life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “art”

when you’re ready 

   
    
  
  
 

 Again I resume the long 
lesson: how small a thing 

can be pleasing, how little 

in this hard world it takes 

to satisfy the mind 

and bring it to its rest. 
With the ongoing havoc 

the woods this morning is 

almost unnaturally still. 

Through stalled air, unshadowed 

light, a few leaves fall 

of their own weight. 
                  The sky 

is gray. It begins in mist 

almost at the ground 

and rises forever. The trees 

rise in silence almost 

natural, but not quite, 

almost eternal, but 

not quite. 
        What more did I 

think I wanted? Here is 

what has always been. 

Here is what will always 

be. Even in me, 

the Maker of all this 

returns in rest, even 

to the slightest of His works, 

a yellow leaf slowly 

falling, and is pleased. 

💜

Sabbaths 1999, VII by  Wendell Berry
   

 The sky in my rearview 

is a huge bowl of rainbow sherbet 

the beautiful kind 

with raspberry, orange-n-lime 

swatches of lemon, indigo and periwinkle 

float like barges – 

in, out 

around. 

Framing. 

Dancing. 

Living. 

At one point tangerine fills the top of the hilly crest 

and head light stars 

blaze brilliant against the backdrop 

indigo stretched above framing the masterpiece. 

At times I find it hard to keep moving forward 

into the matte gray of the sky just ahead. 

so much loveliness is going on 

right behind me 

how can I keep heading away from it? 

How can I not be a part of this splendor? 

Eventually midnight blue seizes its moment of glory, 

then night falls over all 

and I am left 

aching with the beauty, 

the majesty, 

the extravagant display, 

of this wonderful world. 

I go to wondering 

if this longing for your kiss

will ever be answered? 

if my whole life I will wait 

for a moment which has already passed, 

never to be again under this piece of sky. 

always a whisper.  

The magic of love, 

a thing with wings 

hovering over my heart 

for years 

echoing on into eternity.  

💞

AL

listen to your heart

  
Listen to Sara Barelllis sing Inside Out http://youtu.be/Pqq2NAVidVs

Photo source found on www.pinterest.com/al513

we’re all just ex-babies! embrace it!

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…everyone is involved, whether they like it or not, in the construction of their world. So, it’s never as given as it actually looks; you are always shaping it and building it. And I feel that from that perspective, that each of us is an artist. Secondly, I believe that everyone has imagination. That no matter how mature and adult and sophisticated a person might seem, that person is still essentially an ex-baby. And as children, we all lived in an imaginal world. You know, when you’ve been told don’t cross that wall, because there’s monsters over there, my god, the world you would create on the other side of the wall.
– John O’Donohue
http://www.onbeing.org/program/inner-landscape-beauty/transcript/1125

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King Lear
THERE WOULD BE a strong argument for saying that much of the most powerful preaching of our time is the preaching of the poets, playwrights, novelists because it is often they better than the rest of us who speak with awful honesty about the absence of God in the world and about the storm of his absence, both without and within, which, because it is unendurable, unlivable, drives us to look to the eye of the storm. I think of King Lear especially with its tragic vision of a world in which the good and the bad alike go down to dusty and, it would seem, equally meaningless death with no God to intervene on their behalf, and yet with its vision of a world in which the naked and helpless ones, the victims and fools, become at least truly alive before they die and thus touch however briefly on something that lies beyond the power of death. It is the worldly ones, the ones wise as the world understands wisdom and strong in the way the world understands strength, who are utterly doomed. This is so much the central paradox of Lear that the whole play can be read as a gloss if not a homily on that passage in First Corinthians where Paul expresses the same paradox in almost the same terms by writing, “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise. God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong. God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are” (1 Corinthians 1:27-28), thus pointing as Shakespeare points to the apparent emptiness of the world where God belongs and to how the emptiness starts to echo like an empty shell after a while until you can hear in it the still, small voice of the sea, hear strength in weakness, victory in defeat, presence in absence.
I think of Dostoevski in The Brothers Karamazov when the body of Alyosha’s beloved Father Zossima begins to stink in death instead of giving off fragrance as the dead body of a saint is supposed to, and at the very moment where Alyosha sees the world most abandoned by God, he suddenly finds the world so aflame with God that he rushes out of the chapel where the body lies and kisses the earth as the shaggy face of the world where God, in spite of and in the midst of everything, is.
-Originally published in Telling The Truth
http://m.frederickbuechner.com/

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photo source tracks found at

Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy . . . but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird. – Harper Lee

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It’s all connected –
All the love,
All the loss,
All the joy,
All the pain.

The world is made of God.
We live in the ocean of God’s breath,
His very words.

We are all artists.
We all speak creation.
Our words are our greatest art form,
make sure they are painting a masterpiece.

God is love is life is truth is word is love is…
every little thing is connected to each other.

Everything I really needed to know
I learned from the ocean
and the trees.
The mountains
introduced me to the angels.
Acorns were my very first teachers
the finest flock of seagulls
were my most recent.

We are the temple.
We includes the universe
we find ourselves in.
We are brothers and sisters
to stars and starships

ACL 3/31/13

It is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things. Names are everything. I never quarrel with actions, my one quarrel is with words. That is the reason I hate vulgar realism in literature. The man who could call a spade a spade should be compelled to use one. It is the only thing he is fit for.
– Oscar Wilde

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It is strange to be here. The mystery never leaves you alone. Behind your image, below your words, above your thoughts, the silence of another world waits. A world lives within you. No one else can bring you news of this inner world. Through the opening of the mouth, we bring out sounds from the mountain beneath the soul. These sounds are words. The world is full of words. There are so many talking all the time, loudly, quietly, in rooms, on streets, on television, on radio, in the paper, in books. The noise of words keeps what we call the world there for us. We take each other’s sounds and make patterns, predictions, benedictions, and blasphemies. Each day, our tribe of language holds what we call the world together. Yet the uttering of the word reveals how each of us relentlessly creates. Everyone is an artist. Each person brings sound out of silence and coaxes the invisible to become visible.
– John O’Donohue

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We seldom hear the voice of the Holy One
who is, after all, fearsomely immense,

who sits, enthralled, perfectly still as a bird
watcher, saying nothing, offering only

the merest whispers, hidden in this world
so cleverly as to seem natural,

so as not to frighten us
away.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

just be yourself

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focus

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Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington and Benny Goodman 1948

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God created man because He loves stories. – Elie Wiesel

Respect for oneself should mean that if one wants to tell one’s story, it should be worthy of telling. Since story is widely used in psychology, spirituality and sociology, a deepening of the mystery of what story is would serve to illuminate the beauty that dwells deep in the individual life.
– John O’Donohue

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Heavenly Mother, you birth me in love.
Give me life anew.
You create new worlds.
Create me again.
You sustain me moment by moment.
Birth me in love.

Living One, you are the Breath.
I am your song. Sing me.
You are the wind.
I am mist. Carry me where you will.
You are my Spirit.
I am your flesh. Move in me.

Beloved, you call me in mystery.
Show me the road.
You promise me blessing.
Bear me into the unknowing.
You ask my trust.
Holy One, be my journey.

Born of water and Spirit,
I flow by your grace.
Born of water and Spirit,
I flow by your grace.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

Life is a succession of lessons, which must be lived to be understood. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

We all start as beginners.
drawings

Age 2: Marc began drawing pictures of his Oma and Opa (grandparents).

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Age 25: His most recent painting truly shows who he is and how much talent he has, but he will keep growing throughout the years.

See the whole progression – each year at –
http://www.viralnova.com/painting-progress/
MarcAllante.com

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my friends

Trees
by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is press’d
Against the sweet earths flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

 Check our this 98 year old MS Pixel painter! Really wonderful –
http://www.wired.com/underwire/2013/10/pixel-painter-ms-paint/

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Photos at: http://www.pinterest.com
follow me: http://www.pinterest.com/al513
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19890#sthash.WEL6bt1t.dpuf

driving slow on Sunday morning…

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