lost in reverie

oraclesofthefortuneteller:

Pages from Hours of Giangaleazzo Visconti (the book of hours)by Giovannino dei Grassi. 

Late Medieval period, Florence.  Tempra and gold on parchment.

(Source: zumjub, via thebeldam)

capturethisworld: These abandoned cars (in Châtillon, Belgium) once belonged to American service men. After the war, they were responsible for shipping their vehicles back. Many of them could not afford to do this, so the cars were brought to a clearing in the forest, parked and left there. (via Green Renaissance)

capturethisworld:

These abandoned cars (in Châtillon, Belgium) once belonged to American service men. After the war, they were responsible for shipping their vehicles back. Many of them could not afford to do this, so the cars were brought to a clearing in the forest, parked and left there.

(via Green Renaissance)

(via babalon156)

artemisdreaming: . Existence It is night. Rain pelts the roof. The soul awakens to a flooded Earth— a sea of storm roaring, then passing. In that short moment, shifting lines and shapes, fleeting, barely seen. Before the passing moment tilts and falls to melancholy, laughter sounds in quiet raindrops. This poem was written in Saigon in 1965. It was raining hard. There was so much death and killing, so much destruction. And yet in one moment, I could hear the laughter in a raindrop.  ~Thich Nhat Hanh . From: Call Me by My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh

artemisdreaming:

.

Existence

It is night.
Rain pelts the roof.
The soul awakens
to a flooded Earth—
a sea of storm
roaring,
then passing.

In that short moment,
shifting lines and shapes,
fleeting,
barely seen.

Before the passing moment tilts
and falls to melancholy,
laughter sounds
in quiet raindrops.

This poem was written in Saigon in 1965. It was raining hard. There was so much death and killing, so much destruction. And yet in one moment, I could hear the laughter in a raindrop.  ~Thich Nhat Hanh

.

From: Call Me by My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh

artemisdreaming: . Please Call Me by My True Names Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow — even today I am still arriving. Look deeply: every second I am arriving to be a bud on a Spring branch, to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings, learning to sing in my new nest, to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone. I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, to fear and to hope. The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death of all that is alive. I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river. And I am the bird that swoops down to swallow the mayfly. I am the frog swimming happily in the clear water of a pond. And I am the grass-snake that silently feeds itself on the frog. I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, my legs as thin as bamboo sticks. And I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to Uganda. I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat, who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea pirate. And I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving. I am a member of the Politburo, with plenty of power in my hands. And I am the man who has to pay his “debt of blood” to my people dying slowly in a forced-labor camp. My joy is like Spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth. My pain is like a river of tears, so vast it fills the four oceans. Please call me by my true names, so I can hear all my cries and my laughter at once, so I can see that my joy and pain are one. Please call me by my true names, so I can wake up, and so the door of my heart can be left open, the door of compassion. . ~Thich Nhat Hanh Call Me By My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh - image:  Gregory Colbert Artemis: Again

artemisdreaming:

.

Please Call Me by My True Names

Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow —
even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.

The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the Politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his “debt of blood” to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and my laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart
can be left open,
the door of compassion.

.


~Thich Nhat Hanh

Call Me By My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh - image:  Gregory Colbert

Artemis: Again

artemisdreaming: . Shui tiao ko tou The moon — how old is it?I hold the cup and ask the clear blue skyBut I don’t know, in palaces up thereWhen is tonight?If only I could ride the wind and see —But no, jade towersSo high up, might be too coldFor dancing with my shadow — How could there, be like here?Turning in the red chamberBeneath the carved windowThe brightness baffles sleepBut why complain?The moon is always full at partingA man knows grief and joy, separation and reunionThe moon, clouds and fair skies, waxing and waning —And old story, this struggle for perfection!Here’s to long lifeThis loveliness we share even a thousand miles apart! ~Su Tung-Po . From wiki: “Su Shi (traditional Chinese: 蘇軾; simplified Chinese: 苏轼; pinyin: Sū Shì), also known as Dong Po (January 8, 1037 – August 24, 1101) was an amazingly talented individual who lived in China, during the Song Dynasty (960 – 1279). He was an esteemed writer, revered poet, innovative painter, and a respected calligrapher, as well as being a pharmacologist, gastronome, and statesman of the Song Dynasty: he was a major personality of the Song era. Su Shi was an important figure in Song Dynasty politics, aligning himself with Sima Guang and others, against the New Policy party lead by Wang Anshi. Su Shi was famed as an essayist, and his prose writings lucidly contribute to the the understanding of topics such as 11th century Chinese travel literature or detailed information on the contemporary Chinese iron industry. His poetry has a long history of popularity and influence in China, Japan, and other areas in the near vicinity; and, his poetry is well known in the English speaking parts of the world through the translations by Arthur Waley, among others. In terms of the arts, Su Shi has some claim to being “the pre-eminent personality of the eleventh century.” image: Lang Ching-shan

artemisdreaming:

.

Shui tiao ko tou

The moon — how old is it?
I hold the cup and ask the clear blue sky
But I don’t know, in palaces up there
When is tonight?
If only I could ride the wind and see —
But no, jade towers
So high up, might be too cold
For dancing with my shadow —
How could there, be like here?

Turning in the red chamber
Beneath the carved window
The brightness baffles sleep
But why complain?
The moon is always full at parting
A man knows grief and joy, separation and reunion
The moon, clouds and fair skies, waxing and waning —
And old story, this struggle for perfection!
Here’s to long life
This loveliness we share even a thousand miles apart!

~Su Tung-Po

.

From wiki: “Su Shi (traditional Chinese: 蘇軾; simplified Chinese: 苏轼; pinyin: Sū Shì), also known as Dong Po (January 8, 1037 – August 24, 1101) was an amazingly talented individual who lived in China, during the Song Dynasty (960 – 1279). He was an esteemed writer, revered poet, innovative painter, and a respected calligrapher, as well as being a pharmacologist, gastronome, and statesman of the Song Dynasty: he was a major personality of the Song era. Su Shi was an important figure in Song Dynasty politics, aligning himself with Sima Guang and others, against the New Policy party lead by Wang Anshi. Su Shi was famed as an essayist, and his prose writings lucidly contribute to the the understanding of topics such as 11th century Chinese travel literature or detailed information on the contemporary Chinese iron industry. His poetry has a long history of popularity and influence in China, Japan, and other areas in the near vicinity; and, his poetry is well known in the English speaking parts of the world through the translations by Arthur Waley, among others. In terms of the arts, Su Shi has some claim to being “the pre-eminent personality of the eleventh century.” image: Lang Ching-shan