Heritage Day

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Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

Circles Of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – A Review

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‘The twenty two relationships of a spiritual life and culture – and why they need protection’

Yet another from Moon Books’gems!

This wasn’t an easy book to put down, yet it was necessary to do that from time to time in order to get the full message of it!

We all know that there are certain ways of different cultures and religions, including sacred rights, days of celebration, and fewer know that even some day to day routines are also rooted in the sacred.

This concise eye-opener could not have come at a better time, for our generation is possibly among the most fearful the universe will ever experience!

The pages and messages and lessons are honestly comforting for a time when the silence is scarce and the noise is utterly scary.

‘The Good Life’ as Mr. Brendan Myers describes it, becomes less of an abstract, almost unreachable idea and simplifies it in ways that once read cannot be forgotten.

Learning the relationships between yourself and the landscape, the neighborhood, animals, doctors… to name a few; is the lightest, most pleasant melody of an alarm that wakes you to discover that you have just begun experiencing life at its true pace and meaning for the very first time.

A must read for the truth seeking soul.

Circles of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – For those of you more curious here’s the link that will help get hold of this one.

Love and Light!

Canis Lupus

Bitter Mistress

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Here in the madness of everyday foolishness I give into my monsters. I allow them to coax my spirit with their anger. I swallow regret with a teaspoon of pride and suddenly the world makes more sense. There are no more sonnets or love poems to be expected from this being… unless the other appears miraculously and deletes the folders of mistrust which are frozen as a constant back screen on the system that is her mind; like an indestructible virus slowly eating away at the system as a whole. She finds comfort in the cradles of old songs, the kind that inspired the flowing red from her veins, but that’s unimportant… nothing really matters now. The other girl has managed to return, colder and meaner and more prohibiting than ever and I rejoice that I am not alone in my own brain anymore so that she may remind me that no-one is worthy of her honesty or truth… our honesty… our truth. If fate existed, right now; I’m riding her from the back doggie style.

Now feel the tingle of the sneer down your spine reminding you to stop being a hypocrite. We all wish to be brave enough to be the gods of our own universes, I’m just cocky enough to say it loud and proud and not giving a fuck about what that’s going to sound like or alternatively what anyone else’s thoughts are on the topic. This is my life, my struggle and all along I’ve gone through it all alone. I therefore have no obligation to be thoughtful of you because you don’t matter to me. This is the safe house of a soul, heart and spirit that are so worn out that they are beyond recognition. I know not whether these really are mine anymore-I’m even more uncertain of who I once thought I was and who I am now or what I am aiming for in life, but I suppose since I write my own destiny on a tattered little book I bought yesterday from ‘Spar’ for R4.50 … I make the rules and sometimes chaos really does rule over any other rule. I invited Delirium in; she has happily brought Death with her. To kill what once was the girl in a long-since shattered mirror now forming just a broken frame around a yellowing white wall and return to me in a dead, ghostly life the girl who once scared every feeling off before it could hurt.

Welcome home sweet bitter mistress.

Tonight I let you take over me entirely and what does it matter if the act of making love remains metaphorical to me for the rest of this existence? I will still create more art than those constantly active because I will be hungry for passion always when the bitter other me isn’t looking. In those precious moments I will redirect my gaze from wishing to create and having you experience what I want you to. I will be the rapist of your mind… bestowing on you the truth no matter how many times you deny it. I will repeat and scream it at you until you have finally believed that the “I” is the most important entity in your world.

Who can say that one reality is more important than another? It is the “I” of your world that only experiences what it does and it is that same entity who will deliver the information gathered to the greater whole when dead.  

Who cares why she lied and said the things she didn’t mean… the bottom line is lies and dishonesty, why cling on to those? Surely I deserve better than to be lied to? Surely I deserve to be cared for, to be fussed over, and to be a sun for another dark soul?  One wants not to question every ‘I miss you’ although that is why my bitter mistress has returned. Her function is to instill more doubt until I can no longer get hurt. My mind, soul and heart need to think always together, not allowing the heart to just feel as it pleases. Past experience has shown us that it is that initiative of the heart is what ends up breaking it in the first place. How much more anguish do I wanna allow into my life? How many humiliations and degradations? So Carpe-Diem little mistress and don’t you ever let me feel again!

‘Mythos’

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In Bulgarian the word ‘samo’ means ‘only’ or ‘just’ or ‘alone’… the word ‘diva’ means ‘wild’ (this in the feminine form).

 

Website for this image:http://satrae.swu.bg/projects-and-discoveries/discover1.aspx?lang=en

Megalithic Thracian Sanctuary “Gradisteto”- Dolno Dryanovo, Gotse Delchev Region

In this rather intricate language, deciding whether a word is in the feminine or masculine form is rather simple: If a the noun ends on –ova, iva, eva, or even just a – then we can safely conclude that it is a lady noun… on the contrary if your noun ends on – iv, ov, en ,ev etc. – it is a Mr. noun.

 

Home is a wondrous place!

The Balkans are overwhelming, the buildings are ancient – houses, churches, parks, museums; they are all centuries old while the history is incredibly interesting. Our mythology is almost completely lost as the past few generations have become more and more desensitized to the sacred land that is Bulgaria and it makes me really sad.

A few months ago I asked my mother what the Bulgarians believed in before we became Christianized and in turn she told me that we have never believed in anything else.

 

Let’s take a step to the right, find a comfortable spot which would be concentrated enough to analyze and just try to understand why many of us are concerned about such responses.

 

Mythology is said to play a very important role in one person’s upbringing and education. The tales are worth centuries of history that could not and has not been recorded, but has been passed down from generation to generation, so when a generation begins to lose that sense of history, magic and wonder and they turn to their parents (who are naturally supposed to be teachers, guides etc) but they have no idea about what their kid is asking… well I feel it is reason enough to panic! Where to without mythology, preservation of culture and history? Do we roll on with the times and become half-human, lost in the chase for fame and fortune without a care for anything else apart from the next pay cheque?

 

In 1422 the once powerful Bulgarian empire collapsed and was enslaved by the Ottoman Turks thereafter… many sources and historians confirm that the slavery was severe, women and children were raped and killed in attempt to diminish the Bulgarian bloodline. Men were burned alive and shot (amongst other things).

 

Everyone knows that no invading power has the knowledge of a territory better than the folk living on the land, and so brave and selfless women from each Balkan region in Bulgaria preserved the bloodline for over 500 years. This is not just mythology if you think about it. How else does a bloodline survive and remain pure for so long given the violent attempts to get rid of it?

 

I leave you with two thoughts for the day:

 

Think about the number 3 in terms of its use in so many cultures, beliefs and in mythology…

 

Bulgarian men are known to be some of the most abusive toward their women… they seem to always need to prove themselves as ‘men’… consider this; what could possibly have  happened to trigger this behavior that seems to be genetically imprinted on almost every man with Bulgarian blood in him?

 

Next up:

 

‘Of Wood Nymphs and Samodivas’