Tuesday, 16 December 2014

Tabula Smaragdina**

True, without error, certain and most true

That which is above is as that which is below, and that which is below is as that which is above, to perform the miracles of the One Thing.

And as all things were from One, by the meditation of One, so from this One Thing come all things by adaptation.

Its father is the Sun          

Its mother is the Moon

The wind carried it in its belly

The nurse thereof is the Earth.

It is the father of all perfection and the consummation of the whole world. Its power is integral if it be turned to Earth.

Thou shalt separate the Earth from the Fire, the subtle from the coarse, gently and with much ingenuity.

It ascends from Earth to heaven and descends again to Earth, and receives the power of the superiors and the inferiors.

Thus thou hast the glory of the whole world;

Therefore let all obscurity flee before thee. This is the strong fortitude of all fortitude, overcoming every subtle and penetrating every solid thing.

Thus the world was created. Hence are all wonderful adaptations, of which this is the manner.

Therefore am I called Hermes the Thrice Great

Having the three parts of the philosophy of the whole world.

That is finished which I have to say concerning the operation of the Sun.

Monday, 1 December 2014


And if society was afraid of sentiments and their purest shapes it is the same society that has assured the rise of the unguarded instinctual forces...a chaotic and urgent state longing but not daring to admit its lust to be remolded, so that darkness can turn into light**

   You do know it. I'm very willing to listen to you if you have any recollections of your earthly beginning, would you care to provide me with any of those early memories? How do you see yourself...Can you recall images, smells and words, do any primordial sounds pervade your initial existence? Do you detect softness in the air, do you feel compassion for the child inside of you? I'd like to see how you once were and to know which were your first words, you are important to me, your existence fascinates me.

    In one of my childhood memories my hair smell of Johnson's Baby Shampoo, I'm wearing pink pyjamas and I'm watching "Splash" with Daryl Hannah and Tom Hanks, I feel assured of myself, I find the mermaid beautiful...A scene frozen in time, a bubble of experience, passed yet untouched. As a child I also had a thing for the original tale of the mermaid archetype as told by Hans Christian Andersen, I felt sorry for the wondrous mermaid that had to sacrifice her beautiful tail for two awkward feet...the torture of every step that led her immaculate love to transform into foam, a futile offering then nothingness. Pablo Neruda wrote the "Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks" based on this motifeme, a rather devastating account on how people fail to notice the importance of the aethereal and the fragile. Neruda saw the strength hiding inside stardust, inside the foam...That's the territory of the poetic after all.
He writes:

All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death.

How vulgarity fails to recognize the agony of beauty, the anguish of a deeper existence made elsewhere in a parallel reality resembling the substance of the soul.

    But now that I think of it nothingness is a chance, nothingness is beyond despair and if things vanish from time to time they only disappear in their previous form, who suspects the mass of possibilities...The ones aiming to create and consult their inner spark know that nothing's lost forever, I desire you to impress me by singing the song of your existence with honor and great persistence but without arrogance. This way you'll always be by my side although oceans and eras apart. I will sense and acknowledge you. You will turn lead into gold and foam into existence. You shall come all soulful.

I trust you***.


Sunday, 5 October 2014

Black Planet.

Can you see colors in black and white? Do you always know what you want to say? The children understand the whole spectrum, they perceive it but they rarely speak of it, sensing in them is much more profound an experience; Things can stand on their own, without proof, without stains of reason, as they always existed, unmolested, without the dust of your memories and re-interpretations... I thought I wanted you to remember but now I see I don't, I changed my mind, I reclaimed myself, I've come full circle...I cannot sustain the idea of the "lost object" no more, not even that of the "lost person", there's nothing lost, everything's inside of me as it has always been, this is not a fluid poem on hope though...Auras are colorful, you must exercise your senses, nothing to it, you're flesh and blood after all; Why do you hesitate, why do you condemn yourself to the black planet? Nothing blossoms when you're absent, it is your observation that makes everything happen.

Μπορείς να δεις χρώματα μέσα στο ασπρόμαυρο; Γνωρίζεις πάντα αυτό που θέλεις να πεις; Τα παιδιά αντιλαμβάνονται όλο το φάσμα, το βλέπουν αλλά σπάνια μιλάνε για αυτό, το να αισθάνονται είναι για αυτά μια πολύ πιο βαθιά εμπειρία¨Τα πράγματα μπορούν να σταθούν από μόνα τους, χωρίς απόδειξη, χωρίς τους λεκέδες της λογικής, όπως υπάρχουν από πάντα, ανέγγιχτα, χωρίς την σκόνη των δικών σου αναμνήσεων και των επανερμηνειών σου...Πίστευα πως ήθελα να θυμάσαι αλλά τώρα βλέπω πως δεν το επιθυμώ πια, άλλαξα γνώμη, επαναδιεκδίκησα τον εαυτό μου, ξαναγύρισα στην αρχή μου...Δεν μπορώ πια να διατηρώ την ιδέα του "χαμένου αντικειμένου", ούτε καν αυτή του "χαμένου προσώπου", τίποτα δεν έχει χαθεί, όλα βρίσκονται μέσα μου όπως υπήρχαν πάντα, αυτό δεν είναι ένα ρευστό ποίημα για την ελπίδα παρόλα αυτά...Οι αύρες είναι πολύχρωμες, πρέπει να εξασκήσεις τις αισθήσεις σου, καμιά δυσκολία σε αυτό, είσαι σάρκα και αίμα όπως και να έχει¨Γιατί διστάζεις, γιατί καταδικάζεις τον εαυτό σου στον μαύρο πλανήτη; Τίποτα δεν ανθίζει όταν είσαι απών, είναι η παρατήρηση σου που κάνει τα πάντα να συμβαίνουν.

Tuesday, 5 August 2014

Love and Protect/Split Image.

~The signal was plain and simple that's why so many failed to understand it, it didn't cause any overwhelming impressions, therefore it remained unnoticed most times~

~The sand stood for 'iasis', healing, each imprint as an initiator of transformation~

As the evening came things remained silent in their diversity, I became one with the landscape as my flesh was burning, I had stayed undeneath the sun for too long, too much.

~As she played careless and absorbed I noticed that she was one with nature, a sufficient pact for the real nature of love and protection to emerge, sometimes things take care of themselves on their own accord~

~A place everywhere is at the same time a place nowhere, so common and yet so undeciphered~

If one wants to talk of beauty he/she must definitely talk of the waves, rhythmical and unsettled are those.

   It is the heart, the heart of summer, the night wants to speak up and confess that hate is not the opposite of love and that love is not the opposite of hate, perhaps a conclusion coming too soon and occupying the paragraph, here in this moment the split image is being undone seeking for reunification and completion, forgetting all about the forgery of perfection. The concentration longs for its readjustment, the memories gather, they want, they demand...a material ever present, a material obscure in its eternal clarity. Contradictions only add to the process-progress, without them we are bare. Oh, I remember, I really do, the warmth and the coldness inside of me was exactly the warmth and the coldness you chose as your representation, a mirroring. Warm is the sand I walked with my feet unprotected, she felt harsh but she healed me. Cold was the night you spoke with so much arrogance and detachment, I can forget the words but I will never forget the frozen sensation of that particular instant.

The harsh is arrogant.
Heat is the transformation for the arrogant.
The alchemical remedy, against the opposites.

~ The view of the Metropolis was found responsible for some hallucinatory incidents in a case or two~

An image so incapable of wholeness that can only reproduce a split memory, all misunderstood and obscure.

   Humid places can attract the sympathy as long as they're not equally dark, humid and dark are some places of the heart, merciless
and without a grace. We can take a step back and evaluate the situation, see the pain and despair once Pandora's Box is about to open, the threat of the unconscious. We may try to cast the menace away by staying too much underneath the sun, until the flesh gets burnt, the one constantly in need, the one without any guarantee no matter if we pretend that matter is the one visible therefore proven. Nothing is for granted though...the eyes see and the tongue devours, you seem extrovert but I know you're always alone.
   If dialectics resemble a spider the web is woven through questions fired from both sides.
   I sat across him, he started his narration...some parts of the unfolding of his story were interesting showing an inner integrity but he failed to ask the question and actually meet me. Intentions remained one sided, unapproached.

   Other days demand of other ways...She talked about her wish to have a good time but the tone of her voice indicated a self-negation, like good time was also associated with discomfort, fun became a compulsion of a sorts...an avoidance to look inside and find what's really bothering you, a melancholic extraversion,  another case of a split image.
   The heart of summer is no different than the heart of winter when related to the need to love and protect, you may find yourself responsible to love and protect a whole country or those in need but that's impossible if you don't know how to love and protect yourself first. One can always wear the persona and mask the neurosis under tons of terminology and high-flown language, saying so much and saying nothing at all...a relational condition.
   I want to open up and absorb but sometimes by being a good listener you're endangered; you may absorb the parasitic and the all negative, there's the risk of forgetting your own emotions and take those of others for your own. Then you have to revisit the source and clean up, try listening to the song of the stars and creation, recall the healing of the sand underneath your feet, this upward sensation connecting the earth with the sky, this brief satori like moment dictates only one simple demand: "Love and Protect".

   Είναι η καρδιά, η καρδιά του καλοκαιριού, η νύχτα θέλει να μιλήσει και να ομολογήσει ότι το μίσος δεν είναι το αντίθετο τη αγάπης και πως η αγάπη δεν είναι το αντίθετο του μίσους, ίσως ένα συμπέρασμα που έρχεται πολύ νωρίς και καταλαμβάνει την παράγραφο, εδώ αυτή την στιγμή η κατακερματισμένη εικόνα καταστρέφεται ψάχνοντας την επανένωση και συμπλήρωση της, ξεχνώντας όλη την πλεκτάνη της τελειότητας. Η συγκέντρωση επιθυμεί την επαναπροσαρμογή της, οι αναμνήσεις συγκεντρώνονται, θέλουνε, απαιτούνε...ένα υλικό πάντα παρών, ένα υλικό θόλο μέσα στην αιώνια καθαρότητα του. Οι αντιφάσεις μόνο προσθέτουν σε αυτή την διαδικασία-πρόοδο, χωρίς αυτές είμαστε γυμνοί. Ω, πράγματι θυμάμαι, η θέρμη και η ψυχρότητα μέσα μου δεν ήταν άλλη από την θέρμη και την ψυχρότητα που διάλεξες για την αντιπροσώπευση σου, ένα καθρέφτισμα. Ζεστή είναι η άμμος που περπάτησα με τα πόδια μου απροστάτευτα, την αισθάνθηκα σκληρή αλλά με θεράπευσε. Κρύα ήταν η νύχτα που μίλησες με τόση αλαζονεία και απόσταση, μπορώ να ξεχάσω τα λόγια αλλά ποτέ δεν θα ξεχάσω την παγωμένη αίσθηση της συγκεκριμένης στιγμής.

Ο σκληρός είναι αλαζονικός.
Η θερμότητα είναι η μεταμόρφωση του αλαζονικού.
Η αλχημική θεραπεία, ενάντι των αντιθέτων.

   Τα υγρά μέρη μπορούν να προσελκύσουν την συμπάθεια αρκεί να μην είναι εξίσου σκοτεινά, υγρά και σκοτεινά είναι κάποια μέρη της καρδιάς, ανηλεή και χωρίς καμία χάρη. Μπορούμε να επιχειρήσουμε ένα βήμα πίσω και να εκτιμήσουμε την κατάσταση, να δούμε τον πόνο και την απόγνωση καθώς το Κουτί της Πανδώρας είναι έτοιμο να ανοίξει, η απειλή του ασυνείδητου. Μπορούμε να αποπειραθούμε να διώξουμε την απειλή παραμένοντας για παρά πολύ κάτω από τον ήλιο, μέχρι να καεί η σάρκα, αυτή που βρίσκεται μονίμως σε ανάγκη, αυτή για την οποία δεν υπάρχει καμιά εγγύηση άσχετα αν προσποιούμαστε πως καθώς η ύλη είναι ορατή είναι και αποδεδειγμένη. Τίποτα δεν είναι δεδομένο παρόλα αυτά...τα μάτια βλέπουν και η γλώσσα καταβροχθίζει, φαίνεσαι εξωστρεφής αλλά γνωρίζω πως είσαι πάντα μόνος.
   Αν η διαλεκτική ομοιάζει με την αράχνη, ο ιστός υφαίνεται μέσω ερωτήσεων που τροφοδοντούνται και από τις δύο πλευρές.
   Κάθισα απέναντι του, ξεκίνησε την αφήγηση του, ορισμένα τμήματα του ξεδιπλώματος της ιστορίας του ήταν ενδιαφέροντα και υποδήλωναν μια εσωτερική ακεραιότητα αλλά απέτυχε στο να θέσει το ερώτημα και να με συναντήσει πραγματικά. Οι προθέσεις παρέμειναν μονόπλευρες, απρόσιτες.

   Άλλες μέρες απαιτούν άλλους τρόπους...Αυτή μιλούσε για την επιθυμία της να περνάει καλά αλλά ο τόνος της φωνής της έδειχνε μια αυτοαναίρεση, λες και το να περνάει καλά σχετιζόταν με κάποια δυσφορία, η διασκέδαση έγινε ένα καταναγκασμός κάποιου είδους...μια αποφυγή του να κοιτάξεις μέσα σου και να δεις τι στ'αλήθεια σε ενοχλεί, αλλή μία περίπτωση κατακερματισμένης εικόνας.
   Η καρδιά του καλοκαιριού δεν διαφέρει από την καρδιά του χειμώνα σε ό,τι έχει να κάνει με την ανάγκη του να αγαπάς και να προστατεύεις, ίσως βρεις τον εαυτό σου υπεύθυνο για την αγάπη και προστασία μια ολόκληρης χώρας ή όσων βρίσκονται σε ανάγκη αλλά κάτι τέτοιο είναι αδύνατο αν δε γνωρίζεις να αγαπάς και να προστατεύεις τον εαυτό σου πρώτα. Ο καθένας μπορεί πάντα να φορέσει το προσωπείο και να μασκαρέψει την νεύρωση του κάτω από τόνους ορολογίας και πομπώδους γλώσσας, το να λες τόσα πολλά και το να μην λες τίποτα, μια συγγενική συνθήκη.
   Θέλω να ανοιχτώ και να απορροφήσω αλλά καμιά φορά με το να είσαι καλός ακροατής διατρέχεις έναν κίνδυνο, μπορεί να απορροφήσεις το παρασιτικό και το καθόλα αρνητικό, υπάρχει το ρίσκο του να ξεχάσεις τα δικά σου συναισθήματα και να πάρεις αυτά των άλλων για δικά σου. Τότε πρέπει εκ νέου να επισκεφτείς την πηγή και να εξαγνιστείς, να προσπαθήσεις να ακούσεις το τραγούδι των άστρων και της δημιουργίας, να ανακαλέσεις την ίαση της άμμου κάτω από τα πόδια σου, αυτή την ανοδική αίσθηση που συνδέει την γη με τον ουρανό, αυτή η σύντομη στιγμή ενόρασης υπαγορεύει μόνο μια απλή εντολή "Αγάπα και Προστάτευσε".

~It is the nature, it is the ritual, the question and the answer~