What gives you pain?

Raspberry taste buds

What gives me pain
is
the last fresh Summer’s
Raspberry

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Life’s A Raft

gericault-raft_of_the_medusa
 
My ship, my Titanic

Has hit an Iceberg

Her last passengers

Move to the tip and

Near-vertical

gaze at  with

foundered horror

the last lifeboats’

departure

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“Dreams” by Wislawa Szymborska

” He looked at his own Soul with a Telescope.
What seemed all irregular, he saw and shewed to
be beautiful Constellations: and he added to the
consciousness hidden worlds within worlds.”
Coleridge, NotebooksXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I have reblogged this post from dreamrly and got acquainted with it from http://symbolreader.net/
If you’ve read any of my posts, you may have noticed my interest with “the dream world”.This post /blog shares this interest and an astute poem by Wislawa Szymborska open to discussion, especially about dreams beyond analysis. I find it a po(e)tent means (one “Telescope” of sorts) at “looking at [one’s] soul “as Coleridge so aptly put it.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

dreamingly yours,
MichalXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Related PostsXXX
https://happyheuristics.wordpress.com/2012/12/04/metaphors-coaching-with-right-brain-modalities/
https://happyheuristics.wordpress.com/2013/07/01/mythology-1-evolution-as-revelation/

The Grand Perhaps

150px-Growthcone

Be aware, the La-

conic Sage in-

structs:

The Path.

Is that all it takes?

Fair and square.

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Hyperdialectic: A Structural and Structuring Heuristics

Dynamics of Opposites: Hyperdialectic

What
 we
 call 
hyperdialectic 
is 
a
 thought…that
 is
 capable
 of 
reaching 
truth 
because 
it
 envisages 
without restriction 
the
 plurality 
of 
the
 relationships 
and
 what 
has 
been 
called ambiguity. The bad dialectic 
is
 that 
which
 thinks
 it 
recomposes
 being 
by 
a 
thetic 
thought, by 
an
 assemblage
 of 
statements, 
by 
thesis,
 antithesis,
 and 
synthesis; 
the
 good 
dialectic
 is 
that
 which
 is
 conscious 
of 
the fact 
that
 every
 thesis
 is 
an
 idealization, that
 Being 
is
 not 
made 
up
 of
 idealizations
 or 
of 
things
 said, 
as
 the 
old
 logic 
believed, 
but 
of 
bound
 wholes 
where
 signification 
never 
is 
except 
in tendency*, where the inertia of the content never permits the defining of one term as positive, another term as negative, and still less a third term as absolute suppression of the negative by itself. (Merleau-Ponty The Visible and Invisible)

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Gammify: the 21 Century Name of the Game

Gamification of Fitness
Physiologically speaking, there are 2 classic ways to lose weight: food intake reduction or/and burning off calories. Wii Fit and its gamification ploys seem to represent a third one, according to L, an anti-fitness acquaintance. Ever since I know her, L could never stick to a fitness routine. She’s always had something to say about the fitness instructor ‘who did not like her’ at the gym, to justify her giving up or she used to say that she felt like in the chamber of torture. [I don’t blame her. If you’ve followed this blog, you know that I am not a fan of starvation or torture myself, and the ‘physical’ solution is only one part of the answer. Not only TLC (Therapeutic Lifestyle Changes) but also TLC (Tender (self) Love and Care, for example) are called for for weightloss] Lo and behold at our next encounter: I’d swear she’d lost 20 pounds. Continue reading

Bougainvillier

Superbe poème. Israel est saturée de bougainvilliers aux rouges divers et chatoyants excactement comme dans la photo. J’aime particulièrement la dernière strophe qui rend parfaitement le sentiment d’éphémere que j’éprouve à la vue de cette plante au fil des saisons, courte pour l’automne-hivers, ici,très Wabi-Sabi. Merci
You can find the English version at http://unbuttonedorundone.wordpress.com/2013/05/24/bougainvillea-2/
Exemple de poème d’insipiration Wabi: Je traite du sujet dans un page de mon blog:
https://happyheuristics.wordpress.com/2013/05/24/wabi-sabi-leonard-koren-voir-la-vie-en-wabi-sabi/

unbuttoned or undone

Quand j’aurai trouvé les mots
Je les écrirai sur ces pétales de papier
Minces et pourtant solides, lisses mais veinées
De rêves et de mirages dorés.

Quand les mots se cachent et m’échappent
Je vois leurs couleurs dans les reflets
De passion, dans les pigments rouges
Extasiés, saturés, enflammés qui coulent
Et se mélangent sous un ciel d’alizées.

Quand les mots me trahissent et l’émoi
Déraisonné mais sensé reste muet,
J’entends la douce harmonie à trois voix
L’équilibre de son trèfle tremblant
Sous la chaleur et riant sous la pluie.

Quand les fleurs sont assurément épuisées
Dans le bonheur des caresses torrides
Et des baisers brulants du soleil d’été
Elles s’envolent en mille soupirs
De papillons sans mots pour mourir.

2013-05-23 08.18.24

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