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Margarida Maia

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Those dreams..

Of airplanes falling from the sky

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Artist: Emma McNally

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“ Butterfly   ”

Photo by Ishikoro. Japan.

Love & Peace!

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The Alchemist

Louise Bogan

I burned my life, that I might find A passion wholly of the mind, Thought divorced from eye and bone, Ecstasy come to breath alone. I broke my life, to seek relief From the flawed light of love and grief.

With mounting beat the utter fire Charred existence and desire. It died low, ceased its sudden thresh. I found unmysterious flesh— Not the mind’s avid substance—still Passionate beyond the will.

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Never Admit Your Mistakes

Deborah Hauser

I text my yoga teacher: I think I need to start medication. I meant

meditation, but the subconscious knows best. I once wrote a whole poem

about the angel of penetration rather than admit in my haste

I meant angle of penetration. Either way, a virgin ascends.

I return a can of paint to the store because I can’t manage any more

pain, I meant paint. I mean pain. I keep going back for pain samples

I don’t need. I have gallons of different shades stored in the basement. Enough

for a fresh coat every year. I don’t take the medication. There’s nothing worse

than a dull coat of pain. I prefer it bright and sharp.

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allá donde unas cuantas buganvilias en un vaso de agua bastan para hacernos un jardín porque morimos solos y la muerte es apenas el despertar de este sueño primero de vivir

there where a few sprigs of bougainvillea in a glass of water suffice to make us a garden because we die alone and death is just the awakening from this first dream of living

From “Migrations”, Gloria Gervitz

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The Call to Adventure

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by zeewipark

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Willow, Stop Weeping

Sally Wen Mao

A few days after solstice, I follow bobcat tracks to the lake. The moss is glowing, the water all thawed, the cold a kind of wholly coat. A willow, bald without its leaves,

towers over its frail reflection. I sit on a bench, begin to read old journals. Then I close my eyes and cringe before that girl,

the younger me, makes another bad decision. I want to tell that girl to stop running, trespassing, stop showing off wounds to strangers like some perverse shadow puppet flailing inside

the theater of her brooding, restless heart. I tell her to stop and tie her shoes, to check for ticks. I urge her to banish her urge to tear

the peonies up from the soil just to see the roots naked, render them wild, but she’s wistful and shifty and cannot hear me—she skips up the mountain or down the stairs onto the train platform, no coat,

dives dumpsters for breakfast, dances all night. Hitches rides from boys on motorbikes. Meets lovers: someone who dressed hair,

who threw their ID cards in a fire; someone who could write a line in an extinct script, someone who studied ocean waves. She’s fallen for the stories—I know how that story ends. On the floor,

too anguished to write, she curls her spine and holds her breath. Stop crying, for god’s sake! I can’t look—so I face the willow.

But it also weeps, and now I’m weeping. I’m not on the other side. Ink leaks from the pen, catching up to the speed of rue and awe. On this day, I’ve found that girl at this lake, alive

and well after all these thrumming years. I admit I’ve missed her. What selves have we buried alive, what selves have we survived?

All she wanted—to live and die at once. On a field of ghostly wildflowers, the willow dreams of catkins—every season,

the bud and the husk, the cathedrals we’ve built out of sorrow.

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not even kidding be SO earnest. Be so honest and forthcoming about your life, your feelings in the pursuit of connection with others, and know being as earnest as possible in your experience is what quells loneliness in those who feel the same way as you do. Is what helps us feel seen. And builds community and resolve within the fact it doesn't have to feel so lonely and insurmountable. we need community and connection. You really are not as alone as you think, we're all scared. we need to hold each others hands

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Reminders to self:

"Your world will be as big as you choose to make it."

"Desire will make your life terrifying and giant. Fear will keep it small and bitter. Neither will keep you safe. Choose desire."

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April 24, 1925 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]

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#marshfieldma

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#marshfieldma #brantrock #ocean