This is a blog where I share my personal thoughts and articles about karezza, sexuality, religion, spirituality, plant medicine, poetry and philosophy.
09 juli 2017
Søren Kirkegaard quotes
IF I WERE TO WISH FOR ANYTHING, I SHOULD NOT WISH FOR WEALTH AND POWER, BUT FOR THE PASSIONATE SENSE OF THE POTENTIAL, FOR THE EYE WHICH, EVER YOUNG AND ARDENT, SEES THE POSSIBLE. PLEASURE DISAPPOINTS, POSSIBILITY NEVER. AND WHAT WINE IS SO SPARKLING, WHAT SO FRAGRANT, WHAT SO INTOXICATING AS POSSIBILITY!
08 juli 2017
2 Spinoza quotes
“The more you struggle to live, the less you live. Give up the notion that you must be sure of what you are doing. Instead, surrender to what is real within you, for that alone is sure....you are above everything distressing.”
― Baruch Spinoza
“Happiness is not the reward of virtue, but is virtue itself; nor do we delight in happiness because we restrain from our lusts; but on the contrary, because we delight in it, therefore we are able to restrain them.”
― Baruch Spinoza
― Baruch Spinoza
“Happiness is not the reward of virtue, but is virtue itself; nor do we delight in happiness because we restrain from our lusts; but on the contrary, because we delight in it, therefore we are able to restrain them.”
― Baruch Spinoza
05 juli 2017
Poems by Paul Celan
Autumn nibbles its leaf right from my hand: we're friends.
We shell time from the nuts and teach it to walk:
time turns back into its shell.
In the mirror is Sunday,
in dream goes sleeping,
the mouth speaks true.
My eyes goes down to my lover's loins:
we gaze at each other,
we say dark things,
we love one another like poppy and memory,
we slumber like wine in the seashells,
like the sea in the moon's blood-beam.
We stand at the window embracing, they watch from the street:
It's time people knew!
It's time the stone consented to bloom,
a heart beat for unrest.
It's time it came time.
It is time.
“With wine and being lost, with
We shell time from the nuts and teach it to walk:
time turns back into its shell.
In the mirror is Sunday,
in dream goes sleeping,
the mouth speaks true.
My eyes goes down to my lover's loins:
we gaze at each other,
we say dark things,
we love one another like poppy and memory,
we slumber like wine in the seashells,
like the sea in the moon's blood-beam.
We stand at the window embracing, they watch from the street:
It's time people knew!
It's time the stone consented to bloom,
a heart beat for unrest.
It's time it came time.
It is time.
Grasped, Lord, already,
clawed into one another, as if
the body of each of us were
your body, Lord.
To the trough we went, Lord.
It was blood, it was
what you shed, Lord.
It glistened.
Pray, Lord.
We are near.
Death is a master from Germany.
“With wine and being lost, with
less and less of both:
I rode through the snow, do you read me
I rode God far--I rode God
near, he sang,
it was
our last ride over
the hurdled humans.
They cowered when
they heard us
overhead, they
wrote, they
lied our neighing
into one of their
image-ridden languages.”
28 juni 2017
27 juni 2017
Hvorfor kaller de meg sterk?
Det har jeg lurt på. Hva gjør meg sterk som gråter, har blitt knekt og fullstendig knust? I natt skjønte jeg det omsider. Når man har blitt knust må man bygge seg selv opp igjen. Da velger man bevisst deler basert på nye verdier man ble klar over etter at man ble knust. Verdier man står for gjør en mer solid enn verdier man fikk i arv. En som har vært knekt har måtte finne styrke for å reise seg. Den som har ligget nede har funnet selvrespekt for å stå opp og face verden igjen.
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Quotes from Ruth Burrows
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