Of Fools’ Honey and Darksome Mercury

Image by Alyona Uramuru

The fool by nature, despite his common condemnation, is the first figure who dares to explore, use his imagination, and bring about innovation. Surely, it is the fool’s agency to be the first to defy convention to find his own treasure. Laugh if you must, but remember it is the fool who does what most frightfully only behold with longing in their wildest fantasies and fascination.

Alyona Uramuru

The most amazing and terrible thing about asking a question (or asking for anything) is receiving an answer that makes you realize exactly what you were looking for; thus striking you in such a way that you may need a moment before regaining composure, and even shed some tears.

Deep down you know exactly what you should be doing, what brightly kindles your passions and fills you with life. But out of doubt and fear, all you have ever known screams at you as if to dampen the flame of your heart because it is a daunting task and a huge responsibility. And you know that being truthful to yourself is your only salvation regardless of the great anxiety and pain eating at you.

I yelled and screamed a question long enough to receive a rumbling answer, with care and attention received my own salvation and damnation; for even though my passions rightfully live, I drink from my own shadows’ poison still to reconcile and liberate each nook and cranny from a society that little has done to polish the diamond of its many and varied treasured inhabitants.

If you were to stretch your hand and touch the ghastly and terrifying figures in your mind, your hand would pass through a curtain of fading smoke, and you would see you are in a labyrinth of mirrors where you are the sole inhabitant who oppresses himself by letting the tool of his servitude be the master of his torture – the very mind with which he lives: no longer a servant but a tyrant with a crown of illusions.

So, my dear, the quality of your experiences, whether they feel pleasant or not, depend rightfully on you. Be then the master of your mind because this tool, when left alone to wander, takes abode in every household provocative enough to attract it like a famished dog by nature of its non-judgemental logic to consume and produce the pleasures or hells of your reality.

Verily, there is no excuse to avoid doing what you know you should be doing.

In the Breath Between

Image by LUM3N from Pixabay

The scent of pine oozed into my lungs like smooth melting sugar as I walked through the recently rain-bathed forest. The crisp green and earthly tones of nature suggested emotive tales of imagination, dating to, or rather pointing to a timeless memory of home where my heart swelled with blissful sweetness and emanated with self-indulging love.

I laid upon the wet pine straw; a bed once dreamt ‘mid the forest clearing. Although the late afternoon sun radiated through the nearby droplets suspending from all around, traces of storm clouds hung above the glade to shelter me with their coolness.

The sound of the dancing river to the north and the whistling mockingbirds cast the trance of a tribal enchantment, serving together as gatekeepers into the subtler realms of being. Little eyes peeked out curiously through the angles adjacent to the forest’s gleam in this in-between, desirous to know who came to drowse amidst their digs.

Blending softly in the breeze, the whispers and hushed words of the forest denizens became swirls of their resolve to welcome me. Their lulling touch reminisced about the weaving threads where wanderers and spirits met for ecstatic frolic in the fold of freedom borne by the young hearts of jolly children.

Suolavaltakunta

Image by 2234701 from Pixabay

Yö tanssii päiväsurmaajana

hulluudesta kunniaan ja loistoon;

sen huulilta maistuu merenneidon katkeruudelta,

ja niistä syntyy uusia myrkkyjä.

Suolapyhäköissä kuiskutellaan

syvyyksien terävää kieltä;

tulipunaisena ja tulikyntenä

herää se lupaava kiihko,

joka heikkoja appaa

ja kuolemattomien verellä maalaa

rivistöön olemisen.

Amidst Old Tomes, in Subtle Heartbeats

Listen to the imperious whisper forlorn,

crawling out the caskets of human ways age-worn.

Green lanthorns and ghost night

breathe out the briny breeze of archaic shores.

And in this Yuletide of watchful note,

curious feet walk in between

with itch, with love,

for the longing idyllic horror

of secrets most immemorial

and brilliant hope.