my childhood that was solid has been lost. How do I feel about this??? I forced myself to wake up early. My dream had turned into a nightmare about dead people & the past. One thing, I think is important, I forgot to mention it. I kissed my friend & hugged her. It was good but also strangely awkward.
One last memory in the dream, was a body of water. A huge river or pond, that had a yacht club on the water’s edge. There were dinner settings & party settings. That’s when I woke up & the dream ended.
I have no clue what it means except that it is telling me my parents are dead & they left nothing behind. Everything that was them has vanished as though it never existed except the nightmares which fill my dreams on a regular basis.
Not a very romantic way to return from a place of dreams & love. I feel we should have stayed in Paris. If we didn’t have a life back here to return to, I think it would have happened. A life making dreams into films & giving people those fantasies to enjoy. Home is where the creativity happens. Those past places that live only in my nightmares, feel like they are just nightmares & have no connection to me. They are from someone else’s life. There only value now is to be what fuels my writings, poems & paintings.
From now on my past is just that, something that passed away into a zone of death along with the treacherous vampires who sucked at my soul but claimed only a portion of nothing. My blood & flesh weren’t free. Their flesh shall burn in the fires of their own self-created hell. The deeds of evil shall eat at their brains & consume their soulless putrid carcasses. The darkness will not redeem them but will weigh them down into the lowest levels of the dark. They will walk amongst the foulness of evil for eternity.
What makes these proclamations escape my mind to be written on this page? It is a messenger trying to console me. To be set free, I must know what is being separated from my past, that has haunted me through out my childhood & up until now. They are removed & with all care, be prevented from returning. It is not to say they won’t try to escape their capture, trying to cause the haunting again. But all precautions are being taken. Guardian angels give me protection. Safety surrounds me & keeps them away with their power. I know nothing is infallible. One must be diligent to watch for anything appearing negative or unusual. It will be dispersed as quickly as it is possible.
It is time to rest. Dream some good dreams. One’s that present clues to mysteries one is seeking answers to.
So, I will rest & let go of time for a while. Let the moments for rest reach inside of me.
It is time for the ending of this convoluted letter filled with some confusion. We will sort it out in our next session. Now it is the occasion for the moments of time to enter in.
One last thing I want to tell you before I close, I want to write to you or tell you in person, exactly what I feel about you. How you make me feel inside. You are really special to me. My feelings are getting stronger. But at this moment I don’t feel I have the energy to tell you the truth. Maybe I need to work up my courage first. So I will let my feelings become more clear before I go any further in expressing them out in the open. Time to bring this to an end for today.
Now for my closing line from “Brief Sacrifice.”
“Time can be folded and joined with all elements in all places as the one ultimate moment when time is all at once. In this place everything happens on a continual loop following into a continuum of time forever into infinity. In the “Silver Box,” there is contained the ability to draw time into itself and create the perfect infinite moment.”
“The moment between seconds.”
For you, I will end this letter in “the moment between seconds.”
In the Night Colors Flow In Black & White
Stream of Consciousness Poem
By Madison Taylor
3rd June 2008
WARNING GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN POETIC FORM
In the night colors flow in black and white until the wilder dreams begin showing harm reaching out its hand to touch what does not belong near the hurt this hand implies it is a strangers hand meant to touch in secret parts that are hidden in the dark away from the light we will work out how to prevent the strangers who are friends with the authority figure who controls what is said or done any choices are made by him to destroy the will of the innocent and corrupt the beauty of the rosebud locked together waiting for the sun to open her up when the right moment is within calling out to see the surroundings if they are not safe what is the rosebud to do it is not safe it is time to run away into the woods to guard the secret of life and feelings sensations locked within the walls not meant for the ugly to awaken before the time has come the moon is out and snow is falling how can this be so especially since winter is not expected for two more seasons after the Indian corn has been harvested the colors released from their surprise hiding underneath the protective covering it keeps them virgins until the time to reveal has been reached when all is ready to be seen and ripened to perfection the color then will be ready to be seen and touched and chosen by the seers who see the beauty who do not want to steal away the innocence making the blood to flow revealing she is not born yet to the world hiding in dreams what has been taken before now in secret when no one was looking or protecting her safety from the perverse pedophiles hanging around waiting for the moment to strike out at the unknowing unsuspecting child with lack of knowledge to protect herself the parents do not want her to have the facts of sex fearing she will be sexual but instead raped over and over again and many times more before she is even able to speak the word rape it is a powerful and a dangerous act to survive for shame has now possessed the soul whose blood is broken with the bread which is the body crucified by strangers whose father knows them and consents to their taking his daughter and raping her so the father will feel satisfied and he does not have to break her in when it is his time to take a piece of her when he is ready to beat her until she gives in to his temptation and his wife turns a blind eye for she is as bad with her brutality beating the flesh till it bruises and bleeds like the insides have been opened up as well as if she had for her sexual attraction to her own daughter she is as sadistic as a masochistic surrenders her body for the whip to hit and the sores to swell up and the crying not to cease until the pain is more painful than the crying can cry for it had gone far beyond the acceptable a long time ago yet it continues as an expected ritual of ripping the flesh apart and when it comes time to ask for forgiveness the young child must kneel in supplication to the adult female once called the woman who gave forth this child from within her own body but for what purpose if not to be a slave to her every whim of wickedness let the abuse begin it is a bull fight to see who sticks her first each with their own kind of weapon to injure her body with shame and pain which grows over the years as the years grow the child into a child woman who has no idea who she is and what she is and what she should do with her life now that life has happened to her and she feels it is time to take life and call it over and cut open her veins or take a bottle of pills anyway to stop the noise in her head and the images of all the brutality her body has experienced in a silent witness environment but no one accepts anything happened they go about their lives thinking everything was just what happens in childhood beatings and rapes and starvation and using food to punish and using anything to punish and no praise for the achievements though these are how the child survives the torture and finds joy and lost in the words and music she finds around her to comfort her and help her make it through the silent pain no one else can hear except when she finds a therapist to spill her words out to but even she cannot stay for long no one seems to stay long those who she needs to help her heal now she is doing it on her own and she had found traitors and good ones who give her the support she needs and help her to heal in disguise they are in a costume that looks comforting but it is a lie and she must run from the lie to a truth she can understand and trust and she does find this truth and it is good and she will begin to heal now and she can write down her stories so she will someday be remembered when someone else needs saving and there is no one there to help her maybe her words will be what rescues the next child who finds they have fallen into her story and their way out is to read their story and her story from out of her bravery she found the words to release her story into the world it is the beginning again for her and those who find her story and are rescued and begin their life at the beginning the way the little girl has done with her words that rescued her too
Private Writings: Chapter #32 — The High and the Flighty
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 29th October 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
I am writing to Dr. Annie Haskell. My form of storytelling is through
letters containing dreams, thoughts, poems, music, describing my script
“Brief Sacrifice,” already made into a film but not yet released, psycho-
therapy, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner workings of the mind,
soul, body, emotions, and bipolar. I prefer mentally creative, interesting, or
having a brain misfiring. Included in the mix are childhood abuse, car crashes,
near drownings, drugs [the illegal kind at present], hallucinations, hypersexuality,
time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuation, imagination, fantasy,
and a need to discover my bliss.
See you inside.
Namaste! Madison Taylor
Private Writings: Chapter #32 — The High and the Flighty
Tuesday, 22nd April 2008
Ever since I gave you my first letter to read, I am suddenly having visual dreams I remember. And the symbols in my dreams would make any Jungian jump for joy. I wonder what they would say to my dream. I’d like to tell you about it in our session. I wrote it down the way I remembered it.
It opened inside my dead parents’ house, they are very much present, It is time to walk the dog, so it seems it is up to me. Once I am outside, in the side yard, watching dog, I look through the window into the neighbor’s house. What I see at first is two women, they are physically close, but carefully trying to hide their attraction to the other. Whenever anyone else appears they break away from their closeness. A young man appears at the open door. They quickly move away from the other and start talking, like what I saw never ever happened. As soon as he disappeared, they carefully returned to their former positions of almost touching. When I finally look away, I realize it is time to take the dog back inside. [Did I mention the dog looked exactly like the Cairn terrier, Toto, from the Wizard of OZ?] As I turn to approach the house, I see there is a really large parakeet walking around near where I am heading toward the side door to go back in with the dog. This bird, I notice, has the most beautiful long feathers, a light color. When I say large, she is only 1/3 smaller than I am. She, also, is acting very shy. I would add by saying she is wondering whether she could trust me & also, was it safe to go into the house. With the animals on the steps, I go to open the door to let us all inside. At that very moment, Scottie wakes me up.
I really want you to interpret it at our next appointment on Tuesday. It is amazing that ever since I let myself be vulnerable to you, by sharing my other letters I wrote before we started therapy, I am starting to have really vivid dreams. But even more significant, I am taken back to my home when I was a kid, which no longer exists & I already told you my parents are gone, gone, gone, just like the home my family lived in. [It really was torn down & the buyer rebuilt something even larger].
I’d like to talk to you, also, about how this dream made me feel. One feeling I get from it is, why am I seeing lesbians, or better yet, why am I watching through the neighbor’s window. I never do things like that. I think maybe inside my dream I must have been daydreaming. Maybe the thought of seeing Jonathan Stephens for the first time has me thinking about what we will look like to one another. It is a shock to have someone see me. I don’t like seeing me most of the time. Jonathan & I have been writing & Skyping with each other for years. Just not using video. We met in some gay-lesbian chat room many years ago. Usually, men talked to men and women talked to other women. Sexes who were attracted to the same sex didn’t seem too interested in the opposite sex. A lot of women, including myself, went through a phase of not thinking men had anything particularly of value to offer. If you think about it, if women could get pregnant by parthenogenesis & didn’t need sperm, how long do you feel the human race wouldn’t slowly make a male chromosome a recessive gene? Men would just fade away.
Do I think that way? No, otherwise Jonathan wouldn’t be my best friend forever. He is a fantastic artist. We share a great deal in common. We both were injured in car accidents & broke our necks. His was discovered at the scene of his accident & he was put into traction right away. Mine wasn’t discovered until years later. Fortunately, the hospital was smart enough to have me wear a neck brace & I was smart enough never to take it off, except to take quick showers. I didn’t like taking it off. When I did my neck hurt like hell. My break was only discovered when several years later I started losing the use of the right side of my upper body. It started with my neck & shoulders. I had such intense pain & weakness. It, eventually, worked its way down into my right hand. The pain was making it impossible to write with my right hand or raise my right arm.
My doctor sent me to a specialist. I told him the pain was paralyzing. The doctor ordered some x-rays and an MRI. He discovered a healed over fracture in my third and fourth neck vertebrae. It was, as he described it, a broken neck, I think to scare me, he told me if I ever had just a slightly overzealous neck adjustment, I could have easily become paralyzed from the neck down. He scheduled surgery immediately. It was to relieve the pain & pressure on the nerve endings in my neck. He removed a disc which were causing the vertebrae to smother & pinch the nerve endings, cutting off any communication with the nerves travelling down my right arm to my right hand & to make the pain go away, I had a plate put in my neck & lost a disc. I feel pretty good considering what the alternative might have been thanks to the hospital I went to after that terrible accident. A lot happened in that accident, I am not ready to talk about yet. I did write about it in one of my previous letters to you. But it will come up when it is the right time.
I wanted your help in preparing to meet someone I know like I know myself but don’t things change when you meet someone in person. They are really strangers. I’m afraid after Jonathan meets me, it will kill our friendship & forever will turn into never again.
I know we should be really talking about getting me on the plane that will take Scottie and I to Paris, France. Otherwise, there really isn’t a need for discussion of anything that is coming ahead. Next week is the cast-a-way party, where crew & cast meet all around. Hunter Marx is sure to be the center of attention. She always is these days.
I want the script I wrote for our film, “Touch of the Spirit” to really work. Scottie wants me there for luck & for company. Also, it won’t hurt in case there is a need for rewrites & there always are, Nothing can be completely seen as it is going to come off on film. You told me today, you were going to supply me with some major pills to take long before liftoff. They will make me sleep the whole flight. But what if there is a delay? Or someone does something wrong? And what about missing our wonderful babies, our little Toker, Mikey & Patrick? I know a friend is going to be house sitting. That will make the boys happy but they will miss our snuggles at night & during our time in the evening when we all crash in front of the HD & watch films & veg out.
I do have the schedule for our Skype sessions, which is great, It makes me so happy you were able to work that out. It will be in your evening & my nighttime. You are so accommodating my schedule. You don’t know how much this means to me. If I lost contact with you, I don’t know how crazy I would get on Scottie. Plus, we don’t know how Hunter Marx is going to behave having Scottie around her again. She may take another round of trying to seduce my woman. She hates it when I say that or even joke about it. She doesn’t realize how insecure that makes me feel. I really wish she would say yes to marry me once same-sex marriage becomes legal. I did get her to accept my proposal when we are old & ready to walk over into the light.
There is something I wanted to tell you. Something, a feeling, it has made me feel extremely shy when I think about talking to you about it. When I first looked at you. The first session in the women’s group, when you started co-leading. That was a joke. He never let you unless he was gone. Don’t want to go there. Let him stay living locked up in a safe room at the local hospital for the criminally insane. But I said, I don’t want to go there. Where I want to go is to tell you how it made me feel when I returned to group after my cancer treatment, still in an exhaustive state. Really too weak to drive, but I did it anyway. I just had to get out of the house & go someplace where I hadn’t been in almost a whole year.
When I walked into the therapy room that day, the first thing I did was make eye contact with you. I wasn’t surprised you were there but I had no idea who you were or what you were doing there. I just knew I was looking into the eyes of someone I knew, as though we had met before. It was like looking into a familiar painting I had never seen before but I knew all about it. It was like reading a poem I had never read before and I knew exactly what the poet was trying to say in their deeper mind. I saw inside your soul through your eyes. The reflection was like a pool of clear water that had such a depth, that when examined, had no bottom. You were infinite. That is when I knew our souls knew one another. They had been together before and were looking for the other again in this life. You came to me & I found you. Our paths were following the same course to lead to that moment. And we found each other, not just by chance, it was meant to be, we wander along a path, the choices we made, they were destiny guiding us but no force was involved, no coercion, just our souls needed to be rejoined to make them whole again. Wholeness renews happiness and fullness enriches the whole being. The ripple effect from such a joining is infinitely phenomenal.
Time can be folded and joined with all elements in all place as the one ultimate moment when time is all at once. In this place everything happens on a continual loop following into a continuum of time forever into infinity. In the “Silver Box,” there is contained the ability to draw time into itself and create the perfect infinite moment.
Soul Through Your Eyes
By Madison Taylor
29th April 2008
Soul through the eyes
Reflections in a pool of clear water
Depths examined are bottomless
Infinity has been discovered
In a pool of vision
Trying to express
In a deeper mind
The poet must proclaim
Souls recognize a counterpart
Eye contact with the self
In someone else’s eyes
Knowing but haven’t met yet
Finding but soul came to soul
Paths were followed but different
Yet they all led to now
A moment meeting in time
With energy from outside of time
Wandering along making choices
Destiny secretly guiding them
Yet the choices are free
No coercion involved
But paths are meant to be
On the course they are following
Though they make the decisions
What courses will be taken
What are the odds of the choices?
What is supposed to be chosen?
And it turns out to be correct
Or are there no mistakes
The familiar painting of life
Is designed and prepared before birth
It is like reading a poem
Never written but once it is
It is familiar as though read before
Led to the moment eyes meet
From the moment following
Paths are joined
Meeting to follow
As long as the path continued on
All is whole again
Souls have been delivered
The right door has been opened
Wholeness is fulfilled
Wholeness renews happiness
Fullness enriches the whole being.
The ripple effect in such a joining
Is infinitely phenomenal
It will continue forever
Repeating until a completeness
Is infinitely successful
Anaïs Nin: Her First Vision of June — Part One Post Created by Jk the secret keeper Illustrated by j. kiley Post Created on Saturday 12th October 2013 Posted On Sunday 13th October 2013 A Writer’s Word
Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May — Artist John William Waterhouse
Anaïs Nin Her First Vision of June Part One
As June walked towards me
from the darkness of the garden into the light of the door,
I saw for the first time the most beautiful woman on earth.
A startlingly white face, burning dark eyes, a face so alive
I felt it would consume itself before my eyes.
Years ago I tried to imagine a true beauty;
I created in my mind an image of just such a woman.
I had never seen her until last night.
Yet I knew long ago the phosphorescent color of her skin, her huntress profile, the evenness of her teeth.
She is bizarre, fantastic, nervous, like someone in a high fever.
Her beauty drowned me. Henry suddenly faded. She was color and brilliance and strangeness.
Windflowers Painting — Artist John William Waterhouse
Anaïs Nin: A Letter to Henry Miller about His Wife June Post Created by Jk the secret keeper Illustrated by j. kiley Post Created On Friday 4th October 2014 Posted On on Sunday 6th October 2014 A Writer’s Word
Anaïs Nin A Letter to Henry Miller about His Wife June
“Perhaps you didn’t realize it but, for the first time today, you shocked and startled me out of a dream. All your notes, your stories about June, never hurt me. Nothing hurt me until you touched upon the non-existence of June. June under the influence of others, yielding. June as she was when you first met her; then June reading Dostoevsky and changing her personality, and June under the influence of Jean. You lived with her, Henry; surely you do not believe that there is no June, just someone who reflects whatever you wish her to be, takes the imprint or her cue from others. Is it your terror too, that she may be a creation of your own brain? But what of her selection of you, and of me? She chose you from other men; she distinguished me. You were delighted when she admired me. You were delighted because she was revealing a side of herself. There is a June who is difficult to identify in the maze of her many relationships , her many roles, but there is a June who is not just a beautiful image. How can she seem unreal to you who had lived with her, and to me whom she kissed? Oh, I do sense another June. But why did you talk to her so much that first night you met her at the dance hall? What was she like then? She must have been far more vivid than all the other women around her?”
Canto: The Island [Passages XII... & XVI...] Written by Lord Byron
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper Poem Chosen by Jennifer Kiley
Post Created Saturday 21st September 2013
Posted on Saturday 21st September 2013 Poetry Out Loud
The Island: Canto II [Part of Passage XIII... & XVI...]
The love which maketh all things fond and fair,
The youth which makes one rainbow of the air,
The dangers past, that make even Man enjoy
The pause in which he ceases to destroy,
The mutual beauty, which the sternest feel
Strike to their hearts like lightning to the steel,
United the half savage and the whole,
The maid and boy, in one absorbing soul.
No more the thundering memory of the fight
Wrapped his weaned bosom in its dark delight;
No more the irksome restlessness of Rest
Disturbed him like the eagle in her nest,
Whose whetted beak and far-pervading eye
Darts for a victim over all the sky:
His heart was tamed to that voluptuous state,
At once Elysian and effeminate,
Which leaves no laurels o’er the Hero’s urn;
These wither when for aught save blood they burn;
Yet when their ashes in their nook are laid,
Doth not the myrtle leave as sweet a shade? …
And let not this seem strange: the devotee
Lives not in earth, but in his ecstasy;
Around him days and worlds are heedless driven,
His Soul is gone before his dust to Heaven.
Is Love less potent? No-his path is trod,
Alike uplifted gloriously to God;
Or linked to all we know of Heaven below,
The other better self, whose joy or woe
Is more than ours; the all-absorbing flame
Which, kindled by another, grows the same,
Wrapt in one blaze; the pure, yet funeral pile,
Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile.
How often we forget all time, when lone,
Admiring Nature’s universal throne,
Her woods-her wilds-her waters-the intense
Reply of hers to our intelligence!
Live not the Stars and Mountains? Are the Waves
Without a spirit? Are the dropping caves
Without a feeling in their silent tears? … — Lord Byron
Anais Nin Emotional Excess in Writing and Creativity Part: # 2
You Must Not Fear
You must not fear, hold back, count or be a miser with your thoughts and feelings. It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to nourish yourself and not be afraid of fullness. The fullness is like a tidal wave which then carries you, sweeps you into experience and into writing. Permit yourself to flow and overflow, allow for the rise in temperature, all the expansions and intensifications. Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them. If it seems to you that I move in a world of certitudes, you, par contre, must benefit from the great privilege of youth, which is that you move in a world of mysteries. But both must be ruled by faith.