The next time…

the wit continuum

The next time you talk with somebody, try to listen with every part of your body, not just your intellect.  Let you breath be slow and full as you take in whatever that person has to say, however she needs to say it. Try not to compete, to prove wrong, to dominate, or to redirect.  Savor the person’s unique pitch and rhythm.  Listen for what’s being revealed and for what’s being veiled.

~  Jeff Davis, The Journey from the Center of the Page

Sweet Jane

thewitcontinuum:

Love Jane and Serge…

Originally posted on Just Under the Surface:

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“My mother was right: When you’ve got nothing left, all you can do is get into silk underwear and start reading Proust.” ~Jane Birkin

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Lovely, spirited, bohemian Jane Birkin (with Serge Gainsbourg)

FRANCE - CIRCA 1960: Portrait of Jane Birkin, taken in the Sixties. (Photo by REPORTERS ASSOCIES/Gamma-Keystone via Getty Images) FRANCE – CIRCA 1960: Portrait of Jane Birkin, taken in the Sixties. (Photo by REPORTERS ASSOCIES/Gamma-Keystone via Getty Images)

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It takes a while…

 
Hurting

A whole week. Barely. 

My feet take me around

but I forget why. 

Mouth’s been to the dentist.

Hands don’t read my head. 

Ears ring the telephone. 

Moon’s knocked to one side

and I choke in fluids. 
Eventually, they tell me,

The yelling quiets down

inside, but it takes

a while. It takes a while. 
Words – Vi Gale

Image – thenletitbe.tumblr.com

 

Another fine season ends


I am so ready for the finale episode of Season 5 of Game of Thrones tonight….

Questions that currently remain: Will Daenerys ever get off that dragon? What’s Jon Snow going to fucking do with all those Wildling people ( like, feed them how? Where will they sleep tonight? Etc. ) Will that wicked queen remain in her perfect accommodations? And will someone, someone!, just finally kill that red haired priestess witch before she kills another innocent person to serve her lord of light? (Perfect example of why religious fanatics shouldn’t run countries, wars, or anything for that matter…)

 One thing is perfectly clear to me…
All those Wildling people seem to think Jon Snow is quite pretty ( and seem to have a subtle fascination with his cock…)


I think I do too…

Winter is Coming…

Every morning a new arrival…

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

– The Guest House, Rumi

Thank you to all new followers. I love you all. 991 as of this moment. So grateful to all. Thank you.

The Wit Continuum

Painting by Rothko

Some song, or something, through me…

Birdsong brings relief

to my longing.

I am just as ecstatic as they are,

but with nothing to say!

Please, universal soul, practice

some song, or something, through me!

~Rumi

Theme Thursday…the women of Game of Thrones…

            

Natalie Dormer, Lena Headey, Carice van Houten, Emilia Clarke, Sophie Turner, Maisey Williams, Gwendoline Christie

I’ll meet you there…

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

There is a field. I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,

The world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other 

Doesn’t make sense.

~<>~

Daylight, full of small dancing particles

And the one great turning, our souls

Are dancing with you, without feet, they dance.

Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?

~~from A Great Wagon by Rumi

Une femme s’invite dans mon esprit…

 

When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained. – Mark Twain

Une femme s’invite dans mon esprit…

A woman calls in my mind…

….

Theme Thursday…pictorals…



My genial spirits fail;

And what can these avail



To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?





It were a vain endeavour,

Though I should gaze for ever





On that green light that lingers in the west:



I may not hope from outward forms to win

The passion and the life, whose fountains are within. 

From Dejection: An Ode by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Images: Flaunt Magazine, David Bellemere; Flair Magazine, Ryan McGinley; AnOther Magazine; Material Girl Magazine, Courtney Vogler 

Theme Thursday…tulle…

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Images featuring: Simon Watson, David Seider, Keira Knightley, Debs Hall, the lane.com, Sarah Jessica Parker, Mary Kate Olsen

Raison d’être

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Raison d’être, a French phrase, from d’être which literally translates into your reason for existence. It is your soul’s essence, an intangible force, which dictates your being. It is the reason we commit ourselves to survival and endure life…

Image, Mario Testino, US Vogue

These violent delights…

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These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die like fire and powder
Which, as they kiss,
Consume.

~ Shakespeare
Image- Diana Vishneva, Romeo and Juliet

The Black Art

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A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portals!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren’t enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.

A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren’t enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A write is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.

Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, em>precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.

Anne Sexton

Naty, Ana-Maria and Helio…

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Twin models Naty and Ana-Maria Abscal and Helio Guerreiro, 1965
Photography by Richard Avedon
For Harper’s Bazaar 1965

Celestial Object…Kit Harington…

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Christopher Catesby Harington
born December 26, 1986
London, England

Works include: Series Game of Thrones, Movies Pompeii, How to Train Your Dragon 2, Testament of Youth

Wit’s favorite quote (sort of about the fear of heights): “Just being on cliffs. Even if I’m on the inside of the mountain I still feel like, ‘What if I  just wheel the car off the thing?’ It’s the fear of jumping, isn’t it? It’s not the fear of the height, it’s the fear of jumping. It’s the same next to train tracks and things. 

It’s like when you’re on stage in the middle of a play, and it’s a children’s play, and sometimes your head just goes, ‘I could say FUCK right now really loudly.’ It’s the same thing. I find it very interesting. It’s your brain playing little tricks with you.”

I know just what he means…

Image: British GQ Magazine, January 2014
by Peggy Sirota

Clarice Lispector…writer of beauty…

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Clarice Lispector, 1922-1977, was a Brazilian writer, described as the most important Jewish writer since Franz Kafka. She wrote novels and short stories and was also a part-time beauty columnist with a penchant for Chanel suits. Originally born in what is now the Ukraine, her family fled the Russian civil war and emigrated to Brazil. She studied law and eventually married a Brazilian diplomat.

Her novels include Near to the Wild Heart and The Passion According to G.H.

The curve of joy…

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The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy.
Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.

– Djuna Barnes, Nightwood
Image: Djuna Barnes

I talk too much…

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I talk too much because I have been made so miserable by what you are keeping hushed. – from Nightwood by Djuna Barnes

Happy Thanksgiving…

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Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence. – Erma Bombeck

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(This last one in honor of The Walking Dead mid-season finale this weekend)

Snow was falling…

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Snow was falling
so much like stars
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness.

– Mary Oliver

Image: The Wit Continuum

Dance, when…

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Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.

Dance, when you’re perfectly free.

– Rumi

I am both…

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I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how could that be. ~ The Perks of Being a Wallflower

The Symbolic Nature of Doors

doorwayThe simple doorway–an everyday object that goes unnoticed most of the time–is symbolic of a transition between one world and the next. Such a doorway may take different forms, as a dolmen, a torii (traditional Japanese gate), a gateway, but the meaning remains the same.  Both Heaven and Hell lie beyond a doorway, and the threshold of such a place is seen as the place where two worlds meet and sometimes collide. Many rituals involve the initiate stepping through a doorway of some kind.  The visica piscis (the intersection created by two overlapping circles) represents a doorway where the world of spirit enters the world of matter.

The spiritual meaning of a door denotes a passage of communication with the divine.  An open door signifies a message is coming through. A closed door can denote a break in communication.

A door is often depicted as a portal for the righteous to enter. Doors are also signs of deliverance.

Girls + Planes

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I might be sticking my head in an engine soon as well…;) Found these fashion photos fascinating. All on Pinterest.

I was dead…then alive…

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Sublime Generosity

I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
And I became a fierce lion,
Then tender like the evening star.

He said, You’re not mad enough.
You don’t belong in this house.

I went wild and had to be tied up.
He said, Still not wild enough
to stay with us!

I broke through another layer
into joyousness.

He said, It’s not enough.
I died.

He said, You’re a clever little man,
full of fantasy and doubting.

I plucked out my freshers and became a fool.
He said, Now you’re the candle
for this assembly.

But I’m no candle. Look!
I’m scattered smoke.

He said, You’re the sheikh, the guide.
But I’m not a teacher. I have no power.

He said, You already have wings.
I cannot give you wings.

But I wanted his wings.
I felt like some flightless chicken.

Then new events said to me,
Don’t move. A sublime generosity is
coming toward you.

And old love said, Stay with me.

I said, I will.

You are the fountain in the sun’s light.
I am a willow shadow on the ground.
You make my raggedness silky.

The soul at dawn is like darkened water
that slowly begins to say ThankYou, Thank You.

Then at sunset, again, Venus gradually
changes into the moon and then the whole night sky.

This comes of smiling back
at your smile.

The chess master says nothing,
other than moving the silent chess piece.

That I am part of the ploys
of this game makes me
amazingly happy.

-RUMI

IMAGE: Ralph Gibson

The Story of Dido and Aeneas

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I abandoned your shores, Empress, against my will. ~ Aeneid, Book 6

Aeneas was a Trojan hero who was at the fall of Troy. Devastated and heart-broken, he gathers some of his remaining friends and trusted men and sets sail away from his lost home.  Before long, a massive sea storm assaults his small fleet and Aeneas and his friends Achates are washed onto an African shore near a city being built. The city is Carthage and its Queen is Dido.

Aeneas and his buddy use magic to make themselves invisible (think cloaking device or an invisibility cloak like Harry Potter’s) and steal into the city to check it out.  This Queen they hear of is ambitious and it is apparent in this newly formed city. She is building a gorgeous place, raising temples, supporting small businesses (with major tax cuts), building schools and a gem-filled theater because she knows the arts are important baby! The people are busy…busy and happy and Aeneas and Achates are impressed, but not as impressed as they are when they see Dido herself appear in town with her entourage.  Aeneas sort of stalks her, watches her unfairly when she can’t see him, under the guise of protecting himself. She is radiant in beauty, a generous soul within shines without. She is a woman of commanding strength, for she hides well the pain of tremendous loss.  Her loss of love. She grieves yet for her young husband who has died suddenly, and fiercely passionate as she is she has pledged that:

He who first wedded me took with him when he died,
My right to love:  let him keep it, there, in the tomb, for ever.

“For ever” is a very long time.

Dido is approached by visitors. While the cloaked Aeneas and Achates watch close by, the rest of Aeneas’s men have made it to the city. With reverence they bow before Dido and ask for shelter and the means to repair their storm-shattered ships. They also say that they have lost two of their greatest companions and hope to search for them as well.  Dido is moved by their pleas and welcomes them whole-heartedly.  She understands their loss and will do anything to help, generous as she is, and she also wishes that they find their lost comrades as well. Upon hearing these words Aeneas and Achates decide to reveal themselves:

The words were hardly spoken, when in a flash the cloud-cloak
They wore was shredded and purged away into pure air.
Aeneas was standing there in an aura of brilliant light,
Godlike of face and figure: for Venus herself had breathed

His manhood and a gallant light into his eyes…

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Aeneas says:  “I am here, before you, the one you look for…”

Now, Dido wasn’t looking for anyone.  She’d given her love to a man in a grave, but seeing Aeneas in all his glorious Venus-blessed embodiment woke up a darkened flame of love within her. Not only does Dido find him physically appealing, but his tales of his war, of his loss, and the stories of the sea enchant her disenchanted heart. She is smitten. Plus, they have a few things in common. They are both royalty…and they have both suffered.

I too have gone through much; like you, have been roughly handled
By fortune, But now at last it has willed me to settle here.
Being acquainted with grief, I am learning to help the unlucky.

Dido gives Aeneas’s men hundreds of cattle, sheep, swine, and the best materials that can be found to rebuild their ships. She privately has dinner with Aeneas, and soon they are “dating.”  She tells him he can stay as long as he wishes. Without meaning to, she has fallen deeply in love. She becomes “a woman wild with passion…” She thinks about him all the time. She cannot sleep. (Can anyone relate to this?)

Aeneas, too, has fallen in the same way. After a day of hunting together, a storm forces the young couple, alone, to seek shelter in a cave. The cave.

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There, they make love (aka: fuck their brains out) and exchange vows and promises of love.  To Dido, it is like a pledge of marriage.  They experience a luxuriant period of marital bliss and life with each other becomes perfect. Happiness threatens to overwhelm them.

But the Gods have other plans for Aeneas. They haven’t forgotten him. A strong warrior cannot be left to wallow his life away with love and happiness.  He is ordered to return to Italy, to build a new city in his lost homeland.  It is his duty. His fate.

Aeneas is torn between his love for Dido and his duty, but duty, of course, always wins.  And no matter how strong the bugger claims to be, or appears to be, Aeneas is a coward. He plans to sneak away with his men in the middle of the night, leaving Dido behind to just figure it out. (Maybe he’d leave her a note: “Sorry, can’t do this anymore”.  “It’s not you, it’s me.”  “The Gods have ordered it. I have no choice.” He blocks her on Twitter and Instagram. “Block me too, so I won’t be tempted to come back…” etc.)

But Dido has many loyal ears in her house, her city, and the rumor of her lover’s plans reaches her.  She becomes unbalanced with grief, grief so powerful, she wonders what she can do, what she could have done differently, to change his mind.  After her first husband died, she had gone into hibernation; she had buried her heart.  Aeneas, with is love, his kind words, had resurfaced it. He had made her feel alive again in a way that only a lover can do. And now he was burying her heart again.

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 In her anguish, Dido implores him to stay. And, though we don’t want her to, a regal Queen begs:

By these tears, by the hand you gave me-
They are all I have left, to-day, in my misery – I implore you,
And by our union of hearts, by our marriage hardly begun,
If I have ever helped you at all, if anything
About me pleases you, be sad for our broken home, forego
Your purpose, I beg you, unless it’s too late for prayers of mine!
Because of you, the Libyan tribes and the Nomad chieftains
Hate me, the Tyrians are hostile: because of you I have lost
My old reputation for faithfulness- the one thing that could have made me
Immortal.  Oh, I am dying! To what, my guest, are you leaving me?

None of her pleas moves him. Aeneas gathers his men and even though his heart breaks for her, he leaves her.  But not before Dido slips from her devastation and sorrow and becomes angry.  She curses him. She wishes him ill fortune, bad seas, and endless, and I mean endless misery. (Fucking Royal Bastard!)

She takes the bed they had shared, gathers all his belongings that he hadn’t picked up yet – all the presents she gave him, including a sword,and his clothing – and drags them to courtyard where she builds a bonfire.

Climbing to the top, she takes the sword falls upon it, and dies, knowing that he will see her funeral pyre from his ship as he leaves. (We wish she could have found a way out of this misery. We wish she could have been stronger, but classic literature always knows how to write women fucked up by men.)

Later, in the Aeneid, Aeneas is granted safe passage in the underworld to visit his dead father…While he is there, he see Dido wandering in the woods, a wispy, ghostly figure. He is so filled with pity, and remorse, upon seeing her, he approaches her and begs her forgiveness.

I abandoned your shores, Empress, against my will.

He swears that it wasn’t his will to abandon her but the iron will of the Gods, the heavenly commands that he was powerless to disobey. He speaks tenderly to her spirit, “trying to soften the wild-eyed/Passionate-hearted ghost” who remains “stubborn to his appeal.” Dido must have looked at him long, so beautiful, full of lovely words. But she finally rushes away, (her final “Fuck you”) without saying a word, without forgiving him, “hating him still.”

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Text inspiration is from The History of Love by Diane Ackerman

The beautiful images are from the Sasha Waltz production of Purcell’s classic opera Dido & Aeneas
Photos by Sebastian Bolesch