Memories ...

MEMORY!! 

WooHOOO!!! I'm on Vacation!!!  Time to wander? Explore? Experience? Rest? Create? or simply...float down a stream? I'm happy..quietly happy.

The most wonderful part of it all is being able to REMEMBER each moment I had yesterday and the day before. 

It is a most regretful realization when after a moment in time.. a moment of freedom to wander ... I cannot recollect what happened during my time. Few things are worse than being free and having time pass by without you in it...without memory of it. 

Beauty is not just a moment and encounter... that comes and goes... it is the recollection of beauty itself that lives again and again within you ... it swirls and dances long after the moment has passed.  

Memory is the seed that becomes a forest of joy, and love... It is inspiration, laughter, smiles, longing, a dream we hold on to dearly... and then ... if we're lucky ... it transforms into motivation... to discover it again!

MAD MONSTER PARTY

A full moon

brings out the monster in you...

A strange tune seems to be playing for you.

Could you be someone's invention?

So unreal as you feel tonight?

Did you sell your soul to the devil 

at that monster party last night?

Mad Mad Mad Monster Party

Did you sell your soul to Mephistopheles?

Tell me baby ...tell me ...tell me please

If you made a date with the devil...not me

If you know my fate

Honey level ... with me.

A cold night

brings out the creature in you.

A strange light seems to be falling on you...

I know it's not your intention 

to frighten me so tonight

...or to tell me baby what happened 

at that monster party last night

Mad Mad Mad Monster Party

Last night....

~ Ethel Ennis 

One of the three may be defeated...

Oh the joy... could it be...  Such is the news of the possible demise of one the three "weird sisters". Such a plague they are to progress, community, innovation, belief, and faith... to name a few. 

Oh but you can't be rid of them permanently. They resurface here and there like roaches in the night, like rats in the sewers. Their wretched presence is a mist of decaying stench that lingers far after their physical manifestation has drifted from your vision. Though their features change their vile spewing easily recognizable, as the air becomes unnaturally thin and difficult to breathe, as the days extend unbearably long and difficult to live.  The malevolent influence spreads like a disease.


In William Shakespeare's play Macbeth (c.1603-1607). The "three witches" or "weird sisters" are characters serving as prophets who hail the general Macbeth early in the play with predictions of his rise as king. Upon committing regicide and taking the throne of Scotland, Macbeth hears the trio deliver ambiguous prophecies threatening his downfall. 

The witches' dark and contradictory natures, their "filthy" trappings and activities, as well as their dealings with the supernatural all set an ominous tone for the play.The three witches represent darkness, chaos, and conflict, while their role is as agents and witnesses. Their presence communicates treason and impending doom. 

During Shakespeare's day, witches were seen as worse than rebels, "the most notorious traitor and rebel that can be." They were not only political traitors, but also spiritual traitors as well. Much of the confusion that springs from them comes from their ability to straddle the play's borders between reality and the supernatural. They are so deeply entrenched in both worlds that it is unclear whether they control fate, or whether they are merely its agents. They defy logic, not being subject to the rules of the real world.


The witches' lines in the first act: "Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air" are often said to set the tone for the remainder of the play by establishing a sense of moral confusion. Indeed, the play is filled with situations in which evil is depicted as good, while good is rendered evil. The line "Double, double toil and trouble," often sensationalized to a point that it loses meaning, communicates the witches' intent clearly: they seek only to increase trouble for the mortals around them.

INAMA NUSHIF

Inama nushif

Al ­asir hiy ayish

Lia-anni

Zaratha zarati

Hatt al-hudad

Al-maahn al-baiid

Ay-yah idare

Adamm malum

Hatt al-hudad

Al-maahn al-baiid

Ay-yah idare

Adamm malum

Inama nishuf al a sadarr

Eann zaratha zarati

Kali bakka a tishuf ahatt

Al hudad alman dali

Inama nishuf al a sadarr

Eann zaratha zarati

Kali bakka a tishuf ahatt

Al hudad alman dali alia

Inama nushif

Al ­asir hiy ayish

Lia-anni

Zaratha zarati

~ Lyrics Fremen Song

Sung by Azam Ali 

______________________________________________

She is eternal

No malice can touch

Singular and ageless

Perpetually bound

Through the tempest

be it deluge or sand

A singular voice

speaks through the torrent

Forever her voice sings

through the ages eternally bound

Sacrifice is her gift

one that cannot be equaled

Forever her voice sings

through the ages eternally bound

Sacrifice is her gift

that Alia will one day equal

She is eternal

No malice can touch

Singular and ageless

Perpetually bound

_________________________________________________

And Muad’Dib stood before them, and he said:

"Though we deem

the captive dead,

yet does she live.

For her seed is my seed

and her voice 

is my voice

and she sees unto the reaches

of possibility, the farthest.

yea unto the vale

of the unknowable

does she see because of me."

~ "Arrakis Awakening"

THE LIGHT OF STARS

The Light of Stars

The night is come, but not too soon;

And sinking silently,

All silently, the little moon

Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven

But the cold light of stars;

And the first watch of night is given

To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams?

O no! from that blue tent above,

A hero's armor gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise,

When I behold afar,

Suspended in the evening skies,

The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand

And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,

And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light

But the cold light of stars;

I give the first watch of the night

To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will,

He rises in my breast,

Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,

That readest this brief psalm,

As one by one thy hopes depart,

Be resolute and calm.

O fear not in a world like this,

And thou shalt know erelong,

Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

HERE'S WHERE THE STORY ENDS

Here's Where The Story Ends

People I know, places I go

Make me feel tongue tied

I can see how people look down

They're on the inside

Here's where the story ends

People I see, weary of me

Showing my good side

I can see how people look down

I'm on the outside

Here's where the story ends

Ooh here's where the story ends

It's that little souvenir of a terrible year

Which makes my eyes feel sore

Oh I never should have said, the books that you read

Were all I loved you for

It's that little souvenir of a terrible year

Which makes me wonder why

It's the memories of the shed that make me turn red

surprise surprise surprise

Crazy I know, places I go

Make me feel so tired

I can see how people look down

I'm on the outside

Oh here's where the story ends

Ooh here's where the story ends

It's that little souvenir of a terrible year

Which makes my eyes feel sore

& who ever would've thought the books that you brought

Were all I loved you for

Oh the devil in me said go down to the shed

I know where I belong

But the only thing I ever really wanted to say

was wrong, was wrong, was wrong

It's that little souvenir of a colorful year

Which makes me smile inside

So I cynically, cynically say the world is that way

Surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise

Here's where the story ends

Ooh here's where the story ends

~ Lyrics

~ The Sundays

~ Songwriters: D. GAVURIN, H. WHEELER

MIRROR

Mirror

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. 

Whatever I see I swallow immediately 

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful ‚ 

The eye of a little god, four-cornered. 

Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. 

It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long 

I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers. 

Faces and darkness separate us over and over. 

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, 

Searching my reaches for what she really is. 

Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. 

I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. 

She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. 

I am important to her. She comes and goes. 

Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. 

In me she has drowned a young girl, 

and in me an old woman 

Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

~ Sylvia Plath