‘Whatever the world may say or do
My purpose is to remain emerald
And keep my colour true.’
Marcus Aurelius, PHILOSOPHER & LEADER OF ANCIENT ROME
E Valentine
‘Whatever the world may say or do
My purpose is to remain emerald
And keep my colour true.’
Marcus Aurelius, PHILOSOPHER & LEADER OF ANCIENT ROME
E Valentine
The Ones
The ones that cause you to bend in the breeze
The swayers, the swooners,
From your errors they tease.
The lovely lightness of mortals
When you listen they sing
Their hearts brimming they bring.
The ones whose moons cast a light
They dip you and dive you
Breathing your air they revive you.
They bring with them cascades
Sweetness song
Leading all along.
The ones that cause you to bend in the breeze
They please
They please
They please.
Chad, CHICAGO USA
The Heart
for years you fumble with it,
unsure how best to handle it’s complexities.
as though it were some ancient mechanism
whose purpose is clear, but whose instructions
were lost long ago.
and then, someone comes along
and helps you decipher it’s profound codes.
it’s gears begin meshing once more,
surrendering their slumber so seamlessly
that you lose all sense of time.
Lee, PERSIA
Victory
the face of victory
recognizes the fearless.
Amarilis, FRANCE
Open
I'd only tried looking into my own eyes once before. I'd been asked to do it as part of an exercise during a university course. The professor had suggested trying it as a means of getting in touch with a deeper knowledge of ones self. I could be quite shy at times, and would often catch myself averting my gaze when talking to other people. When I'd held my own gaze for the first time though I'd been unafraid, fascinated by what I saw. It was easy to do at the time because I was safe and content and simply exploring an idea. But my circumstances were different now. I was broken inside. I could feel it. I wasn't sure I wanted to see it too. For some reason I still felt compelled, pulled to anchor inside myself again, to find the safe harbour I knew existed there. My knuckles whitened as I clutched the sink, as though bracing myself for some terrifying journey into the unknown. My breath slowed, my eyes opened wider, and I dove in.
It was the spectrum of colour in the iris I noticed first. So much detail, so much intricacy in the design, like the kaleidoscopes I'd played with as a kid; patterns within patterns, colours within colours... The more I looked at these little spheres the more complex they became. Little green worlds behind my lashes, shifting and changing like weather across a landscape. I was stunned. I watched my pupils dilate and contract instantaneously as they adjusted to the levels of light and darkness around me. I wondered if there wasn't some mechanism that could adjust the levels of light and dark within me. I began to stare directly into the center of each pupil, slowly shifting my gaze back and forth in the mirror from one eye to the other. And then I lingered, captivated by what was being reflected back; I seemed to go on forever. The sum of all the moments that had led to this one were collected here, within my eyes. Every glorious or god- awful second, every immeasurable instant, every flickering silhouette, every sensation ever captured in the span of time that could be measured as my life was here, within me, embodied and embedded forever, shining back at me from a simple, standard, square piece of glass. And then it slowly dawned on me that there was no 'mechanism'. I was the mechanism. Me. My entire being and everything I was composed of; body, mind, heart, soul, breath, life...
I blinked, let go of the sink and looked up. I wasn't sure how much time had passed. I still couldn't see any sunlight. I knew I had a long winter ahead of me. This time, though, as I gazed upwards, I noticed some of the snow had begun to melt, creating tiny rivulets of water where before there had been only ice. I stood, watching the miniature rivers make their way, meandering tirelessly in every direction until they were finally free. It wasn't some kind of an epiphany but rather a deeper understanding of nature, and the nature of my sorrow - Just because I couldn't see the light didn't mean its warmth didn't still exist.
I turned back to the mirror and to my surprise there was a hint of a smile on my face. And I could see a vague spark in my eyes again, an ember still burning deep within them, not entirely snuffed out. I may not have recognized my own reflection but deep behind those eyes it seemed there was someone or something that did, and that someone or something was still very much alive despite the bitter cold of the season and the apparent absence of light.
Eve G, CANADA
All
L.O.V.E is all.
Sam B, AUSTRALIA
Light
Shadows turn
Straining against illuminating the dust
As it flickers beyond their grasp.
It is dawn.
Warmth awakened by the chime of bells once distant.
And in the turning
Hope is reborn.
Like the spirits of those
Who had forgotten daylight.
C Gold, MOROCCO
Beauty & Terror
Let everything happen to you.
Beauty and terror.
Just keep going.
No feeling is final.
RILKE
EV, Canada
Mud
Before the long weekend the SUV shone with the hues of bright cherry red. As we drove back to the city it was indistinguishable . A think layer of cracked, dried mud coated the vehicle like chocolate. Veins that reminisced where water once touched formed and hardened along the side doors and below the tinted windows. As we picked up speed along the freeway, dust that had settled in every crack and gently upon the roof freed itself in an angelic made up entirely of spices like cinnamon and nutmeg.
It rained all weekend long but today the heat of the afternoon sun scorched the earth and took with it any moisture it could find. Mud that was once viscous and moving was now solid and stagnant - like a memory.
Inside the SUV was damp and the smell of campfire, rain and wet dog clung to the air. These smells felt unnatural even though we were the ones that gave life to them. I think it’s because we were forced to face them now in this tight space.
Dev was driving so I had all the time in the world to think and process everything I saw, both presently and throughout our weekend away.
Driving back into the city always feels like getting rudely awakened from a dream that you were interested in - both physically and emotionally. The contrast of serene forest greens and the overwhelming amount of stimulus the city offers is astounding, always. It always gets me wondering why we are so drawn to city life. What brought us here in the first place? What keeps us coming back?
Dev’s concentration is fixed on the road. As more traffic build up his focus is more and more tuned to what is happening right now. The vehicles around us are pristine and shine vibrantly as we overtake them in haste.
What stories do they tell? Where have they traveled to? Impossible to tell without nature speaking for them and writing it’s time with the elements.
Dev and I are an open book. The mud caked and clinging to the sides, tires, roof, and windows hides nothing about our past whereabouts. I like to wear it like a badge, leaving the SUV dirty for the rest of the week. It tells everyone that we ventured outside the confines of civilization and survived.
I remember living with a friend before moving in with Dev and starting a garden. Her name was Molly and she was beautiful. A smile that made you melt and a sense of place that grounded any anxiety that might ever creep in. She had a special relationship with the earth and mud. In the garden she taught me to walk barefoot and squish the black mud between my toes. She said it released toxicity, but I always felt it cleared my mind. I think it’s because you feel much more with the soles of your feet that we give it credit. Mud gets so easily into every curve and crack that it becomes formed to the body. The textures of velvet and fine sand caress rather than repulse. Mud is never slimy, as many preconceive. It’s natural. Probably the closest to natural we as humans can get.
And yet we wash it off, like sins that our pride can no longer handle. A state of clean is more natural than a true connection to the earth.
We’ll wash the SUV tomorrow and the memories that were made over the long weekend will one day fade. But that is tomorrow. Today, when we get back into the city with our dirty SUV, stinking of smoke and sweat, I still honour the present , proud of the mud we brought with us.
Enzo, CANADA
Doorways
The creak of wood, unnoticeable because unexpected
The sound of faint footsteps unmoving because unnoticed
The presence of body, movement, life, breath undistinguishable because unseen
Knock Knock Knock
Heard Felt Noticed
Uncertain because unexpected
The ears focused on the sound of the disturbance
The heart focused on the emotion of the connection
The mind focused on the purpose of the interaction
Is it curiosity, fear or duty that moves us towards the sound?
The presence of of body movement life breath undistinguishable but now known
The creak of cold wood under feet
The feeling of metal on hand
The uncertainty of removing the barrier
Click Clack Urch
Warmth Recognition Happiness
Hello friend. What a surprise. Come inside.
Dev, CANADA
Love
Rose my love,
It has been an amazing experience knowing you and now reconnecting with each other. When I’m with you I feel complete. You have everything I’ve been searching for in a partner and so much more. Spending these last few weeks together reaffirms my dreams of finding that one special person that completes me so very well and I love you. I love your little quarks and squeaks and oddities that make you who you are and I smile at the thought of spending my life with you leaving the nest! Good or bad, I’ll never run or turn my back on us. My heart runs deep with love and you continue to dive further into its depths. I’m your man Rose, and you’re my Queen. I’m with even when you cant’ see me. I’ll hold space for you when you’re confused and ground you when life sweeps you off your feet.
Rose… I love you.
-Chris
A letter shared by Rose from a love she lost too soon. CANADA
July
I’ve never written something like this before. I kinda like to keep to myself but I had to say something. I didn’t know what to title this either because it could be about Joy or Justice or Just plain living.
My country is supposed to be celebrating its freedoms today but I watched a president drive the sword of victory deeper into our hearts. I don’t remember the land of the free that people talk about because I feel like I’ve lived in a land of fear for too long.
I love America. I don’t know what I’d do without her but I think she’s been forgotten. Stuffed into the pockets of the rich while she was trying to fight for pennies to feed the poor. We’ve gotta keep rising up and now that we’ve risen we gotta keep standing strong. The world is changing and we’ve gotta change with it. We are changed because of it.
I will celebrate this land again when justice is served and when joy is shared by all. I may not see it all in my lifetime but you can be damn sure I’ll fight for it while I still have the time.
July, USA
Empathy
I want to know your ache.
And not just the one that you have packaged up neatly. Not the watered down, the silver lining, or the appropriate version. I want to know the ache within the ache. I want to know who you are when everything else is stripped away.
Then, and only then, will I tell you that I sat by my sister’s bed and prayed for the sweet relief of death to take her spirit. Only then will I tell you that I share the pain, the universal pain, disguised in different circumstances but always the same. Hold my hand as we open our eyes to the truth that we are both fundamentally alone and have an undeniable kinship with all living beings. Look me in the eye and tell me what makes you crumble and I promise I won’t look away. For I know that the amount of wisdom we gain is directly proportional to the storms we have walked through, not around. Tell me that you will still risk it all for love, despite your deepest betrayal. Tell me the ache within the ache and I will tell you mine.
Ashley, CANADA
Stories
I found your idea of having a web site which also posts people’s stories or poems very interesting. Sharing beautiful stories or deep thoughts with people is very fulfilling and kinda of free university as one enriches their knowledge.
Throughout my existence my life is full of stories and is not to say which is good or bad. Either stories has taught me a lesson or are the roots of my current character.
I am writing a personal book dedicated to my son that expresses facts and feelings throughout my life, that I wish him to read when he is older. Alexandros, can read and learn about the refinement of his father’s personality, read about the feelings of unconditional love that distance cannot ruin, rather deepens.
The inspiration to write this book was born when my 92 year old father whom I was taking care of for the last few years, shared beautiful, touching and meaningful stories with me. Stories at times accompanied with tears and laughter, stories about places where the wolves were silent because men were howling. I was listening in a state beyond imagination and it was an eye opener to see what we have and how we live today. Thus, the majority of mankind are dissatisfied with their existence searching beyond horizons for happiness, for contentment.
Aris, GREECE