hello my beautiful friend this is powerful art.It is such an awe inspiring metaphor for the power of God and the eventual mist of fading consciousness and on one level it does represent the agony of being unable to go back to redeem what was evil and also the slipping away of mortal life the empty cup of life run dry and the abase of the raw empty trenches. I see a trench running along side the cup.although in a different vein,this post leads me to think of the devastation of not reorganizing the past but leaving it lie barren. Spiritual life isn't possible without the wings of the imagination to fly back to the past and change our feelings and views after a fresh perspective.to review it from other angles and therefore change our feelings and even the events in some ways.flying with wings unseen over the barren landscape of the soul under a bleeding sun recreating the past and shaping the future in a surge of the power of god within.thankyou for the beautiful masterpeice my friend!
also this personal event is about travelling time and planting and blossoming new thoughts in the garden of life.well it is kind of delightful play yes like playing with the angels.anyway I visit ma tante I call her my great aunt and she is 100 years old.yes and she is sharp and a wonderful storyteller. When I was a little girl I lived with my french grandmother.she spoke french to me. she made my dolls fur coats.she was a wonderful seamstress and she made homemade spaghetti for my italian grandfather who sang the most beautiful italian opera songs.her garden of flowers was exalted in my heart and mind.well ofcourse these are the kind of things that a child would remember. My grandmother passed away when I was only 11 years old but yes these are the kinds of things I remember.But my great aunt tells me wonderful stories about my ancestry from times before my birth and even after.filling in the time gaps she is like an angel in that respect.my great aunt's name is marguerite which means daisy in french.She had a photo of cherry blossoms in her apartment that I admired and it led me to think about your beautiful presentation from the past post.and I used her name to say in fun that we did not really have springtime snow,it was marguerites falling in the springtime wind- c'était les marguerites qui volaient dans le vent printannier.She smiled at this and then the gift came.She told me how my grandmother once called the falling spring snowflakes les fleurs de soumissions- the flowers of submission.I thought that was beautiful poetry. another gift from my grandmother that came to me from across her death she was able to reach my heart in that one moment.and now her garden of flowers sparkles all the more in my heart and the inspiration was the floating bridge of dreams,the hand that weaves dreams.thankyou beautiful dream goddess.je t'embrasse d'une lumière d'orée.
Oh yes, it's a one-way street...How I would like to turn back some periods of my life, request a do-over. "Too late!" The game show host tells me. I have to live with my history, and in retrospect there were times it plays like a bad movie I'd like to walk out on, and would, except that it is my about my life unfolding. "Give me just one more chance baby, and I'll prove my love to you." Hindsight, they say, is 20-20, and so hard to look at, I would add. I try not to make the same mistakes, and call it progress.
all time is unredeemablei remember seeing that tagline somewhere (gosh, it was here). Surely i should win a prize for such acuity and, if i may say, alarming perspicacity. Might i suggest, as a fitting reward, a nosegay of flowers plucked from the banks of the Danube? She's probably glossing over his fidgety words like she's glossing over his demands (reasonable though they are).
this picture is haunting -- i can believe the hand is reaching for poison just as easily as for forgetfulnessthat all time is time present (and therefore unredeemable, as you know so well) is a description of hell ... (of heaven, too, perhaps -- it becomes difficult to know the difference :-)
Je ne sais pas si revenir en arrière serait une bonne chose ?...Pour ma part, je n'ai pas vu tout ce dont parle avec force Mirae... mais je vais peut-être le voir... cela ne saurait tarder !!! :-)J'adore ces jeux de lumières et d'ombres... Magnifiques !Je pense que la meilleure chose qu'on puisse apprécier de ce temps qui passe, c'est pas ce qu'on reçoit ( des autres, de la nature, de la vie... ), mais plutôt qu'est-ce qu'on fait ou qu'on a fait pendant ce temps passé... :-)Ensuite, il est clair que revenir en arrière éviterait de faire des conneries... mais comme c'est impossible... même pas en rêve ( désolé de te décevoir )... autant composer, comme avec une partition musicale !La musique c'est la vie et elle, elle est intemporelle !Bisous Belle Roxana... :-)
oh mirae, i am overwhelmed by your words, the poetry of your visions and the light of your childhood stories - sharing all these moments with the Bridge is such a reward for me, it makes the Bridge meaningful, in a way that my photos in themselves are unable to - because one heart needs another to connect through the veils of beauty and feeling, one life another life, otherwise the images just lie here barren, as you say...thank you, i am very touched, more grateful than i can say.Dan, you are absolutely right, i think that people who are able to live with their past in contentment are the true wise ones... or to brush away the past, this is another possibility.
Prospero, alarming indeed :-) as i had pondered to use those words again, in the title of the image, but then i gave up that idea. so let me think about those flowers of Istros...:-)
James!!! poison you say... for no reason at all (or so i thought back then), upon contemplating the photo i had found myself thinking of socrates reaching for the poison cup, i even considered to use some text related to this...ah, these impossible differences.(and the Bridge missed you :-)Jeff, tu ne dois pas y voir les memes choses que Mirae ou quelqu'un d'autre, ce serait ennuyeux si tout le monde voyait la meme chose... j'aime beaucoup ce que tu as ecrit sur la musique, composer son passe ou sa vie ou se recomposer soi-meme tout le temps, comme une partition musicale - c'est une idee d'une grande richesse et profondeur, je pense, j'y reflechirai davantage...je t'embrasse moi-aussi, de tout coeur.
Your work resonates on such a deep level. Who has not felt this way? Yet to create such a poetically haunting image that speaks so poignantly of this truth is astounding.
J'aimerai bien parfois revenir en arriere ,parce qu'une fois que le chemin a été parcouru ,nos erreurs deviennent tellement flagrantes...j'aimerai bien en réparer certaines de ces erreurs ,meme si le fait de se tromper nous apprend beaucoup parfois...As tu trouvé un breuvage ,un philtre qui aurait ce grand pouvoir...je t'ai toujours dis que tu étais une magicienne..J'aime beaucoup ta photo , cette transparence ,et la lumière aussi...passe un doux dimanche..tendresses ..
The methodology is incorrect (never trust poets with such things) but it is quite possible. In fact, it is easy. ( :
such a haunting photo
Les mots, nos phrases, notre parole sont des notes, des sons qui composent une musique :-)... celle de notre inconscient adressé à autrui ! A méditer... mais lapsus, mots choisis en fonction de la situation ou une personne... notre vie est une partition musicale ! :-)Bises et excellente journée Roxana ;-)
pe langa frumusetea ei,imposibil de descris,cum e si cu sticla,eu vad o nopate,una dintre acele nopti in care ,singur,simti cum fiecare gest isi redobandeste importanta,poate parea augmentat,daca este "fotografiat",insa asa sunt lucrurile,in acea lume de noapte si sticla,cred eu.
this some amazing work