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kale’i, tona
Wisdom, science and culture, all seem to agree that the mother who gave birth in her highlands to the coffea berries, through flowering shrubs and trees of the Rubiaceae family, was the beautiful Ethiopia. Today, the traditional Ethiopian coffee rituals continue vibrantly. These entail the whole process needed to brew a cup of coffee —…
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Dilemma in the face of Lexika
=Friendship =Love That is where names and terms confine, whereas poetry transcends lines, road forks, gravities and chains, tombs, deities, loyalties, blood, sin, and surpasses conclusions. Names allow the contentment of the believer, while poetry knows, even in the absence of commonly recognizable surfaces. suprema
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Coffee is always a Story
If you can not tell a story, if you can not listen to stories, why be part of any?
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What is love…
without soil, without branches, without its fruit being eaten?
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When a Day foretells itself in Absence
That was the Richard Wagner week. The New York Metropolitan Opera streamed some of his masterpieces on a daily basis. Today I will be delighting in yesterday’s streaming of Parsifal. Knowing the schedule in advance, has allowed me to prepare each day accordingly, more or less around the operatic work. I knew, therefore, this day…
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The Imprisoned in Paradise School for an all encompassing Life with Circumstances
A fear began to simmer as twenty/twenty began. Twenty twenty is a symbol of good vision — actually, a common measurement for average good sight. By March, the entire globe was hiding, like true globalism in unexpected fashion. Very soon I embraced the idea of being imprisoned in paradise. Limitations became the opportunity to unfold,…
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A Physiognomy of Hunger
Yesterday is digested, Tomorrow is not yet harvested. And today’s appetite? Mind the mind.
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Invisibles are Present
Madness ceases to exist, once it reaches numbing proportions. Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956) German poet, playwright
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Voice of a Young Sailor
Westwardsthe gaze wanders;eastwardsskims the ship.Fresh the wind blowstowards home:my Irish child,where are you now?Is it your wafting sighsthat swell my sails?Blow, blow, you wind!Ah, alas, my child!Irish girl,you wild, adorable girl! Voice of a young sailor(heard from a height, as if from the masthead)in “Tristan and Isolde”by Richard Wagner
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