On conflictual relationships , J. Krishnamurti

not wanted to  comment but...sex...only superficial..hum. tiresome.
only when without love
and deep awareness of the other's existence and breath of life and soul.

sensory responses, sentimental responses, attachment, romantic feeling....
can all be inside the richness of life and spirit, just to 'know'..
we are not 'higher' when we disregard the wisdom of our incarnation.

else- deep thinking of course.
we know all...we know too much.
i know too much on traps and roots and me.

are we all similar?
doubt...stop.

the answer- well. good. not always possible.
not even with eyes and mind open.

Roger Waters , Part Of Me Died (Audio)

Roger Waters, Oceans Apart

King Crimson , Lizard, Prince Rupert Awakes

Roger Waters , Wait for Her

With a glass inlaid with gemstones
On a pool around the evening
Among the perfumed roses
Wait for her

With the patience of a packhorse
Loaded for the mountains
Like a stoic, noble prince
Wait for her

With seven pillows laid out on the stair
The scent of womens' incense fills the air
Be calm, and wait for her

And do not flush the sparrows
That are nesting in her braids
All along the barricades
Wait for her

And if she comes soon
Wait for her
And if she comes late
Wait

Let her be still as a summer afternoon
A garden in full bloom

Let her breathe in the air
That is foreign to her heart
Let her lips part
Wait for her

Take her to the balcony, see the moon soaked in milk
Hear the rustle of her silk
Wait for her

Don't let your eyes alight upon the twin doves of her breast
Lest they take flight
Wait for her

And if she comes soon
Wait for her
And if she comes late
Wait

Serve her water before wine
Do not touch her hand
Let your fingertips rest as her command

Speak softly as a flute would to a fearful violin
Breathe out, breathe in

And as the echo fades from that final fusillade
Remember the promises you made

innocence

Luke 23:
Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." And they divided up his clothes by casting lots.


we do not need 
to come back to innocence,
it has been present 
in us all time,
we only need to find 

us inside and not to
fight our essence,
listen to the wind
of our pure hearts.

all dirt of pain and hurt,
all shadow of sin, guilt,
all time wasted in complaint
can be ignored.

the perfume of all women
and the scent of all men
can be washed,
and our souls

can be lifted 
meeting each other
and to say: yes.
i see you first time.

to walk into kisses
and embrace of each other,
old women or men,,
we can be virgins,

offer our love, arms,
as naked as sheared sheep,
vulnerable in mortality,
caring and  loving

at night and in day,
under the apple trees,
in the song of blackbirds,
we can walk

hand in hand,
explore the paths
of the old, of beauty,
cover us in the cold,

give us eyes and ears
growing buds of wisdom
and share visions of angels
and monsters, bring light

into the dark cellars,
blankets in winter,
praise our food with grace
and walk in peace

we can be grateful,
growing and going
with joy:
but we don't.

though still so innocent

we fear the other,

the hurt it may bring,

the loss of freedom.

we fear our bodies

as they remind us 

of death though

we are alive through

them in their own

music given by birth

and by love: they

are not servants but life.

thinking is memory,

it sticks to pain,

enemies, frustration,

boredom and traps.

it creates flight,

but to fly needs wings

and ease

and balance in wind.

and without innocence

all, all is like lost,

space and time constrict

and we are but chemicals

reacting in circles, 

changing colour,

exploding, vanishing

in tubes and vapour

and finally in words,

words, and the gazelles

and the lions stay

in the bush, hiding.

the roses understand 

nothing, the trees shake

their heads, the birds

stop to sing.

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."

T.S. Eliot "Little Gidding"