Currently Reading

Currently Reading

“Fire in Paradise” 

by. Alastair Gee

I Don’t Say Goodbye, I Only Say Ciao

Poem by. Gabrielle Octavia Rucker

What bloody lense holds firm between this mystery & us? Two shiny crows

tapping intelligently on the glass of a dream.

Please! Do not make me do the human things—

I must tend to my many plankton realities,

must be off with my better self:

One million faces lined

along a mirrored tunnel & in each that same tricky knot begging.

You couldn’t know how long I suffered over it, my long waiting at the end of the maze.

I can only guess what you think I’m after, stretching in the mirror

while you rattle on about sabotage,

an old tension springing in the body.

Practical Self Reliance

60+ Nasturtium Recipes ~ Food, Drinks, Remedies & More

Nasturtium recipes can be hard to find, and even those gardeners that know nasturtiums are edible tend to just snack on them right out in th

Nasturtium majus is the indigenous species for where I live in TX. This might be a tasty addition to my garden. I'm open to foraging, but the foraging in practice might be more dangerous with so many unknown factors. I don't know how many of my neighbors, or the city parks and recs, spray pesticides or herbicides.

It took some time, after finishing the "One Straw Revolution" (by. Masanobu Fukuoka) to find his food mandalas. His "do nothing" philosophy is very appealing in a lot of ways. He sought harmony with nature in his daily away from capitalism, and I believe he lived his teachings till the end of his days. Although, I currently don't own land for farming. I want to apply his teachings: mindfulness, and being keen to listen to silence. Sometimes doing nothing and allowing nature to balance itself.

I may read this book again as I continue to grow.

My Bird

by Ingeborg Bachmann

Whatever comes to pass: the devastated world

sinks back into twilight,

the forest offers it a sleeping potion,

and from the tower the watchman’s forsaken,

peaceful and constant the eyes of the owl stare down.

Whatever comes to pass: you know your time,

my bird, you put on your veil

and fly through the mist to me.

We peer into the haze where the rabble houses.

Yon follow my nod and storm out

in a whirl of feathers and fur—

My ice-gray shoulder companion, my weapon,

adorned with that feather, my only weapon!

My only finery: your veil and your feather.

And even when my skin burns

in the needle dance beneath the tree,

and the hip-high shrubs

tempt me with their spicy leaves,

when my curls dart like snake tongues,

sway and long for moisture,

the dust of distant stars still falls

right on my hair.

When I, in a helmet of smoke,

come back to my senses.

my bird, my nighttime ally,

when I’m ablaze in the night

the dark grove crackles

and I hammer the sparks from my limbs.

And when I stay ablaze as I am,

loved by the flame

until the resin streams out of the trunks,

drips over the wounds and

spins the earth warm into thread

(and though you rob my heart at night,

my bird of belief, my bird of faith!)

the watchtower moves into brightness

where you, tranquil now,

alight in magnificent peace—

whatever comes to pass.

—translated from the German by Mark Anderson