Lacexleaves - New Beginnings

“Taking refuge in the abandoned terrace, forsaken by all but me, an odd squirrel or two, a lone bird, watched the crippling ivy of despair wound itself around the child of sorrow I had let in to warm herself by my slowly smouldering hearth. Gently she knelt, oh so softly she sang, bewitched me into thinking the house was freezing, coal upon coal I blindly shoved unto the fire, and whom was the blazing house to blame? for t’was never a home.”

what is your favourite fairy tale or myth ?

I've mostly read the short stories of the Grimm Brothers when it comes to fairy tales, so there are too many to choose or differentiate from I think. But for mythology, I really love the story of the bones stolen by Quetzalcoatl, of which here is a short excerpt:

Quetzalcoatl was instrumental in creating people to populate the fifth age. In order to do this, Quetzalcoatl had to sneak into the underworld of Mictlan and trick Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl, the Lord and Lady of Death, into giving him the bones they guarded. Mictlantecuhtli would only give the bones to Quetzalcoatl if he could create a sound by blowing into a conch shell with no holes in it. Quetzalcoatl managed to complete this challenge through clever trickery. He had worms drill a hole in the conch, then filled the shell with bees. Quetzalcoatl’s actions successfully tricked Mictlantecuhtli into giving him the bones. But this was not enough for Quetzalcoatl. In an effort to further trick Mictlantecuhtli, Quetzalcoatl told him that he would leave Mictlan without the bones.

Before Quetzalcoatl could escape from Mictlan, however, his deception was discovered by Mictlanecuhtli. A deep pit appeared before Quetzalcoatl, preventing his escape. As he fell into the the pit, Quetzalcoatl was knocked unconscious and mixed up the bones he was carrying. After his eventual escape, Quetzalcoatl combined the now slightly shuffled bones with his blood and corn to create the first humans of the fifth age. The Aztecs used this allegory to explain why people came in all different heights.

(It's interesting how there are parallels in almost every mythology, for example in the Greek myth, Daedalus was lured by a similar puzzle set by King Minos where the contenders would have to thread a delicate conch shell by not doing any damage to it. Daedalus made a small hole at one end and smeared honey over it as well. Then he threaded a string to an ant and pushed it into the shell, and so it clawed through a neat hole without damaging the shell at all) (and also, Prometheus was somewhat of a Quetzalcoatl figure in most myths, aiding humanity with fire as Quetzalcoatl did with life and knowledge)

Today I feel closer to understanding human consciousness is the universe becoming aware of itself. There is simply no need to make a distinction between the self and the universe, except on conceptual terms. I am part of the world , without alienation, a fragment of the vast. This has to be understood beyond language for it to make sense.

Despite how open, peaceful, and loving you attempt to be, people can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.

Matt Kahn

She tightened her hold of the hand dearest to her and uttered in a tone of quiet contempt, ”No rose shall e’er bloom over my grave, god forbid!”

“And you wonder why the eternally vague intentions of mortals morph into creatures as alluring. Will thou not cast away thy pretence lady?” Enquired back the night. The song of the Cicadas rung as soft as church bells through the veil of silence that clung to the earth, among which lay the echoes of unheard laughter and the tears of unseen eyes. Thought held in open hands slipped away, away into the river of time, into the sweetness of lost memory. Wherein is the difference? Futile words and futile life clasp hands/together to form sculptures of forsaken gods on earth and heaven, they can but stretch their hands out and sob at the foot of the aspen poplar and look in terror at its shuddering leaves as it pierces their hearts with the arrow of ichor, the mortal blood was said to be poisoned from that day on, for the indifference of the deity was a luxury ill afforded by the child lying under the sparkling night sky beset with a gentle gray drift, behind which lays life, held off, locked up. Always with the promise of far away, the far away that is permanently entrenched in the distance/the fragrance of neverland.

Queen of hearts, bows to the fools parade, insanity is a strange thing to take comfort in. ‘Mere blood and bone’ will lure you to depths of life/hell which human hand (only) must (only) touch. Vega of the lyre and bellatrix of the Orion in a dance of lights and life, bitterness sings a frayed melody to the hearthstone, listen to her woebegone voice in the soft refrain, fold away your letters and give away your life, for its not sadness but despair that requests it. Believe in phantoms, and one as old as yourself wants to touch your windows and watch its fragile hands pass through the glass. 

i had an idea for a poem a little while ago but it got lost in life, in time, under a chair, under the blankets, outside a frosty window, beneath a quiet floorboard, under my tongue, inside your eyes

Rained yesterday. went upstairs and sat on a wall for the best part of an hour with my legs folded and eyes closed. spiritual experience. 

Cycle of Life Siliguri, India Photograph: Dimpy Bhalotia