Crack The whole world opens In a nutshell the tree gives A grove of almonds Shared Dreams GrowClick to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Like this:Like Loading... 5 thoughts on “Crack” Add yours Brilliant poem, love the usage of nutshell with a double meaning. LikeLiked by 1 person Reply Thanks Genie, good to see you again . . . I have a poetic gift for you; it’s a play off a poem that came out of your bottle a while ago, you may recognize it even though it’s been rendered into . . . “Surrender” I carry my heart on my sleeve I spin tales that glisten and grow I waltz with hope and hopelessness Toward a future Where Ravens fly with me Share insight. I walk with vulnerability I talk with gullibility I dance with uncertainty I kill myself with my own shadow In a future where Ravens tremble To fly beside Grace. LikeLiked by 1 person Reply WoW! Divine, your poem is Divine. “I kill myself with my own shadow”, my God, that is over the top creative. LikeLiked by 1 person I’ve been thinking about your amazing poem, the part about “I kill myself with my own shadow”, just blows my mind, it’s deeply spiritual in its insight into the nature of self, that we are light, and many, many more layers, but you said it so amazingly, totally brilliant and like I said, over the top creative. I tried to write a poem with that line in it, and then I realized that I had written a poem at the beginning of February that has the theme of being light in it, that the shadow self is illusory (and that includes both the shadow and what the mind believes to be its true nature — both of which are shadows, because the reactionary self, trapped in every changing time with its endlessly changing phenomenon — both internal and external, are experiences, they are not our true nature, which is light). Landing I am no more, Who I was is memory’s trick. I reside on the sea and shore. The water is soothing, the water is slick; I dance on its reflected mirage. Shadows’ scintillating shimmers eclipses Colours’ wildly enticing camouflage: All matter is nature’s subatomic lightship, Flying to the source of creation ~ This moment, its abode and destination. LikeLiked by 1 person Yes, we are light, but we are layered light, and what I love about shadow is this:: it reminds me by its very being there, that while me, you, every body, are light, while we may all shine at high noon in our own brilliance, for that instant shadowless, we are not The Light; high noon passes and in winter high noon seems to not come, yet because we are part of light, light creations, we can generate light to shine in the long dark days, even so that shadow there would not be there were we The Light. I cannot kill myself with my own light though it may blind me, I cannot kill myself with my own darkness though it may consume me, yet with my shadow I can stalk myself . . . look, when I turn my back to my shadow, face the light, did the shadow go away? It’s still there, the edge between arrogance and humility, almost an anchor (or a mocker depending on perception), to this here landing place, this abode, with daily opportunities for high noon moments that ebb and flow and depending on the surge, depending on attunement, that shadow there is the tool with which to kill ‘myself’, (and here I’m talking about that which is called ‘nafs’, which I’m translating as ‘myself’ though nafs has layers too) yet in doing so there is an acknowledgement that there is an inviolate part that is doing the killing of that which needs be killed. For “I” here is separate from “myself”, though this applies in reverse too, where that myself-ness can kill too (or think it is while it may die trying!), also with-in shadow . . . but that’s another story! Beautiful picture of the Swan, I love the double image ripply reflection, especially apt moving toward that shimmery eclipse tomorrow with a new moon . . . and these words here are conjuring up an image with Swan and Crow and something else as yet camouflaged moving toward a tale or poem. . . “I am no more, Who I was is memory’s trick.” LikeLiked by 1 person Comments welcome . . . Cancel reply Enter your comment here... Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Email (Address never made public) Name Website You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change ) Cancel Connecting to %s Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email.