THE ESSENCES JAR

Silver shining edging clouds, I come to surrender to the power of connecting. I saw an insurmountable fortress; the leap deserved an olimpic medal, where in a thousand dreams of consecutive lives and deaths would have this been thinkable? This a is a ballet perpetrated for the sake of shaking souls, the brilliance of unreachable celestial bodies competing with the one of the key on the open lock. It is looking back at you barefaced, like saying: “It was about time you fool” And I smile, closing my eyes feeling the warmth coming back through windows that I am opening, windows to another worlds. I am sending invitations to sign against the cutting of a rose, to preserve the embracing nature of the tight bud, and the letting go nature of a living miracle. There will be a time, the right one, no other, in which the scattered petals will pay off.  For thorns I got twigs, bandages blindfolding the stem of this reincarnation. I am drawing a spiral counter direction, so fascinated on the infinite, in the minuscule that I got distracted from the song of the snake charmer. There are stories within stories, the quill is no repentant, the quill is just a mean. There was a time where terms were mistaken, when gleaming was better considered than illuminating.  There is an unfolding thread, a line of liquid particles completing a flowing cascade, a static piece of lace floating in the air to purposely filter our breaths. For this is what I came for, for this is why I got dropped out of the rocking cradle.  That is why I got captivated by the dawning at this stage after being captive for what it seemed to be a life sentence. Look at my hands, on my right palm rests a lid, on the left palm a jar liberating essences of forest morning breeze… and it feels like a growing treasure, the evanescent nature of my inclinations, no time is wasted, no contact is fortuitous. I am the only responsible for whatever the consequences, although what is important has no relevance from a future point of view. Now, what sort of impulse, madness on state of re-composition fuels the daily move? A joyous celebration of singularity needs no explanation, even if nobody sees, I found the purpose and it is poking its tongue out to recognition. You are not more or less, you are. Does the representation loose the meaning behind the curtain? The spectacle began in what appeared to be an empty theater, giving not too much credit to critic. The movement taught the steps in solitude to become an exploding heart in every circle, releasing myself from my body in every waving expression of the arms.  Just like those lips that let a little bit of life escape to be blown over me, I am escaping to cover a broader area than the one delimiting the “I” that you have known. B_Nour

TRUTH CRITICAL UPDATE

Is it gone? Is it gone forever? It is almost like it would be forbidden to think of such a possibility, even bringing up the idea does not fit into the four corners of our limited knowledge. And what about the focus?  Whenever the feathers swing down the biggest of the voids, they dye with poetry the foreign view, that from which we become witness, observant fearing turning again into participant. There are ropes turning into strings weakened by not pulling, that is a crime. This kind of behavior is inflicting a derogatory treatment on Atlas. Who did you became long ago, by choosing to step out of the center, out of the privileged west? There where the wind rose is just a flower tattooed on some sailor’s forearm. There is a place without latitude and longitude where the beings alike are starting a pilgrimage to. Like everything that is seen with the eyes or, in some way, perceived in different percentage with a mix of senses fools us, this caravan is not following any shining star on the sky. The carpet is full with wholes, the light filters through minuscule orifices projecting a shadow of hope. It resembles a dream board, with an ambivalent application: 1a.Starry shower head, drinking water for the lost. 1b.Filtering liquid to get drowned, filling up lakes to satiate the trusting. We weren’t seen coming into human shape; we don’t know how that happened oh… we don’t know that we don’t know. I step up one stair; I see the population swirling in spirals of technological advance falling down the cliffs of self-discovery. If only for a second I could make clear for you to see that it is as easy to step in as to step out. I keep on dealing with it almost on a daily basis, as the thunder splits my head to possess my hands, as the smile is erased from my face due to the dependence on the conventional state, as I feed the hunger of the antithetical profit. There are days in which the point is gone, bouncing from the concrete bundle that I can bite to a multiversal holodeck. I feel you, if that is even possible. There is so much more to squeeze from the apparently dry fruit that seeing you sitting numb by the gates of heaven is giving me the exhilarating answer, even in the abandonment beginnings will blossom from crumbles. B_Nour

                                                

SYMBIOLOGY

In the interaction of two dormant bodies rests the secret of the melody of the oceans, the vibrational power of the clouds moving over our heads, the frequency in which the ice crystallizes. There are two forces that allow life; it is almost like there is a constant battle in nature to give shape to what we put in our mouth. The words that come secreting the nectar of from one corner of the fantasy to the rounded energetic field that we inhabit can adopt different names but yet be the same; maybe that is the reason why my name is Light. These are  speculating verbs trying to find out the reason why, these are stormy ideas tracing the parabolic arches that our bodies can emulate, progressions of perfection, ratios and proportional twists. I subsist thanks to the symbiosis of this art creating organism that fuels on master spell. I am a repetitive exchange machine pending on the valuable mistakes that are the bricks building the tower to succeed.  These are moments to be cherished, moments that will make us consider if we can accept the image that we see on the silver polished tray. It is not me anymore, is me turning around to see another turning around every single time, every single time. The doubts are getting lighter with an impalpable smoky consistence, porous columns that dispel. Walk the walk away, not at the same speed just following backwards the same trail that the other followed some time ago for the sake of your care. The bed sheets smell like baby birds, a scent that fills up with the sensation of safety, making of laying down a matter of knowing that it cannot get any better, that there is not another home or sheltering place that can equal the embrace of the eagle’s wing. There is majesty in the reliability of being a connected vase to a connected-to-you vase. These are the laws that rule the shine of my chants, my shield against foreign diatribes, making of every moment a praiseworthy historical point, turning potentiality into flowing matter.  Here comes the point where happy and thankful coexist in indestructible alloy, where ringing notes are the same as tonalities of light. B_Nour

DARK SUNSHINE

The world is ours, start conquering the random orbit described for the willingness to change. As if constellations couldn’t speak, as if the stars wouldn’t have anything to do with you, as if that could be even possible.  I am swallowing the guilt of eclipsing myself, rolling over periodic depressions on the land where the grave shifts into a garden and back into a grave.  Where is the way out?, that breathing life blowing palpitating gusts of diligence against smoking papers, provoking the unbearable tingling that will set you free.  We can go and have a swim tonight to try to get to the other side of the golden mesh, or maybe in the sunrise, wrapped up in wax that will melt and will leave us as seeming sweaty fledglings. I have a new story to talk about the same, a new purpose, new celebration prayer and a new bobbing lace. And it looks oh! so pretty in the distance,  not even once that wonder was ever made. But I put more effort on building up the surrounding fence,  painting it on white, making it appealing to protect not so worthy things. I claim my right to own the land where to drag the ball and chain, and it is making me out of my mind, why not combing it with my nails? I am getting sores due to the invisible grip as a consequence.  Looking for it so hard made you no favor, now you are putting more effort in protecting the bleak place of despair where you sit than in planting seeds.  I want to take a rest, allow that to happen is not as simple as I thought.  It is almost like a battle that makes me freeze and stare at the cycles of nature like an immovable observer and scream with rage from the depths of a nightmare where I can reach no one.  The dead star around which pulsating rhythms keep on orbiting with indolence makes the space in between the speckles of dust to shake. Go and take a shower under the rain, take part on waterfall watercolor, distinctive mark on the notebook, where the naked will be happy of their opulence.  Remember feeling no shame for being dressed up in the essence,  assuming that everything is in a constant tidal move and will be washed away you want it or not .  Alteration is not a choice it is just looking at the open sky and go again in circles drawing changing patterns which have a message to teach you if you let them. What a beautiful picture you are missing for the eagerness to rush! B_Nour
http://open.spotify.com/track/3sBU60rdASEFjcY9O50sOv

K.I.S PRINCIPLE

Redeeming my collection of plundered years, who hasn’t one? I hear a child babbling through the window of time, with words of innocence and wisdom. Those same words that were said once, they were directed to someone like me, if not me. There have been hands covering my ears and eyes, shaping a headdress of inconvenience and ignorance. I admit that the compulsion to express was emotional and kept my mouth full of knickknacks. I am guilty of committing gluttony on the move. Binging the pace with meaningless stuff made the weight heavy on my shoulders with something which nature was flighty and casual.  The swings are rocking at fairyland; the scents of strange flowers have taken me out of the coma to put me in a state of trance. Where do they come from? Who is purging thoughts of incomprehensible beauty from the high branches to the bottom of the underworld?  There are baskets full fruit and worms at my doorstep, my smile can illuminate the world just because I understand both are my friends. I shout to myself crossing the corridors from birth; it is not like before when I simply would have gotten scared, the sweet nectar has been delivered to destination right on time, like I didn’t know it always was. It just only the angle from with the picture is taken, the aperture of the observing eye, the approval of the option itself.  Yes, I am exhibiting the collected moths like epidermal cells, layers covering layers that are waiting to be shed, disguising new conceptions like if they wouldn’t be me.  Footprints on the mud, dried but the absence of attention to the detail, are telling a story, the same as the lines on your face. And I kiss those, traces of decay and conquer, those signs that many others may see them as samples of outmost shame.  Let’s set off towards our own Babylonian garden, holding hands a cradle hold the just delivered, writing as we move a legacy of sunny autumn mornings bathing on ochre tonalities. There is an intricate melody I have waved along the years to discover that after all simplicity was given for a reason, and that had the same meaning back them in the beginning as it has now in the middle and it will have at the end to start all over again… b_Nour

ON INSPIRATIONAL INTERSECTIONS & DREAMABOUTS

That is the journey: sucking from the breast of life as we know it to get the opium.  Rebooting the system, trying to get to the point in which the self-feeding is the answer to unveil. You and me, entities of illusion and of completeness, replicating lessons that we studied when we couldn’t understand the message. I often see the end of the road is near, that place where you can sit, relax, think about nothing and yet hold the universe in an inhalation. We are holders, holders of abundance that frequently suffer from famine. There is a catheter connecting us to our minds, just like if we would be nurtured on neurosis, because we need it, as junkies needing a comfortable known place where the pain disappears by getting drown, again. Why the heart does find justification on a brief moment of inspiration to a whole existence is a mystery to the brain. The heart, that organ that relies on intuition is the true key. Let me tell you that you would be put on quarantine if you could step into somebody’s skin, to prove your resistance, capability of adaptation to foreign, yet familiar biology, but mainly to be able to implement a new frame mindset inside of your old one. What makes sense in a world of illusion? Absolutely everything. I have envisioned you as real, floating in the ether of my imagination. My first response when you approached me was of surprise, rational, analytic, skeptical reality check, as if explaining what lies at the very same core of matter could explain probability as a constant. I am variable in your equation, you are one on mine, and I’m not trying to explain life in mathematical terms, i am surrendering to the magic of inspiration. I will never be the same again, neither will be you.  Between the trillions of trillions of possibilities that conform the imaginable and also the unimaginable, here we are witnessing a unique, singular, transforming intersection. It never happened before, it won’t happen ever again, because there is no any other you or other me in this moment at this place. I embrace my role as a philanthropic gesture because I don’t want to get lost in misused habits, the wrongly repeated habit of being yourself, that sum of factors that built up the holographic you. I can see the presents that we are, dropped off in this world for a soothing purpose, godly essence wrapped in flesh by definition. Let’s erase concepts that shape us into what the eye can see and the mind can conceive to discover that we will still be there burning with the same intensity as we once did. B_Nour