"Satyrs at Play" - aediculaantinoi.wordpress.com: HADRIAN and ANTINOUS finally release their embrace, and notice DIONYSOS

Monday, February 20, 2017

Long Legged Chuckster

Long Legged Chuckster,
A stranger, trickster, friend,
Hermes winged and masked,
The messenger of Gods.
"Hello", you said,
And I do miss you still.

We should get out, yeah:
From under our skins,
Our fates, sharp icicles
Circling the universe of hearts,
From dead pretentious spaces,
From pains and memories,
And chaos, nonsense, slums
Of our existence; we should.

Give me your hand,
And out we go...
Through fits and turns of outrageous fortune,
Winged shoes, masked faces,
Hand in hand...
Bodies-Souls together,
Heads up, heads on,
The messengers of Gods
And their soldiers,
Interpreters of their wills and whims,
Performers of their treats and tricks,
The carriers of their duties,
The winged Semigods,
And dogs their, too.

In the fields we'll lay,
Dead or alive,
Contented or not,
Or disappointed,
Or point not made...
Or plain broke in spirit,
Or still going strong,
The messengers of Gods.


M.N.
2.20.17


Wednesday, February 15, 2017

The Hermes Songs: ВОРОВСКАЯ ЛЮБОВЬ - Подражание Есенину

Image result

The Hermes Songs

No automatic alt text available.

ВОРОВСКАЯ ЛЮБОВЬ 
Подражание Есенину 

Ни кола ни двора
Ни копья у вора,
Резвых тройка стара,
И менять их пора

А ему хоть бы хны
Снятся сладкие сны
И хоть стены тесны, 
Близко уж до весны

А ему трын-трава
А ему до сосны
И пустая молва
И тревожные сны

Лишь одно ценит вор
С молодых давних пор
Своей воли простор
И Любимого взор

Лишь одно он украл
Лишь одно он нашёл:
Вольный ветер у скал
И губ Милого шёлк

Вот дороже что им
Злата и серебра:
Он с Любимым своим
Как ребро от ребра

Воровская любовь
Воровское добро:
В жилах смешана кровь
И ребро о ребро

Вот добыча его
Что ценнее всего:
Воля сердца его
И страсть сердца его

И порою мне жаль
С молодых давних пор
Что не мне эта даль
И что вовсе не вор

Не стоял у причал
На охоту не шёл
Ничего не украл
Ничего не нашёл


M.N.
2.14.17 

Image result

hercules myths ___________________________________________________________________

Image result for hermes

The God of Thieves, Arts, Artisans, Trades, Inventions, Innovations, and Communications. 

"He is also a trickster god". 

Hermes,

Hermes - Wikipedia
Thursday February 16th, 2017 at 6:49 AM
1 Share 
Hermes (/ˈhɜːrmiːz/; Greek: Ἑρμῆς) is an Olympian god in Greek religion and mythology, the son of Zeus and the Pleiad Maia, and the second youngest of the Olympian gods (Dionysus being the youngest).

Hermes is considered a god of transitions and boundaries. He is described as quick and cunning, moving freely between the worlds of the mortal and divine. He is also portrayed as an emissary and messenger of the gods;[1] an intercessor between mortals and the divine, and conductor of souls into the afterlife. He has been viewed as the protector and patron of herdsmen, thieves,[2] oratory and wit, literature and poetry, athletics and sports, invention and trade,[3] roads, boundaries and travelers.[4]

In some myths, he is a trickster and outwits other gods for his own satisfaction or for the sake of humankind. His attributes and symbols include the herma, the rooster, the tortoise, satchel or pouch, winged sandals, and winged cap. His main symbol is the Greek kerykeion or Latin caduceus, which appears in a form of two snakes wrapped around a winged staff with carvings of the other gods.[5]

In the Roman adaptation of the Greek pantheon (see interpretatio romana), Hermes is identified with the Roman god Mercury,[6] who, though inherited from the Etruscans, developed many similar characteristics such as being the patron of commerce.


Discovering the Male Mysteries


Mercury on my mind

With the recent news about the NASA Messenger probe orbiting the planet Mercury and today being the first day of a Mercury retrograde period, I’ve got Mercury on my mind and thought this might be a great time to post something about the ancient Roman god Mercury, or more specifically his Greek counterpart Hermes.

Hermes is the Greek god of crossroads, boundaries, communication, travel, commerce,  shepherds and cowherds, orators, poets and writers, athletes, and thieves. Hermes is a messenger between the gods and men and also a psychopomp escorting the dead to the Underworld. Hermes is one of only a few gods who could cross to and from the Underworld without hindrance. He is also a trickster god.

Hermes is most often portrayed wearing a winged cap, winged sandals, and carrying either a caduceus (staff entertwined by two serpents) or a kerykeion (a staff topped with a symbol similar to the astrological symbol for Taurus).  His other symbols include purses or bags, roosters, and tortoises.

Hermes protects and takes care of travelers, miscreants, harlets, crones, and thieves. As a runner himself, he is also always looking out for runners and athletes. People would offer him sacrifices before taking a trip to ensure a safe and easy journey.

Originally, Hermes was an older, bearded, phallic god of boundaries.  Piles of stones called herms were placed at boundaries and as wayside markers. Later these were replaced with  rectangular pillars with a Herme’s bearded head and an erect phallus. In Athens, these were even placed outside houses for good luck.

Hermes later became the youthful athlete that we are most familiar with.  His realm included the gymnasia and Greek artists revised his statues to reflect a handsome, athletic youth and his statues along with those of Eros and Heracles were often found in the gymnasia.

Eros, Hermes, and Heracles made up a homoerotic trinity of gods presiding over homosexual relations.  Eros bestowed the blessing of physical beauty onto male lovers. Heracles offered strength to male sexual partners. Hermes bestowed lovers with the gift of eloquence.

Like most Greek gods, Hermes had both female and male lovers. Hermes male lovers included Amphion, Antheus, Chryses, Crocus, Perseus, and Therses.

Later on in the third century CE Egypt, Hermes was invoked as “Hermes of the Underworld” in both homoerotic and lesbian love spells. This is evidenced  in a collection of texts known as the Greek Magical Papyri used in a Hellenistic system of magic

LUTZ USEX633 0


Hercules has been the icon of alpha-masculinty for centuries 
but do you know about his gay love life?
_____________________________________
Image result for hermes bi-homo-sexuality
________________________________________

Image result for hermes

Image result for геркулес



Published on Nov 29, 2013
Excellent romantic piece of music by the great Russian composer Igor Krutoy
A little about him.

____________________________________________________________



Hercules - Beginning (The Gospel Truth) HD

Published on Nov 15, 2015

Hercules - YT 

hercules songs

_______________________________________________________






Saturday, February 11, 2017

Strange mystery of child

Strange mystery of child: 
Like raindrop clear, 
Like sunshine kind, 
Like ocean warm in tropics 

In soldier's body, 
By wounds and duties toughened, 
By death bypassed, 
Of metal made yet supple 

In mortal flesh, 
Immortal lives the spirit,  
God's breath absorbed, 
And yet so real. 

So clear and so real was he, 
I couldn't see through 
This strange mystery,  
And can't see yet.

Forever mystery, 
And longing, 
And pain, 
And hunger for his touch.  

M.N. 
2.11.17 

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

The Song of The Headless Horseman

Image result for headless horseman


The Song of The Headless Horseman

Night and day, and day and night 
Rides his horse still, watchful knight 
Night and day, and day and night 

Headless body stiff and tight 
He and horse are iron tied 
Night and day, and day and night 

Mighty sword in lifeless hand 
Like the frozen magic wand 
At his last and deadly stand 

Vaunted trophy is his head: 
As the cup in gold it's set 
Wine to hold and blood to let 

No food and no sleep, 
No face, no upper lip 
Joined he is with horse at hip 

He did take his fate in stride 
And was set for his last ride
When the battle changed its tide

Brave he was, and bold he was 
Steely tree above the straws 
First he fought and first he rose 

Handsome was he, loved by all, 
Loved to love, and loved to brawl,
Lived to live and not to crawl

Shadow of his gloried self 
Golden cup on wooden shelf
Empty frame of strength and stealth 

M.N. 
2.8.17 


Image result for skull as golden cup


Sunday, January 22, 2017

The Stone



"Нет на земле твоего короля..."
Анна Ахматова "Сероглазый король"


Nothing but pain, crazy sweet-bitter pain
Blurry sepia trace down memory lane

Blond like white magic of Petersburg night

"Straight as an arrow" was gayish-eyed knight

We smoked some good grass and we walked all the way
Down memory lane on a warm summer day

"You're getting too close", coyly he smiled
I wasn't but distanced myself for a while

"You killed it, you're cold", I hear him say
Down memory lane in a sorrowful sway

Fireplace guard, grayish-eyed knight
Memory lane, cold long night

"You wrote me a poem, you killed me again
You needed the stone on your memory lane..."

M.N.

1.22.17 - 7.21.15 


the Rosetta Stone

_____________________________________________________________________


Saturday, January 7, 2017

Howl!


Wolves Howl 

Uploaded on Jan 31, 2008
These are my favorite animals - wolves. They're howling up to the moon and they're calling other Wolves. 


Howl!

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked...
ALLEN GINSBERG

Howl too:
Who-o-o-o? Who-o-o-o? Who-o-o-o?
Who? Who? Who?
That's who.
Howl now too!

The America of my dreams:
Shattered.
Raped.
That's who.

Ou-u-u... Ou-u-u... Ou-u-u...
That's who.
Howl now:
Ou-u-u... Ou-u-u... Ou-u-u...

Mother Wolf of Rome howls.
Your kids are lost;
Kidnapped,
Brainwashed,
Turned against you -
Howl now!

Where is my Kalashnikov?
Unzip the bag,
Howl now!

Ochlos rules:
Blind,
Mislead,
Seduced
By the Robot-Clown,
The quintessence of cheap posh,
The bankrupt puppet,
Pretending to be rich,
Staying afloat
On the oil soaked paper,
Controlled by the Kremlin's strings -
Howl now!

Mad, poor wretched soul,
A juvenile delinquent
Reaching to the stars,
Depressed, despondent, empty,
Deceptions shackled and afflicted with,
Afflicting others
With anger, ignorance, importance
Of birth rights laws;
Transmitting his infection,
His blindness virus
So readily, so fast;
Killing you softly with the foreign vengeance -
Howl now!

Your sons,
The best of Guardians,
To the slaughter sends he,
Repaying debt.
This is his payment,
Calculated by the accountants to a penny
On his mortgage -
Howl now!

Cry Naomi, howl:
The best is yet to come.
Lend me your delusions,
Your comfort,
Your respite, your escape,
I need them:
The mind is of no use,
Of no goal, of no purpose, and of no help -
Howl now!

2

"Wha happind", eah?
Your eyes were wide shut,
But mouths now are wide open,
Your brains apart, yelling in disbelief:
"Wha happind" to you, America?

Elected King to rule,
The Master of plantations,
Live-in bananas grower,
The seller of simplicities,
Store manager for neighbors,
Peaking through the walls
With hungry eyes.

I never traveled you,
But wanted so much
To see your cities,
Your towns, you hamlets,
Your churches, piercing heavens
With sharp demanding screams,
With the eternal quest:
"Not by the bread alone!"

Your churchbells,
Singing the hymn of your soul
That reached me in my old wilderness,
Making my soul vibrate
With resonance and longing,
With love and trust
In promise and unknown,
As if I knew it always.

Your people,
So mysterious, and yet so close:
I never felt apart from them,
I always felt American,
And proud was and am.

"I want you to be happy here",
Said the hotel manager,
Where I stayed my first days.
These words did strike me
With kindness and sincerity,
They rang of truth and custom,
I heard them often.

Your parks, your mountains,
Your hills, your valleys,
Extensions of infinity,
With no horizons,
Covered with flowers,
So simple, elegant, unique,
Erotic in the mental mix,
The mystery of scents,
The knowledge so close yet so far,
Beyond the edge unreachable...

I didn't see you, I didn't know you,
And know not you still:
Intriguing puzzle,
Heart of the bulb
Of coming flowers: free-blooming,
Unsuppressible, the gift of man and nature
Delight of mind and senses
Defying definitions:
Your essence not for words,
They are too simple,
Good only for simple minded sellers,
And simple price tags, dollar signs in bold.

God's gift of the Unknown,
And the Unknowable,
You are just magic flower,
A field of flowers,
Free-blooming, different, diverse,
Unique, inimitable, fascinating
For the world to love,
To hate, to envy, to admire,
And to fear, and to respect your will.

My America was always in me,
Within me, merged with my soul.
Cerebral and abstract?
Devoid of life, of flesh,
And pain, and struggle?
Do I really know her?

The mystery that is forbidden, unresolved,
Unanalyzable, a "thing in itself"...
And better left as is and undefined?
Who knows her?
Who has the right to claim
Elusive knowledge, beyond the daily truths?
Beyond the words, the tags, and empty definitions?

3

What happened then?
Who blinded you with hatred?
Who stole your mind?
Who wants to steal your freedom?
Who wants the slaves and zombies
To roam your streets,
Ready to discharge the hidden weapons
By ordered hateful push of their deadly triggers?

Howl!


Michael Novakhov


Thursday, November 12, 2015

In A Nutshell

"You and I are just two nuts:
Two single nuts, same single shell..." 

From Omar Khayyam (where is the original?) 




Happy Holidays!
_____________________________________________________________________

Thursday, November 5, 2015

The Crooked Thing | The rolls of duty: The very uncollected stories about the Not So Special Agent Salmon Wild

The rolls of duty
The very uncollected stories about the Not So Special Agent Salmon Wild 

The Crooked Thing 

For five hours straight (straight!) agent Wild played with his toplap and got no luck.
He tried:
"I am a pretty pretty little girl."
"I like to travel."
"Where is my big white (or black) knight?"
"I want to explore."
"I am curious."
 "I am a pretty pretty little boy."
"I need someone to teach me what the big boys do."
And still no luck. Just some pervert came up on line, one-eyed pirate in Napoleon's hat.
"What are you, a girl, a boy or hermaphrodite?", he inquired obnoxiously.
"I am a girl", decided agent White.
"You are crooked. And nasty!" After the pirate came up with his diagnosis he disappeared forever.
"Why am I so unlucky, mused agent Wild; maybe I really am crooked..."
And he was.  That what the bureau psychiatrist told him, because his mother was pulling his leg too much. That's how he became crooked at his toplap.
"Maybe I should become a girl, he contemplated deeply. This crooked thing is too ugly anyway."
And suddenly he felt excited.
"This is my inner girl", he guessed. And suddenly the epiphany descended upon him.
"I am a transgender", he realized. "Big-trance-fat-chance-gender".
And now everything fell into place.
"They will transform me from not so special into the regular, and then into the trans-special agent. I will be a trans-made man. It is a trance-formation time now. They will trance-appoint me a director one day and I will trance-rule America!"
The not so special agent Wild started to feel a little dizzy, like really going into a trance. Now, when he found out who he really was, he did not need to play with his crooked toplap. He disassembled and transformed it into a Stingray device.
He decided to spy on his girlfriend Marsha Bilderbrandt. She was not a not so special agent like himself but she was somewhat special to his heart and his crooked thing. And much to his surprise agent Wild detected some strange noises coming from Marsha's bedroom via his Stingray device.
"Ah, Marsha screamed and panted, ah! Ah! Ah!" She was having sex.
"How strange, thought agent Wild, Marsha is having sex! And without me! But with whom?!"
Blood flushed into his big round square jawed face, his heart was pounding and pumping like the overworked motor, his arms and legs were turning in waves from cotton into wool, into steel and back into cotton. He punched the clock, slammed his supervisor over the head with his toplap-Stingray and ran out to the street.

"FBI!" announced agent Wild at Marsha's door; loudly and with the self-assured sense of righteousness that only the FBI agents have, especially during the important operations. "Open that damn door or I will blow your brains out!"
His gun was ready and pointing at the door. It was not crooked, it was a top gun.
"Oh, it's you, darling", Marsha said, opening the door. "What's the matter, what happened?"
She was wrapped in a colorful beach towel and was quite red in her face and upper body. Hiding behind her was something shady and hurly-burly and also very hairy. This something was also wrapped in a towel but white and short one.
"And what's that?!" exclaimed agent Wild pointing to the hurly-burly thing which started to swirl around, grimacing and making strange unintelligible sounds under the penetrating gaze of agent Wild.
"Oh, it's just a plumber, darling. I called him to fix my shower head", said Marsha, trying to lift her hair by blowing up at it towards her forehead and pulling up her towel.
"Just a plumber", repeated after her agent Wild, incredulously and ironically. You didn't have to call some plumber to fix your shower head, you have me for that!"
"But you are so busy, darling, with your G-things, just like all of you, G-men. I didn't want to bother you with some small and tiny shower head, you are good for big jobs. It's just some little, good for nothing plumber, he doesn't even speak English and I am not even sure if he has a license. Betsy recommended him, she said, "he's g-o-o-o-d"...
"No eeglis, no lices..." confirmed the hurly-burly thing jumping into his dirty jeans and waiving a screwdriver, just in case. "Agua, agua, mucho agua..." He tried to explain his need for a towel.
"Well, anyway, he has to go now, he needs some parts. Right, Jose?" said Marsha regretfully.
"Gazkit, gazkit", nodded "the plumber" somewhat mysteriously.
"What?! What casket?! For whom?!" Agent Wild got suspicious.
 "Gaskit", repeated the hurly-burly, giggling and making a diagram with his fingers: two in a ring and the index one inside. "Oh, Dios", he screamed, apparently sincerely disappointed with agent Wild's lack of understanding and jumped out the door, cursing and murmuring.
"Relax, darling, I am with you, your good old Marsha..." She embraced him tenderly.
"I don't know if I can trust you", said agent Wild. He still felt suspicious. It probably was a professional thing.
"I need to talk to you, Marsha. I think I want to be a girl."
"You think, you think. What is there to think about? You think too much. Look at me: I am a girl and I never think about this. I take it as it is, as it comes and as it goes..."
"You don't understand, Marsha", it is a transgender thing, it's deep... It's almost spiritual..."
"Don't worry, you'll get over it... We all go through our phases. I wanted to be a boy too at times. It's natural. It's like self-searching. And then you are under a lot of stress. It is not easy to pretend on line seven hours a day. Maybe you've got a post-traumatic stress disorder. Many people have it. Like, Betsy, after she broke up, she started to eat all the time and to mingle with all sort of garbage, like plumbers, movie men and hell knows what. What if you try some Prozac? It helped her a lot."
"No Marsha, you still don't get it. It is deeper. It is a career thing. I could become a trans-special agent one day. It's like a life calling. We have to part, Marsha. We grew apart."
"To part?! What are you talking about? It's impossible!"
"Why not?"
"Because... I've got accustomed to your face..."
"Hmm", said agent Wild and looked at himself in the mirror. It was the same fat, broad jawed and small eyed face, but it was something romantic and touchingly melancholy about it.
"I've got accustomed to your voice..."
Agent Wild could relate to this: he had a nice, pleasant melodic baritone of a voice and sang karaoke better than any one in his class.
"I've got accustomed to us going out on Fridays and having a fun."
Yeah, he liked it too.
"Let us sleep on this, darling and we will discuss it in the morning."
"No, Marsha; it is crooked and ugly, and I want to get rid of it!"
"It might be a little crooked but it's not that ugly, and the main thing is that it is mine. Mine! And I need no dirty plumbers."
Marsha was resolute and that did it. They slept on it and had wonderful sex, deep and passionate.

The next morning, when agent Wild showed up in the office, his supervisor, with his head bandaged and his fists clenched, declared in a staccato voice, constricted with a hundred years of asthmatic rage: "Fired! Outta here! Good for nothing psychopathic pervert! Put your gun on the table!"
That's how agent Wild got transferred to a counterintelligence division with the demotion in rank to a sub-special agent. His next desk buddy Pinchas Stern, after passing through a sex change transition, was promoted to a preparatory para-special agent and appointed a head of zoophilia department with sub-specialty in goats and sheep . And such is life. It's never fair. Not for a straight white man in our days.
_____________________________________

Monday, August 10, 2015

The Dark Lady, my love

The Dark Lady, my love
I see your eyes filled with rage
I hear your screams that nobody hears
You're turning gray, you're ageless, I will always love you

The glass is always full, you fool

The glass is always full, you fool
The brawn and brains are just the tool
The life is life; it's always cool
And love in potion makes you drool

Saturday, August 8, 2015

Friday, June 26, 2015

Classical Music Playlists



Prokofiev - Dance Of The Knights And Juliet's Dance

TheMultimediaDude - Published on Oct 7, 2012

Classical music is the art music produced in, or rooted in, the traditions of Western liturgical and secular music, encompassing a broad period from roughly the 11th century to present times.

Please enjoy this classical masterpiece to the fullest!It deserves nothing less...

The picture is a late 19th century engraving depicting the interior of the Teatro Dal Verme in Milan.

classical music playlists - YT

Saturday, May 30, 2015

La Noche Oscura, The Dark Night Of My Soul




La Noche Oscura Del Alma, The Dark Night Of My Soul

In the Dark Night of my Soul,
With passion burning; oh, lucky me - 
I went away in secret and unseen, 
My being joyful and at ease 

In the darkness and invisible 
I climbed the secret ladder up; oh lucky me - 
In darkness, in disguise, 
My being joyful and at ease. 

The night of joy, 
In secret, unobserved, and shouldn't be; 
Without light or guidance 
But the one inside 

The midnight sun lead me, 
Sun brighter than at noon
To where He, I knew; I knew it well, 
Awaited me, and nobody else. 

The night lead me, 
More perfect than the dawn
The night of love: 
We merged, we mixed, one in another

My yearning breast, my breath 
Was only for Him and Him alone
He slept, I touched Him,  
And the cedars with breeze us cuddled..

His breath - my healing breeze, 
His pure golden hair, 
Sweet wounding touch, both gentle and exciting - 
And, senseless, I was lost, 

And consciousness dissolved, 
His cheek by mine,
And all the world abandoned,   
I've lost my troubles there, I've tossed them into lilies... 

M.N.
_________________________________________

Dark Night of The Soul - Interpretation

My (sudden) understanding was that this little, very simple and very complex at the same time, poem is the concept, symbol and the celebration of the organic unity of the Love earthly, human, sexual (in this particular case, and this is explicitly and deliberately clear from the text, the physical love of one, relatively young, with his intensity and abandon, man for another) and the Love spiritual, religious, heavenly, eternal, pure and just as intense: the love for and of God, in Christianity, for Christ
This poem affirms the notion of the deification of the Beloved by the Lover (in old, traditional and somewhat misleading terms) and the attempt at transformation in closeness and merger with the Beloved - the God
The love of ancient Hebrews for their God was just as intense, overwhelming and almost physical, single minded and exclusive in their devotion to their "one and only" Beloved-God, probably a defense and a substitute for the earthly and real Beloved(s). 
The love of deeply religious and spiritual Christians for their Beloved, Christ, has the same intense and mixed physical-heavenly quality. 
The physical, earthly, sexual component is the emotional font and engine which feeds and embodies the pure, spiritual, religious love. 
This poem discovers that there is no contradiction between them, that it is rather natural and organic continuum than artificial and cruel dichotomy. 
What is the better case, notion and the example for the wise acceptance of gay sexuality and lifestyles on the part of the Christian Churches, than this little poem, which breathes with life and truth still, half a millennium after it was created? 
Judaism, this practical and living sociology, so to speak, did accept them, quietly and without much hullabaloo. 
Furthermore, for anyone, trying to understand the origins of Christianity, it should be undeniable, that historically, spiritually, conceptually, philosophically, aesthetically, it is rooted in a preceding homoerotic (and much more than simply "homoerotic") cult of Antinous based on the undoubtedly real historical figure. This proto-Christian religion was appropriated, (perverted?), broadened and transformed by fusion with Judaism and aesthetically-spiritually framed by the Hellenistic mythologists ("myth-maker, myth-maker, make me a myth!"). For Alexandrian Jews, the compilers of Septuagint, and by extension, Early Christians, the idea of "gay God" was blasphemous and absolutely unacceptable, just like the idea of living Emperor-God. This idea is still treated in the same terms by many contemporary religious thinkers and figures. 
Christianity, in a way, was and remains the Judaeo-Hellenistic religion of "common sense" (inspired by "Common Aphrodite", as Socrates would have put it) and intense, "gut-reaction" protest against the homoerotic cults and "gay Gods" and by the nature of this relation is rooted in them. 
Mithraic cults is another example of the rejected early pre-Christian religious movements.
The Greek mythologists, who had no problems with these issues in their Olympic Pantheon, readily obliged and produced their magnum opus, a new religious paradigm, better suited for their historical time and place, under the restrictive (Early Rabbinical Judaism) and fanatical influence of their Hebrew literary-religious brethren.
The true Beloved is God, and the true God is The Beloved. Now it remains to determine what makes them "true", how to separate it from "untrue" and how to find this "truth". I think all of us, of all orientations and religious and non-religious persuasions are engaged in this life-long, mysterious and not always meaningful search. 
Keep searching, and do not talk about it with your psychiatrist: it will destroy everything. 
Place a smiley here. 

M.N.
_________________________________________



dark night of the soul poem | dark night of the soul poem text | analysis of noche oscura



















Dark Night Of The Soul


The Dark Night of the Soul

St John Of the Cross

On a dark night,
Kindled in love with yearnings–oh, happy chance!–
I went forth without being observed,
My house being now at rest.
In darkness and secure,
By the secret ladder, disguised–oh, happy chance!–
In darkness and in concealment,
My house being now at rest.
In the happy night,
In secret, when none saw me,
Nor I beheld aught,
Without light or guide, save that which burned in my
heart.
This light guided me
More surely than the light of noonday
To the place where he (well I knew who!) was awaiting me–
A place where none appeared.
Oh, night that guided me,
Oh, night more lovely than the dawn,
Oh, night that joined Beloved with lover,
Lover transformed in the Beloved!
Upon my flowery breast,
Kept wholly for himself alone,
There he stayed sleeping, and I caressed him,
And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze.
The breeze blew from the turret
As I parted his locks;
With his gentle hand he wounded my neck
And caused all my senses to be suspended.
I remained, lost in oblivion;
My face I reclined on the Beloved.
All ceased and I abandoned myself,
Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.
Links

Commentary on Dark Night of the Soul
by St. John of the Cross

“He soars on the wings of Divine love . . .”
“It is perhaps not an exaggeration to say that the verse and prose works combined of St. John of the Cross form at once the most grandiose and the most melodious spiritual canticle to which any one man has ever given utterance.
The most sublime of all the Spanish mystics, he soars aloft on the wings of Divine love to heights known to hardly any of them. . . . True to the character of his thought, his style is always forceful and energetic, even to a fault.
When we study his treatises–principally that great composite work known as the Ascent of Mount Carmel and the Dark Night–we have the impression of a mastermind that has scaled the heights of mystical science; and from their summit looks down upon and dominates the plain below and the paths leading upward. . . . Nowhere else, again, is he quite so appealingly human; for, though he is human even in his loftiest and sublimest passages, his intermingling of philosophy with mystical theology; makes him seem particularly so. These treatises are a wonderful illustration of the theological truth that graced far from destroying nature, ennobles and dignifies it, and of the agreement always found between the natural and the supernatural–between the principles of sound reason and the sublimest manifestations of Divine grace.”
Translated and edited,
by E. ALLISON PEERS
from the critical edition of
P. SILVERIO DE SANTA TERESA, C.D.
___________________________________________________


La noche oscura, por San Juan de la Cruz

POSTED ON MARCH 13, 2012

This is a classic poem, originally written in Spanish by Saint John of the Cross (the English translation is below but it is not as pretty).  The dark night of the soul refers to a period of spiritual crisis, where the believer finds it difficult to believe.  In the poem, the narrator resolves the crisis and finds himself at peace once more in the garden of his beliefs.


La noche oscura

En una noche oscura,
con ansias en amores inflamada,
(¡oh dichosa ventura!)
salí sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
A oscuras y segura,
por la secreta escala disfrazada,
(¡oh dichosa ventura!)
a oscuras y en celada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
En la noche dichosa,
en secreto, que nadie me veía,
ni yo miraba cosa,
sin otra luz ni guía
sino la que en el corazón ardía.
Aquésta me guïaba
más cierta que la luz del mediodía,
adonde me esperaba
quien yo bien me sabía,
en parte donde nadie parecía.
¡Oh noche que me guiaste!,
¡oh noche amable más que el alborada!,
¡oh noche que juntaste
amado con amada,
amada en el amado transformada!
En mi pecho florido,
que entero para él solo se guardaba,
allí quedó dormido,
y yo le regalaba,
y el ventalle de cedros aire daba.
El aire de la almena,
cuando yo sus cabellos esparcía,
con su mano serena
en mi cuello hería,
y todos mis sentidos suspendía.
Quedéme y olvidéme,
el rostro recliné sobre el amado,
cesó todo, y dejéme,
dejando mi cuidado
entre las azucenas olvidado.

___________________________________________


Dark Night of the Soul

Upon a darkened night
The flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet rest
Shrouded by the night
And by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
While all within lay quiet as the dead.
O, night thou was my guide!
O, night more loving than the rising sun!
O, night that joined the Lover to the beloved one!
Transforming each of them into the other.
Upon that misty night
In secrecy beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
Than that which burned as deeply in my heart.
That fire ’twas led me on
And shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where He waited still
It was a place where no one else could come.
Within my pounding heart
Which kept itself entirely for Him
He fell into His sleep
beneath the cedars all my love I gave.
From o’er the fortress walls
The wind would brush His hair against His brow
And with its smoother hand
caressed my every sense it would allow.
I lost my self to Him
And laid my face upon my Lover’s breast
And care and grief grew dim
As in the morning’s mist became the light.
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair.



Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Greetings and many, many heart-felt thanks to our veterans!


Greetings and many, many heart-felt thanks to our veterans!

Veterans Day - From Wikipedia | Veterans day 2014 - Google Search

Veterans Day

Vets Can Make Out With several freebies - WFAA

1 Share

WFAA

Vets Can Make Out With several freebies 
WFAA
Let's say you're a veteran With lots of free time - and big ambitions to rake in plenty of payback for your service to your country. Well, some of. Loading ... Post to Facebook. Vets Can Make Out With several freebies on Veterans Day Let's say you're a veteran ...

and more »

Saturday, August 23, 2014

GUSTAV MAHLER SYMPHONY NR 9 Bernstein - YouTube | Gustav Mahler - Symphony No. 10 - YouTube

GUSTAV MAHLER SYMPHONY NR 9 Bernstein - YouTube

1 Share
Published on Apr 2, 2013
No description available.

Gustav Mahler - Symphony No. 10 - YouTube

1 Share
Uploaded on Aug 12, 2011
Mahler started his work on his Tenth Symphony in July 1910 in Toblach, and ended his efforts in September the same year. He never managed to complete the orchestral draft before his premature death at the age of fifty from a streptococcal infection of the blood.
Mahler's drafts and sketches for the Tenth Symphony comprise 72 pages of full score, 50 pages of continuous short score draft (2 pages of which are missing), and a further 44 pages of preliminary drafts, sketches, and inserts. In the form in which Mahler left it, the symphony consists of five movements:
1. Andante -- Adagio: 275 bars drafted in orchestral and short score.
2. Scherzo: 522 bars drafted in orchestral and short score.
3. Purgatorio. Allegro moderato: 170 bars drafted in short score, the first 30 bars of which were also drafted in orchestral score.
4. Scherzo. Nicht zu schnell]: about 579 bars drafted in short score.
5. Finale. Langsam, schwer: 400 bars drafted in short score.
The parts in short score were usually in four staves. The designations of some movements were altered as work progressed: for example the second movement was initially envisaged as a finale. The fourth movement was also relocated in multiple instances. Mahler then started on an orchestral draft of the symphony, which begins to bear some signs of haste after the halfway point of the first movement. He had gotten as far as orchestrating the first two movements and the opening 30 bars of the third movement when he had to put aside work on the Tenth to make final revisions to the Ninth Symphony.
The circumstances surrounding the composition of the Tenth were highly unusual. Mahler was at the height of his compositional powers, but his personal life was in complete disarray, most recently compounded by the revelation that his young wife Alma had had an affair with the architect Walter Gropius. Mahler sought counselling from Sigmund Freud, and on the verge of its successful première in Munich, dedicated the Eighth Symphony to Alma in a desperate attempt to repair the breach. The unsettled frame of Mahler's mind found expression in the despairing comments (many addressed to Alma) written on the manuscript of the Tenth, and must have influenced its composition: on the final page of the short score in the final movement, Mahler wrote, "für dich leben! für dich sterben!" (To live for you! To die for you!) and the exclamation "Almschi!" underneath the last soaring phrase.

Conductor: Leonard Bernstein & Wiener Philharmoniker.