Dionysian-light - Dionysian~Light

I am a painter, I paint my poems.

I sold this Kokopelli’s Dance, and I am very happy and smiling.

Kokopelli’s dance   The humped-back flute player plays in tune with the deep rhythms of life. His melody drifts over the parched land and weaves in and out of the daily lives of the waiting ones.

The poor hear his song and in their sorrow and sadness and despite their hesitant hopes they plead for a good harvest or a healthy child. The sick hear the melody as beautiful as the good earth is home, in tune with their hopes, lifting their anxious hearts; they pray for a good death or at least a painless one. Kokopelli, himself broken, smiles at the people; he plays his flute and the music rises above the tiredness of the day as he leads them in the dance. They rise from their beds and follow, slowly at first, step by faltering step, until they are one with the Great Spirit - the author and giver of the song. But that was long ago in the before times. Now we live in a world without stories, a world full of science and knowledge of the ways of things. Now we embrace another poverty for we have lost the Great Spirit, the deepness of things, and because we can’t hear the song no one dances anywhere anymore. 

© Bryan Owen 2006

Kokopelli, the humpbacked flute player, was originally a prehistoric deity among the Native American tribes of the south-western United States. His image has been found carved or painted many hundreds of times in desert rock art.  Kokopelli was associated with both fertility and agriculture but in more recent times he has been adopted as a symbol of the southwestern United States as a whole. In New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado and Utah his image can be found almost everywhere.

The Black Swan

Ingredients:

1.5 oz Russian Vodka

5 Blackberries

3 oz Lemonade

Muddle 4 blackberries in the bottom of a tumbler. add ice, Russian vodka and lemonade. Garnish with remaining blackberry.

the divine is full of monsters; incandescent giants who lick their gold teeth, whose mouths are full of crumbling cities, who breathe death and fire and revelation and madness while diamonds crack like splinters of bone between their gums their whims are carved in stone, sand, pillars of salt their feathers sticky with luminescent blood, their fingers thunderous with creation, lightning in their eyes that crackles and hisses from every direction of the sky the divine is not static and humane; the divine does not play nice. they will eat everything you are. they will leave you reformed in a roar of light, peel away layers of you like birth and with a saint’s conviction you will know that nothing feels more like luxury, better to be blinded by brilliance than close your eyes to awe- for your lips are always being kissed. your mouth is champagne roses. you will eat lotuses. your lungs are perfumed and your bones will blossom into stars. your blood is wine and you are clothed in light; your skin threshed wheatlike until the gold of you shines.

natasza stark, “anchorite” (via anexpansionlikegold)

"Rarely do we see such honesty from modern booze companies…(this was a real brand btw, from early 1900s)." ~ DrunkenHistory